Lessons in Chemistry
- Автор: Garmus Bonnie
- Год: 2022
- Язык: английский
- Год: Doubleday Canada
- Жанр: Современная русская и зарубежная проза
Электронная книга - «Lessons in Chemistry». Краткое содержание книги:
They’d flipped the pair yet again — his fault — and for the very first time, they’d ended up in the water on the same side of the boat and he’d made a terrifying discovery: she couldn’t swim. By the looks of her panicked dog paddle, she’d never had a swim lesson in her life.
That’s why, while Elizabeth was off in the bathroom at the boathouse, he and Six-Thirty had approached the men’s team captain, Dr. Mason. It was bad-weather season: if he and Elizabeth were going to continue to row — she actually wanted to — it was best to be in an eight. Safer. Plus, if the eight did flip — unlikely — there’d be that many more people to save her. Anyway, Mason had been trying to recruit him for more than three years; it was worth a shot.
“What do you think?” he’d asked Mason. “You’d have to take both of us, though.”
“A woman in a men’s eight?” Dr. Mason had said, readjusting his cap over his crew cut. He’d been a marine and hated it. But he’d kept the hairstyle.
“She’s good,” Calvin said. “Very tough.”
Mason nodded. These days he was an obstetrician. He already knew how tough women could be. Still, a woman? How could that possibly work?
“Hey, guess what,” Calvin told Elizabeth a minute later. “The men’s team really wants both of us to row in their eight today.”
“Really?” Her goal had always been to join an eight. The eights rarely seemed to flip. She’d never told Calvin she couldn’t swim. Why worry him?
“The team captain approached me just now. He’s seen you row,” he said. “He knows talent when he sees it.”
From below, Six-Thirty exhaled. Lies, lies, and more lies.
“When do we start?”
“Now.”
“Now?” She felt a jolt of panic. While she’d wanted to row in an eight, she also knew the eight required a level of synchronization she had not yet mastered. When a boat succeeds, it’s because the people in the boat have managed to set aside their petty differences and physical discrepancies and row as one. Perfect harmony — that was the goal. She’d once overheard Calvin telling someone at the boathouse that his Cambridge coach insisted that they even blink at the same time. To her surprise the guy nodded. “We had to file our toenails to the same length. Made a huge difference.”
“You’ll be rowing two seat,” he said.
“Great,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice the violent shake in her hands.
“The coxswain will call out commands; you’ll be fine. Just watch the blade in front of you. And whatever you do, don’t look out of the boat.”
“Wait. How can I watch the blade in front of me if I don’t look out of the boat?”
“Just don’t do it,” he warned. “Throws off the set.”
“But—”
“And relax.”
“I—”
“Hands on!” yelled the coxswain.
“Don’t worry,” Calvin said. “You’ll be fine.”
—
Elizabeth once read that 98 percent of the things people worry about never come true. But what, she wondered, about the 2 percent that do? And who came up with that figure? Two percent seemed suspiciously low. She’d believe 10 percent — even 20. In her own life it was probably closer to 50. She really didn’t want to worry about this row, but she was. Fifty percent chance she was going to blow it.
As they carried the boat to the dock in the dark, the man in front of her glanced over his shoulder as if to try to understand why the guy who usually rowed two seat seemed smaller.
“Elizabeth Zott,” she said.
“No talking!” shouted the coxswain.
“Who?” asked the man suspiciously.
“I’m rowing two seat today.”
“Quiet back there!” the coxswain yelled.
“Two seat?” the man whispered incredulously. “You’re rowing two seat?”
“Is there a problem?” Elizabeth hissed back.
—
“You were great!” Calvin shouted two hours later, pounding on the car’s steering wheel with such excitement that Six-Thirty worried they might crash before they reached home. “Everyone thought so!”
“Who’s everyone?” Elizabeth said. “No one said a single word to me.”
“Oh, well, you only hear from the other rowers when they’re pissed. The point is, we’re in the lineup for Wednesday.” He smiled, triumphant. Saved her again — first at work and now this. Maybe this was the way one ended a jinx — by taking secret but sensible precautions.
Elizabeth turned and looked out the window. Could the sport of rowing really be that egalitarian? Or was this just the usual fear from the usual suspects — rowers, like scientists, were afraid of Calvin’s legendary grudge holding.
As they drove along the coast toward home, the sunrise illuminating a dozen or so surfers, their longboards pointed at the shore, their heads turned, hoping to catch a few waves before work, it suddenly occurred to her that she’d never seen this supposed grudge holding in action.
“Calvin,” she said, turning back toward him, “why does everyone say you hold a grudge?”
“What’s that?” he said, unable to stop smiling. Secret, sensible precautions. The solution to life’s problems!
“You know what I mean,” she said. “There’s an undertone at work — people say if they disagree with you, you’ll ruin them.”
“Oh that,” he said cheerfully. “Rumors. Gossip. Jealousy. There are people I don’t like, certainly, but would I go out of my way to ruin them? Of course not.”
“Right,” she said. “But I’m still curious. Is there anyone in your life you’ll never forgive?”
“No one comes to mind,” he answered gaily. “You? Anyone you plan to hate the rest of your life?” He turned to look at her, her face still flushed from the row, her hair damp with ocean spray, her expression serious. She held out her fingers, as if counting.
Chapter 9
The Grudge
When Calvin claimed he held no grudges and hated no one, he only meant it in that way that some people say they forget to eat. Meaning he was lying. No matter how hard he tried to pretend he’d left the past behind, it was right there, gnawing at his heart. Plenty of people had wronged him, but there was only one man he could not forgive. Only one man he swore to hate until his dying day.
—
He’d first glimpsed this man when he was ten. A long limo had pulled up to the gates of the boys home and the man had gotten out. He was tall, elegant, carefully dressed in a tailored suit and silver cuff links, none of which fit with the Iowan landscape. With the other boys, Calvin crowded the fence. A movie star, they guessed. Maybe a professional baseball player.
They were used to this. About twice a year, famous people came to the home, reporters in tow, to get their pictures taken with a few of the boys. Occasionally these visits resulted in a couple of baseball gloves or autographed headshots. But this man only had a briefcase. They all turned away.
But about a month after the man’s visit, all sorts of things started to arrive: science textbooks, math games, chemistry sets. And unlike the headshots or baseball gloves, there was enough to go around.
“The Lord doth provide,” the priest said, handing out a stack of brand-new biology books. “Which means you meek shall shut up and sit the hell still. You boys in the back, sit still, I mean it!” He slammed a ruler on a nearby desk, causing everyone to jump.