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:
“It was a fairy godmother — someone who gave your dad’s home money. That’s all I meant. Fairy godmother. And she — it could have been a he, by the way — he or she gave it to everyone at the home. Not just your dad.”
“Who was it?”
“I have no idea. Does it matter? A fairy godmother is just another word for philanthropist. A rich person who gives money to causes — like Andrew Carnegie and his libraries. Although you should know there’s a tax break in philanthropy, so it’s not completely unselfish. Do you have other homework, Mad? Besides the damn tree?”
“Maybe I could write a letter to Dad’s home and ask who the godfather was. Then I could put that name on the tree — maybe as an acorn. Not as a whole branch or anything.”
“No. There are no acorns on family trees. Also, fairy godmothers — philanthropists — are private people; the home is never going to tell you who ponied up the big bucks. Third, we never say fairy godfathers. The fairy person is always female.”
“Because of organized crime?” Madeline asked.
Harriet exhaled loudly in a mixture of wonder and irritation. “The point is, fairy godparents don’t go on family trees. First because they’re not blood, second because they’re secretive people. They have to be because otherwise everyone would be hitting them up for cash.”
“But keeping secrets is wrong.”
“Not always.”
“Do you keep secrets?”
“No,” Harriet lied.
“Do you think my mom does?”
“No,” Harriet said, but now she meant it. How she wished Elizabeth would keep a few secrets — or at least opinions — to herself. “Now, let’s fill in this tree with a bunch of hodgepodge. Your teacher will never know the difference and then we can watch your mom’s show.”
“You want me to lie?”
“Mad,” Harriet said, irritated. “Did I say lie?”
“Do fairies not have blood?”
“Of course, fairies have blood!” Harriet shrieked. She rested a hand on her forehead. “Let’s put this on hold for now. Go play outside.”
“But—”
“Go throw the ball for Six-Thirty.”
“I have to bring a photograph too, Harriet,” Madeline added. “Something with the whole family.”
From under the table, Six-Thirty rested his head on her bony knee.
“The whole family,” Madeline emphasized. “That means it has to have my dad in it, too.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Six-Thirty stood up and made his way to Elizabeth’s bedroom.
“If you don’t want to throw the ball for Six-Thirty, then take Six-Thirty and go to the library. Your books are overdue. You have just enough time before your mom’s show.”
“I don’t feel like it.”
“Well, sometimes we have to do things we don’t feel like doing.”
“What do you do that you don’t feel like doing?”
Harriet closed her eyes. She pictured Mr. Sloane.
Chapter 28
Saints
“Madeline,” the city librarian said. “What can I help you with today?”
“I need to find an address for a place in Iowa.”
“Follow me.”
The librarian led Madeline through the warren of the library, pausing briefly to chastise a reader for turning down corners of pages to mark places and another for propping his legs up on an adjacent chair. “This is the Carnegie Library,” she whispered angrily. “I can bar you for life.”
“Up here, Madeline,” she said, leading her to a shelf of phone books. “You said Iowa, correct?” She reached up and pulled down three thick volumes. “Any town in particular?”
“I’m looking for a boys home,” Madeline said, “but with a girl’s name. That’s all I know.”
“We’ll need more information than that,” the librarian said. “Iowa isn’t small.”
“I’d put my money on Sioux City,” came a voice from behind.
“Sioux isn’t a girl’s name,” the librarian said, turning. “It’s an Indian name — oh, Reverend, hello. I’m so sorry— I forgot to find that book you wanted. I’ll do it now.”
“But it could be mistaken as a girl’s name, couldn’t it?” the man in the dark robes continued. “Sue versus Sioux? A child might make that mistake.”
“Not this child,” the librarian said.
—
“It’s not here,” Madeline said fifteen minutes later as her finger trailed down the “B” column. No Boys Home.”
“Oh,” the reverend said from across the library table, “I should have mentioned — sometimes those places are named after saints.”
“Why?”
“Because people who take care of other people’s children are saints.”
“Why?”
“Because taking care of children is hard.”
Madeline rolled her eyes.
“Try Saint Vincent,” he said, running his finger just beneath his clerical collar to let some air in.
“What are you reading?” Madeline asked as she flipped to the S’s in the phone book.
“Religious things,” he said. “I’m a minister.”
“No, I meant the other thing — that thing,” she said, pointing to a magazine he’d tucked between the pages of scripture.
“Oh,” he said embarrassed. “That’s just — for fun.”
“Mad magazine,” she read aloud as she yanked it out of hiding.
“It’s humor,” the reverend explained, quickly taking it back.
“Can I see it?”
“I don’t think your mother would approve.”
“Because there are naked pictures?”
“No!” he said. “No, no — it’s nothing like that. It’s just that sometimes I need a laugh. There’s not much humor in my job.”
“Why?”
The reverend hesitated. “Because God isn’t very funny, I guess. Why are you searching for a boys home?”
“It’s where my dad grew up. I’m doing a family tree.”
“I see,” he said, smiling. “Well, a family tree sounds like a lot of fun.”
“That’s debatable.”
“Debatable?”
“It means arguable,” Mad said.
“So it does,” he said, surprised. “Do you mind me asking? How old are you?”
“I’m not allowed to give out private information.”
“Oh,” he said, red-faced. “Of course not. Good for you.”
Madeline chewed on the end of her eraser.
“Anyway,” he said, “it’s fun to learn about one’s ancestors, isn’t it? I think so. What have you got so far?”
“Well,” Mad said, swinging her legs under the table, “on my mom’s side, her dad is in jail for burning some people up, her mom is in Brazil because of taxes, and her brother is dead.”
“Oh—”
“I don’t have anything on my dad’s side yet. But I’m thinking the people at the boys home are sort of like family.”
“In what way?”
“Because they took care of him.”
The reverend rubbed the back of his neck. In his experience, these homes were staffed with pedophiles.
“Saints, you called them,” she reminded him.
He sighed inwardly. The problem with being a minister was how many times a day he had to lie. This was because people needed constant reassurance that things were okay or were going to be okay instead of the more obvious reality that things were bad and were only going to get worse. He’d been officiating a funeral just last week — one of his congregants had died of lung cancer — and his message to the family, all of whom also smoked like chimneys, was that the man had died, not because of his four-pack-a-day habit, but because God needed him. The family, each inhaling deeply, thanked him for his wisdom.