Cut and Thirst: A Short Story by Margaret Atwood

Author:Margaret Atwood [Atwood, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Amazon Original Stories
Published: 2024-04-30T23:00:00+00:00

Myrna pops into Wiener’s to buy some white spray paint—her frazzling wicker laundry basket need not be discarded, it can be refreshed—and turns south toward Fern’s house, a handsome Richardsonian redbrick three-story from the early twentieth century. Fern could afford to go more upmarket, but she doesn’t want to move because that would mean moving away from Gervais, from the wonderful life they’d shared. She’s had to make alterations, however, because of the wheelchair. Although she’s had one of those stairway chairlift elevators installed and she can shift into it with the aid of Mrs. Carreira, the regular home help, or the other one who comes on weekends, she’s talking about having her bed moved down to Gervais’s old study. Getting upstairs is becoming too much of an effort.

Fern is in her plant-filled living room, wearing a cheerful cotton dress with a print of meadow flowers. Her pretty face is thinner, her skin almost translucent. Still, she smiles happily at Myrna and says how good it is to see her. Mrs. Carreira brings them in some tea and shortbread cookies, then vanishes back into the kitchen.

“I’ve got news,” Fern says. She’s just sent off the manuscript of her new novel—now that it’s done and she’s no longer fretting about not being able to finish, she can tell about it.

“Congratulations! So it hasn’t stopped you!” Myrna says, trying not to look at Fern’s no longer agile hands. How had she typed?

“I used voice to text,” says Fern, mind-reading. “I couldn’t have done a whole novel otherwise.” It’s called Slander, she tells Myrna, and it features the unmarried Lady Flora Hastings of the court of Queen Victoria, who was falsely and disgracefully rumored to be pregnant, but in fact had terminal liver cancer. “I can only imagine what she must have gone through,” Fern adds.

I bet you can, thinks Myrna. “Are you worried about . . .” She pauses. She shouldn’t have started that sentence.

“About what?”

“You know. Them,” says Myrna. “The boys. Not that they’re exactly boys any longer.”

Fern laughs a little. “Oh yes. Them. The Old Boys. With the last two novels I didn’t hear much from them. A couple of lukewarm attempts, but nothing like their big campaign. A couple of them—four, actually—have apologized. They said they realize that what they did must have caused me pain. They said The Humph put them up to it.”

“They could’ve said no. Which ones apologized? Just curious,” says Myrna.

“Jason. One of the Stephens. William. Deepak.”

Myrna had been surprised by Deepak at the time—she’d thought he was more sensible—but in moments of turmoil and group action, people get carried away. “Apologized in private, I suppose,” she says.

“Yes,” says Fern, smiling wanly. “Naturally.”

Not good enough, thinks Myrna. Still, it might prevent them from getting murdered. Though some form of penalty is surely still called for.

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