Duet by Carol Shields

Author:Carol Shields [Carol Shields ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780007405343
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers

At the university, which I reach by a twenty-minute bus ride, I work in a cubicle of the Natural Science Building. On my door there is a sign which says: 304 Botanical Journal. I have one desk equipped with a manual typewriter, a gunmetal table and matching wastebasket, a peach-coloured filing cabinet with three drawers, two moulded plastic chairs and one comfortable, worn, plushy typing chair in bitter green. There are Swedish-type curtains in a subtle bone stripe, by far the best feature of the room, and the walls are painted a glossy café au lait. From the ceiling a fluorescent tube pours faltering institutional light onto my desk. Oddly enough there is no lock on my door. All the other offices on the third floor have locks, but not mine; the lack of a lock and key seems to underscore the valuelessness of what I do. This might be a broom cupboard. Nothing worth guarding here.

This morning when I arrive, Doug is already in the office, bending over the pile of manuscripts on my desk. ‘Hiya, Char,’ he says, not bothering to turn around. ‘I’m just seeing what we should stick in the fall issue.’

Though it is only May, we are already beginning to think about the autumn number; we are perpetually leaping across the calendar in six-month strides, so that this job, besides paying only enough to keep me from starving, simultaneously deprives me of a sense of accomplishment. Completion, realization, fulfilment are always half a year away, a point in time which, when finally reached, melts into so much vapour. Now the fall issue is being conceived before the summer has taken shape and before the spring is even back from the printers.

Clearly Doug has been expecting me. Without taking his eyes off the pile of manuscripts, he slides my pay cheque across the desk. I accept it wordlessly, fold it in two lengthwise (I can never remember if it is all right to fold a cheque) and put it in my wallet. The awkward moment passes, and now Doug turns and smiles at me. ‘Well, are you all set for tomorrow?’

‘Almost,’ I tell him. ‘Just a few odds and ends to clear up.’

‘Greta and I thought we’d pick up Seth right from school tomorrow. That okay with you?’

‘Oh, no, Doug. Really, that’s not necessary at all. He can get a bus.’

‘No trouble, Char. We’d like to.’

‘No, that’s just too much bother. It’s enough that you’ve offered to have him.’ I’m playing my game again, protesting, modest, conciliatory, anxious to please.

‘For Christ’s sake, Charleen, the poor kid will have his suitcase and tuba and everything. We’ll pick him up.’

‘But he’s already planned to come out to your place by bus. He mentioned it this morning.’

‘Look, Char,’ he sighs, ‘Greta wants it this way. She wants to pick him up. You know how she gets. I promised her we could do it this way.’

I nod. When Doug and I are alone together without Greta, our relationship undergoes a radical reshaping.

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