The Last Summer of the World by Emily Mitchell

Author:Emily Mitchell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company
Published: 2014-08-01T16:00:00+00:00

THE NOISE OF an automobile reaches across the quiet of the valley. Edward hears it approach from where he is standing over a developing bath watching an image rise out of the paper: hard verticals and scattered chevrons coalesce until he can recognize cliffs, wheeling seabirds, the ocean. The rough sound of the engine gets closer.

He waits until the picture has reached its point of greatest clarity, then plucks it from the developer with his tongs, immerses it in fixer, then in water. He clips it on the line above the sink, rinses his hands, dries them on the front of his trousers, and slips out of the darkroom. The brightness of the day makes him blink. He puts up a hand to shield his eyes from the glare just as the car turns into the end of the drive.

Edward still finds automobiles wonderful. He has never owned one himself, but once at a state fair in Milwaukee, he and Lilian climbed into the driver’s seat of a Model T when the owner wasn’t looking and rode very slowly around the fairgrounds in it (neither of them knew how to shift out of first gear), until the owner and a local policeman caught up with them and showed them, insistently, which one was the brake pedal. This car is black and red, with a raised front seat; it looks like a crossbreed of an insect and a cow. It sputters to a stop in front of the house, emitting one last fierce bang as Marion cuts the engine. The silence that surges up in its wake feels peculiarly empty, as though the world had made room in itself for the sound and wasn’t sure how to close it up again.

Marion stands, pulls driving goggles from her face and waves to him across the lawn. She shucks leather gloves from her hands and folds them into a traveling bag beside her on the seat. Her movements are precise, and she has about her a sense of calm order. He remembers all at once how much he likes this quality of hers.

“Hello,” he calls, and he comes toward the car intending to help her down. But when he gets there, she has already climbed from the running board and is walking toward him, smiling, holding out her hand.

“Welcome,” he says. He takes her hand between both of his.

“Hello, Mr. Steichen,” she says.

“I am so glad you’ve come,” he says. “We’ve all been looking forward to your visit a great deal.”

“Well, you should be honored,” she says, smiling. “My parents are traveling in Russia this summer and invited me to accompany them.”

“Russia! That would be novel and exciting.”

“Yes, it would, but instead I decided to come here so I could paint and visit with you. Where is Clara?” Behind her the car purrs, creaking as it cools.

“She is upstairs. She was feeling … she was feeling a little unwell this morning.” Marion looks at him and he feels he’s being seen straight through.

“I love the new motorcar,” he says.

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