The Obvious Child

Formatting note:

In the electronic versions of this book blank pages that appear in the paperback have been removed.

THE OBVIOUS CHILD

Matt Shaw

Fiction, Poetry, Non-fiction, Translation, Drama and Graphic Books

Shaw, Matt, 1982-

The obvious child / Matt Shaw.

Issued in print and electronic formats.

ISBN 978-1-55096-082-2(softcover).--ISBN 978-1-55096-291-8 (EPUB).--

ISBN 978-1-55096-292-5 (Kindle).--ISBN 978-1-55096-293-2 (PDF)

I. Title.

PS8637.H384O29 2007 C813'.6 C2007-904806-4

Copyright © 2007, 2018 Matt Shaw.

All characters and events are fictional.

Publication Copyright © Exile Editions Limited, 2018. All rights reserved.

Text pages and cover designed by Michael Callaghan.

ePUB, Kindle and PDF versions by Melissa Campos Mendivil.

Published by Exile Editions

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Holstein, Ontario, N0G 2A0, Canada

www.ExileEditions.com

We gratefully acknowledge the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada, the Ontario Arts Council, and the Ontario Media Development Corporation for their support toward our publishing activities.

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for Ernie & Lise, who deserve ‘zhili bhili’

MATCHBOOK FOR A MOTHER’S HAIR

TENDLE & OSLO

ANECDOTE OF THE JAR

DRESCHL & THE OBVIOUS CHILD

AFTER THE DOCTOR DIED IN HIS NOVEL

THE ELEVATOR

ONE TRICK PONY

THE DEPORTEE

TALMUD

JURISPRUDENCE

William James describes a man who got the [vision of truth] from laughing-gas; whenever he was under its influence, he knew the secret of the universe, but when he came to, he had forgotten it. At last, with immense effort, he wrote down the secret before the vision had faded. When completely recovered, he rushed to see what he had written. It was: A smell of petroleum prevails throughout.

— BERTRAND RUSSELL

MATCHBOOK FOR A MOTHER’S HAIR

Where do I start, my name is Gordon Ween.

I am seventeen and three-quarters. Three quarters is three fingers out of four fingers, or three fingers over four fingers. Seventeen means that I have seventeen wholes—which I learned is sixteen groups of four fingers out of four fingers.

Mother played cards. There was Mrs. Baker, Mrs. Gingrinch and Mrs. Lowell. In the afternoon, at a table in my house, they played Yuke Her. I do not know how to play Yuke Her but I watched them every afternoon. When they played they tried to yuke each other, Mother and Mrs. Baker would look at the numbers they held in their hands and add them up and sort the pairs, and Mrs. Lowell leaned over Mrs. Gingrinch and then leaned back and then someone would lay cards down and Mrs. Lowell mumbled a dirty word and Mother scolded her, not in front of Gordon, don’t say those things in front of Gordon, she said. Then the cards were down and Mrs. Lowell and Mrs. Gingrinch would be happy. On the table were cards with coloured shapes and unhappy faces, the shapes of shovels and hearts.

The house? The house was my house. The table was round and pretty, there were red flowers with thick stems in a bowl. It was an eating bowl, not a flower bowl. It was low and wide, for soup, but Mother always cut the stems and sat the petals in the bowl so there were no stems. They were coloured little heads, especially when they were tulips, and they got darker and darker until they curled and new heads were on the table for Yuke Her. As the heads turned dark and sad, their smell eroded and the bowl dried out. There were four black chairs around the big table, but my chair was by the window looking at the four big chairs. The window drapes were the colour of hedges and there were no dishes in the sink.

There were always bottles on the table, green with purple labels and Mrs. Gingrinch always laughed when she said we almost don’t need the flowers on the table, these bottles are flowers themselves and make us bloom when we drink she said, and she giggled as she looked at me sitting in my chair.

My chair, I sat on a chair beside the table. It was my chair, I always sat in it, and it was red. It fit my back and Mother liked it because it always makes you sit up straight, Gordon, you never sit straight enough. People will not like you if don’t sit straight, Gordon, what will Mrs. Lowell and Mrs. Gingrinch think of you if you slouch, Gordon.

Oh no, Mrs. Lowell said, don’t listen to her. You know I like you, you know how much I like you, I’ve shown you how I like you you know that. She never said that when Mother was there, when Mother was there she said nonsense, Rette, you’ll hurt the poor boy’s feelings. Gordon is absolutely wonderful, we all love Gordon.

Did you know the pretty parts of flowers are the reproductive organs, said Mrs. Baker.

They’re certainly more used than yours, said Mrs. Gingrinch, you’re ugly.

I am not, said Mrs Baker, her best friend.

Gordon, said Mrs. Gingrinch, don’t listen to your mother. She’s turning red because all day she loses all she has to us. Terrible. She’s terrible.

Mother glared at her.

See, said Mrs. Gingrinch, she doesn’t laugh at it because it’s true, Gordon. Mrs. Baker and your mother never win together.

I don’t cheat, and we win sometimes, said Mrs. Baker. It’s not true.

You know it is, said Mrs. Gingrinch, you take from Rette too. I never won when I played with you, either. But Rette never stops playing with you and she never understands our faces.

I understand there’s nothing else to understand in your faces, said Mother.

If you understood any faces, you would understand Mrs. Baker’s, said Mrs. Gingrinch. Her face is so plain she cannot lie. Even when she puts on her mascara and makeup you know she is trying to hide her thoughts. When she tries to hide her thoughts you know exactly what they are. But you can’t see that, said Mrs. Gingrinch, and we can so we win.

My face is not plain, said Mrs. Baker.

It is so, said Mrs. Gingrinch.

I do not wear makeup to hide things. I wear it to look pretty, said Mrs. Baker.

Hmm, said Mrs. Gingrinch.

Mrs. Gingrinch and Mrs. Baker were best friends. They fought all the time at Yuke Her, Mrs. Baker accusing Mrs. Gingrinch of cheating and Mrs. Gingrinch calling Mrs. Baker too plain, she said a face that ugly should be much better at hiding things. Mrs. Baker is ugly, she looks like a squirrel I saw a dog catch from a tree. I would never say she looked like a squirrel from my chair because I wasn’t supposed to talk from the chair I was supposed to watch for cheating.

If I talked Mother always told me to stop talking. Everything was good until I talked so I didn’t. That’s why I never said that Mrs. Baker looked like a fly I hit with a newspaper that crawled on its broken legs or that Mrs. Gingrinch sometimes farted when she took me upstairs to show me every week. Even though I knew what she wanted to show me I wanted to see again and I wanted to