bobr@tekgds.UUCP (Robert Reed) (10/25/83)
News from Lake Wobegon
Uncle Ed
By Garrison Keillor
It was a quiet week in Lake Wobegon, and kind of a chilly week, too,
for this time of year. Lot of people getting up in the middle of the night
this week. Every night getting up and closing the window and getting an
extra blanket out, laying it across themselves. Been kind'a cold. People
get up in the morning and sayin', "Yah, she's kind'a chilly last night,
wasn't she?", he says.
And she says, "Yah, huh. Wouldn't be too surprised but what we might
get an early frost this year. Remember back, I t'ink it was about 1957, I
t'ink, it was we got a frost right around Labor Day."
He says, "Yah, I might...might have ta go out and cover up the roses,
den. Yah, she sure was kind'a cold las' night."
Sitting across the breakfast table from them, is their 17 year old
son, sitting there eating his cornflakes and grinding his teeth.
"Ughaaaah! Why can't they talk about anything but the weather? Can't they
talk about anything else? Weather, weather, weather, weather, all the
time!"
"What's the matter dere, Dwane? You're mumbling to yourself!"
"Nothingggg!"
That's Dwane... That's Dwane. He read a lot a' books. They're real
proud of him, those two are. They say, "Yah, dat Dwane, he's always got
his nose in a book. Wha'cha reading dere, Dwane," they say.
"Nothingggg!"
What he's reading is a novel, about a family, called the Flambeaus,
who have a son about his age, Richard. Frank Flambeau, he's a famous
writer. Florence Flambeau, she's an actress on the stage. They live in
New York. They never talk about the weather, the Flambeau family never
does. They live in an apartment house in Manhattan. They live up on the
30th floor. They're way above the frost line. They don't worry about
things like that.
He wishes his parents were more like the Flambeaus, in the novel.
People who don't talk about the weather, they talk about ideas, talk about
theater, about literature. Talk about politics. Sometimes he imagines
that he lives with the Flambeau family, not in Lake Wobegon, but in New
York City.
"Oh, Dwane, as long as you're up, will you get me a martini, darling?
Make it extra dry."
"Yes, mother."
That almost never happens in his home. He wishes his parents were
more like the Flambeaus.
"Oh, darling, I just had the most wonderful idea. Why don't we got to
Paris? You'll love it. It's so beautiful this time of year."
"All right, mother."
Why can't his parents say things like that to him?
Well, there's no end to that story. That's part of being 17 years
old. You just go on, and you get out of it. Some people, it takes them
years, but eventually they do. I think about the Tolifson girl, Tina, who
moved down to the city. She grew out of it.
She came down here and went to college. Married a boy who sat next to
her in psychology class, to whom she always gave the answers. Gave him
enough good ones so he got into law school. Got on with a good law firm,
and they bought a nice house, out by Lake Harriet, in Minneapolis. Started
having children.
That was about 20 years ago, twenty some years ago. Some of the chil-
dren already grown up and moved out. Just have one left. So that when her
mother wrote to her about two weeks ago and said, "Your uncle Ed has to
come down for an operation Monday next, but it would be more convenient for
me if I could bring him down on Friday. Could you put up with him for a
couple of days?" she said, "Of course." So down he came.
Her uncle Ed is one of what we call "Norwegian Bachelor Farmers".
Old, old man, lives in a two room house just west of town. Farms about 80
acres with the help of a couple of big black Belgian horses, named Queeny
and Gus. Raises wheat, mainly. Lives by himself. Keeps his place fairly
neet, according to his own standards. Keeps himself fairly clean, accord-
ing to the same. Splashes on a little wintergreen every week or so. When-
ever he feels uncomfortable being with himself, he takes a bath.
He came down on a Friday night. Never been to the city before. Tina
opened the door and there he was, old uncle Ed, dressed in a blue wool suit
from about forty years ago, he pro'bly bought it and I'll bet it was used
then. He looked so frightened she couldn't help but put her arms around
him, led him into the house, sat him down in the kitchen, got a little
strong coffee in him, a little brandy. He felt a little better so that he
could almost talk.
He said, "Well, den, how are yeh, Tina?"
She said, "I'm just fine" she said. "How are you" she said. He's a
little hard a' hearing. You gotta speak up, into his right ear.
He said, "I never felt better in my life. I don't know whose damn
silly idea this was, anyway!"
And that was about it for conversation. Norwegian Bachelor Farmers
don't waste a lot of time talkin'. He was tired. She took him up to the
bedroom, put him to bed. Went up there the next morning. Found that he'd
slept all night in the chair. Said the bed was too big for him. Didn't
want to mess up the covers.
She brought him down. He sat down to breakfast with her husband and
the boy. Husband tried to ask him questions about farming with horses and
about his boyhood, and the rest of it. Uncle Ed didn't have much to say.
Norwegian Bachelor Farmers do not necessarily answer when people ask them
dumb questions. Somebody wants to ask a dumb question, that's their busi-
ness.
"Well, that must be sure interesting, uncle Ed, farming with those
horses and all. Eighty acres, huh? Out west of town, huh?"
"Yup."
After breakfast, she took him out in the back yard, in the chaise
lounge. He sat down, put his head back, and he went to sleep. She sat
there by him, just to have a look at him. Old, old man. Big tangle of
white hair on the top of his head, probably never been combed. Blue wool
suit that he'slept in. His old work boots on. No tie but his white shirt
buttoned right up to the top. That's formal for a Norwegian Bachelor
Farmer. That's for when they go out, button the top button.
She took his hand in hers. Big hand. Big thick hand, and the skin
like leather. And she remembered when she was 4, 5 years old, out at his
farm, how he picked her up and sat her down on top of one of the big black
Belgian horses, which for her was like someone putting her up on top of a
house. And he walked along beside, as the horse walked around in the yard,
and he held onto her with his hand. And then later, sitting on front of
the hay rick, holding onto the rail, and he was standing there beside her,
as the horses went trotting out, across the yard, and across the pasture in
a harness, jingling. And they stopped at the fence, and he got off to open
up the fence, and he put the reins in her hand, and he said, "You hold 'em
now, Tina."
And she sat there, and she pulled back as hard as she could pull. And
she said, "Whoaaaaa."
Even though those horses wouldn't a' taken a step without his saying
so, she was there. She was holding 'em back. She remembered all that.
That was a long time ago, for her. She'd left that, long time before. Now
here he was, old man goin' in for an operation. Now he was sitting on top
of a black horse. And now she was the adult and he was the child. But it
was a horse that she didn't know, if she could hold back or not.
Well, she decided that she'd take him out for a night on the town, in
a city he'd never seen. Her husband said, "Oh, I think he'd be a lot hap-
pier just staying in the house, with us."
And she said, "Maybe so, but he's never seen the city before. And I
would feel if I kept him here, that maybe part of it was because I was
ashamed to be seen with him, so we're going to take him downtown."
And they got in the car. She sat in the back seat with uncle Ed.
They drove around the lakes. He was kind'a curious about people running,
around the lakes. What were they doin'?
She said, "They're doing that for exercise, uncle Ed."
He said, "That's kind'a dumb, ain't it! Why don't they get work? Why
don't the get jobs?"
They went downtown. She decided they'd take him up to the top of the
IDS building. They went in the building. They got in the elevator. He
grabbed for her hand. And as the elevator went up 50 floors, she could
feel through his hand that this was like death. This was more like death
than death itself. And when they got to the top, he sat down on a bench.
They said, "You gotta come look out the window...see the city."
He said, "I seen it before."
Finally, he did take just a one look out the window, and then they
went back down. He said, "I don't see how people can live like that."
They took him to a restaurant, at a hotel. They walked in, the
matre'd looked at them, looked at this old man in the old suit, with his
work boots on, his hair not combed. Looked at the well dressed couple and
their well dressed son. Matre'd thought, "Well, that's their business.
Some people like to donate money to the poor. Maybe some people like to
pick up bums off the street, take'em to dinner."
He gave'em a table back in the corner, back behind a palm tree. Uncle
Ed is hard of hearing. When he talks, his voice carries, all the way to
the kitchen. The waiter brought him a brandy, which he'd asked for. Uncle
Ed looked at it. He picked out the ice cubes.
"God Damn," he said. "Charge ya two bucks for a drink, and then they
water it down." He picked out the ice cubes.
Tina's husband was looking off at the ceiling. He was looking off at
the walls, as if he didn't know these people. They just come in, they've
been seated at his table, he was not with them, this was not happening.
The boy sat there grinning. He'd never seen his dad so embarrassed. He
wanted to see more of it.
Tina, she sat by her uncle, and she talked. She carried on a monolog,
and when people at other tables kind'a snuck a stare over at them, she
looked right back at them. She stared right back at them, as if there was
nothing wrong. And when they got up, she went with him to the salad bar,
she walked across the room over to the salad bar. And when he said, "God
Damn, they sure give ya small plates, don't they?", she said, "Yes, they
do." And when he heaped it all up with a macaroni salad, she paid no
attention. And when the waiter brought the broiled torsk, with a sauce on
it, and uncle Ed took a bite of it, and he said, "That's a hell of a shame
to do that to a fish," she just kept on talking. She just kept on talking
about the family and all the people that she remembered from when she was
young. And the people that came from Norway, and all about their history.
She just talked. Nothing was wrong for her.
It's one thing, you know, and it's a fine thing to know how to behave
in a fancy restaurant, but it's better to know where you come from. He was
a strange old man, but he was her ancestor.
Well, he went in for the operation on Monday. They let him out on
Friday. The doctors said six months or a year, they didn't know how long.
But then again, with somebody like uncle Ed, there's no telling.
They drove him home to the farm. The horses were there waiting for
him, Queeny and Gus. They hadn't eaten all week. The horses, they knew
something was wrong. They'd been standing all week out behind the barn,
looking for him off down the road. The car came in the yard, and they saw
he was in it, and they called to him. And he managed to walk over there
and get out a couple ears of corn, and a pail of oats, and a forkful of
hay, and put it down for them. And he spoke to them in Norwegian, the only
language those horses understand. And he told them that the city was a
hellhole, but some of the people in it weren't bad. And he was glad to be
back, and he was tired, and he was going to go in and lay down and take a
nap. And tomorrow, they would go out and cultivate.
And that's the news from Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong,
all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average.
--
Robert Reed, Tektronix Logic Design Systems, tektronix!tekgds!bobr