Free Going Ashore by Mavis Gallant Page B

between two tins of chocolate empire biscuits,” said Marina. “Which our mother took and with a rich Rumanian curse –”
    “That part’s a lie,” said Georgie, shouting.
    “– flung as far as she could out the kitchen window. I guess her arm wasn’t too good, because it fell in the snow by the fence.”
    “She never swore in her life,” said Georgie. “That’s a lousy thing to say the day of her funeral.” His voice went hoarse, brandy having failed to restore the ravages of weeping.
    “Since when do you drink so much, too?” Carol asked her. “I’d like Mama to see you.” Virtuously, he pushed her empty glass out of her reach.
    “In the spring,” said Marina, “after the snow melted some, little brother Victor wandered out in the yard –”
    “I was a kid,” Victor told his wife, who wore a faint, puzzled smile, as if the end of this could only be a wonderful joke.
    “A stripling,” Marina said. “Full of admiration for the pranks of his older brothers.”
    “Tell the story or shut up,” said Carol.
    “Found the little gun,” said Marina, “all wet and rusty. Was it, Vic? I’ve forgotten that part. Anyway he took it to school and after making sure that every boy in class had admired it –”
    “The dumb little bastard,” said Carol, looking moodily at the floor.
    “– took it to a pawnshop that can be seen from the front door here, and, instead of pawning it, poked it into the stomach of a Mr. Levinson. It was noon –”
    “Twelve o’clock noon,” said Carol. “Jesus.”
    “I don’t believe this,” said Peggy Ann. Her eyebrows drew together, fumbling in her handbag, she found a handkerchief with a rolled tiny black border. “I don’t believe it.”
    “As I said, it was noon,” said Marina. She clutched the back of Carol’schair, looking straight at Victor. “Little children were passing by. Mr. Levinson called out to them – small girls in convent dresses, I think they were. Victor must have been nervous, because he took one look at the little girls and cut for home, running down the street waving the gun like a flag.”
    “It isn’t true,” said Peggy Ann, mopping her eyes. “Anyway, if he ever did do anything wrong, he had plenty of examples. I name no names.”
    “Don’t cry,” Victor told her. “Marina’s acting crazy. You heard what Carol said; she’s an old maid. She always took sides against me, even though I never gave Mama half the trouble –”
    “We know,” Georgie said, smiling. “Mama knew it. That’s why she left you the store. See?” He tapped Victor affectionately on the arm, and Victor jumped.
    “I never took sides,” Marina said. “I never knew any of you were even alive.” She brushed lint from her dyed suit and glanced across at Peggy Ann’s fragile and costly black summer frock. “Do I finish this story, or not?”
    “Tell it, tell it,” said Georgie. “You don’t have to make it a speech. Callahan and Vronsky came and told Mama for six hundred there’d be no charge. So Mama paid it, so that’s the end.”
    “They looked at Mama’s bankbook,” Marina said. “Vronsky had a girl my age at home, he said, just eighteen, so that meant he had to pat my behind. Mama had just the six, so they said that would do.”
    “Six,” Georgie said. The injustice of the sum appeared to overwhelm him anew. “For a first offense. They would have settled for one-fifty each in those days.”
    “You weren’t around to advise us,” Marina said. “The nice thing was that we had it to give. As I said before, that was the year I didn’t go any place.”
    “For Christ’s sake stop harping on that,” Victor said. “Sure, Mama did it for me. Why wouldn’t she want to keep me out of trouble? Any mother would’ve done it.”
    “Any,” said Peggy Ann, looking around the table. “Any mother.”
    “You keep your snotty face out of this,” Carol said. He stood up, shouting. “Do you know what she had to do to get six hundred, how many