Free The Early Stories by John Updike Page A

complex,” John began.
    â€œTalk like what, Mother? Talk like what?”
    â€œThen let me turn this off,” Mrs. Lutz said, snapping the right knob on the television set.
    â€œOh, Mother, and I was listening to it!” Thelma toppled into a chair, her legs flashing. When she pouted, John thought, she was delicious.
    Mrs. Lutz had set herself to give sympathy. Her lap was broadened and her hands were laid palm upward in it.
    â€œIt’s not much of a problem,” John assured her. “But we’re having some people to dinner from Philadelphia.” He turned to Thelma and added, “If anything is going on tonight, I can’t get out.”
    â€œLife is just too, too full of disappointments,” Thelma said.
    â€œLook, is there?”
    â€œToo, too full,” Thelma said.
    Mrs. Lutz made fluttery motions out of her lap. “These Philadelphia people.”
    John said, “Maybe I shouldn’t bother you about this.” He waited, but she just looked more and more patient, so he went on. “My mother wants to give them wine, and my father isn’t home from school yet. He might not get home before the liquor store closes. It’s at six, isn’t it? My mother’s busy cleaning the house, so I walked in.”
    â€œShe made you walk the whole mile? Poor thing, can’t you drive?” Mrs. Lutz asked.
    â€œ
Sure
I can drive. But I’m not sixteen yet.”
    â€œYou look a lot taller than fifteen.”
    John looked at Thelma to see how she took that one, but Thelma was pretending to read a rented novel wrapped in cellophane.
    â€œI walked all the way to the liquor store,” John told Mrs. Lutz, “but they wouldn’t give me anything without written permission. It was a new man.”
    â€œYour sorrow has rent me in twain,” Thelma said, as if she was reading it from the book.
    â€œPay no attention, John,” Mrs. Lutz said. “Frank will be home any second. Why not wait until he comes and let him run down with you for a bottle?”
    â€œThat sounds wonderful. Thanks an awful lot, really.”
    Mrs. Lutz’s hand descended upon the television knob. Some smiling man was playing the piano. John didn’t know who he was; there wasn’t any television at his house. They watched in silence until Mr. Lutz thumped on the porch outside. The empty milk bottles tinkled, as if they had been nudged. “Now, don’t be surprised if he has a bit of a load on,” Mrs. Lutz said.
    Actually, he didn’t act at all drunk. He was like a happy husband in the movies. He called Thelma his little pookie-pie and kissed her on the forehead; then he called his wife his big pookie-pie and kissed her on the mouth. Then he solemnly shook John’s hand and told him how very, very happy he was to see him here and asked after his parents. “Is that goon still on television?” he said finally.
    â€œDaddy, please pay attention to somebody else,” Thelma said, turning off the television set. “Janny wants to talk to you.”
    â€œAnd
I
want to talk to
Johnny
,” Thelma’s father said. He spread his arms suddenly, clenching and unclenching his fists. He was a big man, with shaved gray hair above his ears, which were small and flat to his head. John couldn’t think of the word to begin.
    Mrs. Lutz explained the errand. When she was through, Mr. Lutz said, “People from Philadelphia. I bet their name isn’t William L. Trexler, is it?”
    â€œNo. I forget their name, but it’s not that. The man is an engineer. The woman went to college with my mother.”
    â€œOh. College people. Then we must get them something very, very nice, I should say.”
    â€œDaddy,” Thelma said. “
Please
. The store will close.”
    â€œTessie, you hear John. People from college. People with diplomas. And it is very nearly closing time, and who isn’t on their way?” He tookJohn’s