Free The Age of Cities by Brett Josef Grubisic Page A

skin—even after valiantly trying grandfather Wong’s remedy of abstaining from potatoes for two entire months, during winter. (“Too much heat” was his slow-coming explanation.) Now she would do the same with a swollen foot. Oh well, what can a soul do but try? It didn’t warrant all her doting—she believed that living through children like some kind of leech was no better than staring mournfully at dusty old photographs. The whole she-bang was in fact easy to forget about: he didn’t limp or complain and was not in the habit of parading around barefooted.
    â€œ C’est tout ,” she said to Winston one morning when he asked about the contents of her latest concoction. “I’m about to make a batch of cheddar scones, so it’s flour in the bowl this time. I thought I’d make your coffee first. That okay?” Winston was surprised that Alberta would admit defeat so soon. He thought to feel slighted—his own mother giving up on him, was nothing sacred?—but reminded himself that he had no real faith in her brand of medicine.
    â€œI wonder when,” he muttered. He crossed the room and ran an index finger along the days of the kitchen calendar. Having finished percolating Winston’s coffee, Alberta was measuring leaves for her morning pot of tea. Grendel was stretched out at her feet; Alberta had dropped him a few dried catnip leaves, and after a spasm of activity the cat had settled into a euphoric slumber.
    Winston spoke to her from across the room. “Mother, this is going to be another permanent feature on me, like weak eyesight or dandruff in winter. It doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t change, it’s simply there. Nevertheless.”
    â€œThat’s what I said when my hair began to thin out. ‘It’s just there,’ or not there in my case, I suppose. Anyway, you’ll always notice it,” Alberta held up an imaginary hand mirror and squinted. “I’m just a Gorgon without the snakes.”
    â€œOh, Mother.”
    â€œYou’re going to take another trip to the city?”
    â€œI may make a weekend of it. See a show or two. Get you some more of that Lapsang Souchung, even though I can’t fathom why you drink the noxious smoky stuff. Say, why don’t you come along? We can make a weekend of it.”
    â€œNow there’s an idea, though it’s spring and I’ve made the switch out of Lapsang. Of course.” Her tone was snappish, suggesting that Winston was dumb as an auk. “But you’re right, we could make a weekend of it. It’s been too long since this old girl has done anything except slave at the stove.” Winston thought his mother was tart and vinegary this overcast morning.
    With lips pursed and arms crossed, he turned to her. “You poor so and so. Well, I hereby grant you manumission. For one weekend only, mind you. Today’s your lucky day.” Winston realized that it had been years in fact since he and Alberta had spent a frivolous weekend away from the Bend. They talked of packing their luggage and taking a train or bus somewhere, but the actual trip never seemed to materialize.
    Alberta improvised an African genuflection. “O massuh, you da bestest massuh evuh.”
    Fully grinning, he returned his attention to the calendar. “I’ll have to make a long distance call to the hotel and doctor this time. Let’s hope there’s a space in his appointment book.”
    She walked to the sink and stared out the window. She exclaimed, “Well, I’m going to have to air out my glad-rags. At the very least. They’ve been stuffed in a corner of my closet so long they are as wrinkled as all get out—I don’t even have to look. Let’s hope there’s no mould and that the moths haven’t had a field day.”
    Â 
    Â 
    â€œYou’re turning into quite the city slicker.” He looked up to see Delilah at the