Free The Age of Cities by Brett Josef Grubisic Page B

library’s front door.
    Delilah’s being finished earlier than him was a rarity. She arranged regular meetings with students in order to keep up to date with their progress. It added an extra half-hour to her daily schedule, which Winston usually reminded her of when he was leaving for home. Today, he’d needed to spend some extra time on book orders. The restrictions of the budget had him feeling tetchy.
    â€œI bet you’ve found some sweetheart,” she said with a false smile.
    â€œYes, you’ve figured it all out, Miss Marple. Congratulations. You’ll be the first to get an invitation. We’re thinking of a spring wedding.” She’ll be a spinster in no time if she doesn’t watch herself, he thought after she’d quietly shut the door. Exposure to city life might do her some good.
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    During April’s trip to the city, Winston had scarcely looked up from Memoirs of Hadrian over the two hours the train took to reach the spectacular Pacific terminus. He’d known what lay beyond the coach’s window; the salmonberry bushes, cow pasture, and muddy river water were as unremarkable as zucchini in August. And he’d encountered gossips like the pair of downtrodden scavengers who’d sat across from him often enough to appreciate the value of a book. It acted as a charm to ward off evil. He’d considered those women in their faded calico, and concluded that the hero of his novel really was a deity. Publius Aelius Hadrianus. Now there was someone with a story worth paying attention to. He’d thought it was sad that dignity and heroism were so easy to locate in literature and yet such a rarity in daily life.
    Travelling with Alberta, though, he would not be given a chance to read anything, not even a newspaper. She said as much, the excitement seeping from her voice: “You’re not going to read now, I hope?” They sat facing one another. Alberta had placed her bags and gloves on the adjoining seat; Winston’s folded coat and hat were covering his. The novel rested on his lap; his index finger was wedged in where he’d left off.
    â€œSince you made us trudge down to the station like hobos, planting myself here and relaxing strikes me as ideal. Sheesh, how many miles was that?” Winston fixed his attention on the book’s cover.
    â€œBut there’s so much to look at.”
    â€œWhat do you mean? There’s nothing whatsoever out of the ordinary.” He swept through the scene outside with a quick dismissive glance.
    â€œLook at the trees. They’re luminous, as green as they get. And the river is more swollen than your foot can ever be.” Alberta was speaking from memory apparently, because she was bent over removing her shoes.
    â€œYes, O Empress of the Wild. Maybe Princess Stop and Smell the Roses should spend less time with her Indian friends. Besides, there was plenty of nature in ancient Greece. Olive trees, grape arbours, and hemlock galore.” He waved the book at her. Winston could think of nothing he’d prefer at this instance. He’d moved on to The King Must Die, but was still finding Theseus a bit stagy. All those pages of Attic speechifying, it was hammy. The novel was bound to improve.
    â€œTo raise such a cynic of a child. What ever did I do wrong?” Having finished unfastening her shoes, Alberta’s face remained fixed on the outdoor scene.
    â€œYou didn’t keep me in your papoose long enough, I suppose, Mother Nature. We’re going to be incinerated by the sunshine in about five minutes, so maybe we should just pull down the blind.” He stood and began to reach for the dangling cord.
    â€œDon’t you dare! So cheeky!” They were both smiling. The bantering was their comic routine—as old as any of their shared memories. They both relished it and exaggerated their differences for the sport.
    â€œYou know, whenever I’m on the train and