Far-Flung by Peter Cameron Read Free Book Online

backyard. They were putting on a show for one another. His grandmother stood up and sang “Getting to Know You.” Then the twins performed a sort of tap dance, but without tap shoes or music it was rather thumpy and chaotic. Jack watched from inside the house, like a voyeur.
    He called his grandmother the next day. The phone rang and rang, unanswered. Fearing the worst, he took the first train to Bedford. The front door was unlocked. The curtains in the living room were all drawn and the house was dark. His grandmother lay on the sofa. She sat up as he entered the room.
    “Who is it?” she asked, feeling on the coffee table for her glasses.
    “It’s me,” he said, “John.”
    “Haven’t you heard of knocking?” she asked.
    “I thought something had happened to you,” he said. “I tried to call you, and there was no answer. I thought you were dead.”
    “Not quite dead,” she said. “Just napping.”
    “Jesus,” he said. He opened the curtains.
    “Close them,” she said. “I’m trying to keep the house cool.”
    He closed the curtains and sat down beside her on the couch. He realized he was panting and tried to catch his breath. He was sweating, too. “Have you heard from Aunt Helen?” he finally asked. “When is she coming back?”
    “Not for a while. Apparently she was moister than anyone of us thought.”
    “Well, I’m worried about you being here alone,” Jack said. “I’m planning to go back home, and I don’t like it that you’re here alone.”
    “Actually,” his grandmother said, “I was thinking about getting a chimpanzee.”
    “What?” he asked.
    “A chimpanzee. For a companion. I’ve read they make wonderful companions. They’re very intelligent, you know, and clean.”
    “Isn’t it against the law to own wild animals?”
    “Apparently not chimpanzees.”
    “I can’t believe we’re talking about monkeys. You aren’t serious about this, are you?”
    “Of course I am serious.”
    “I think it’s sick. It’s macabre. It’s like Nora Desmond in Sunset Boulevard.”
    “Nor ma Desmond.”
    “Whatever.”
    “What about your promise?” Mrs. Carter asked.
    “What?”
    “I am changing the subject. You promised to paint me a picture of Benders Bay. I don’t suppose you have.”
    Jack had forgotten all about the. painting. “Oh,” he said.
    “You forgot? I thought so.”
    “I didn’t forget. I just haven’t had time. I’ve been very busy.”
    “Of course,” she said.
    “I’ll go up this week,” he said. “Before I go back.”
    Mrs. Carter leaned forward and kissed him. “It was very sweet of you to rush out here. I’m sorry I unplugged the phone. I should have told you. I keep it unplugged unless I want to make a call or expect one.”
    “What if someone has to get in touch with you?”
    “They can send a telegram. That is what telegrams are for.”
    “Telegrams are delivered over the phone.”
    “What happened to the little men on bicycles?”
    “I don’t know. They all died.”
    This news momentarily silenced Mrs. Carter.
    “Well, that’s a shame,” she finally said. “A damn shame.” She stood up. “Come,” she said. “It’s lunchtime. Are you hungry? How about a sandwich?”
    That night he called Langley. He explained about the painting, telling her he wasn’t sure when he’d be back.
    “That’s very sweet of you, to do a painting for your grandmother,” she said.
    Jack let her think that. It was the second time that day someone had told him he was sweet, yet he felt less than sweet. “Did you get the part?” he asked.
    “No,” she said. “They’re postponing production while they rethink the concept. They’ve decided it’s politically incorrect to make fun of commies. I can’t believe the end of the Cold War is fucking up my career.”
    “That’s a shame,” said Jack.
    “That’s the breaks,” Langley said.
    “Listen,” he said. “Why don’t you fly out here? And we’ll go out to Fishers together? We can stay a