Magnetism Page 5

  ‘A booking? Finally, a booking,’ Brad says. ‘Anyone would think that the world had come to an end.’

  ‘For thousands of people it has. I don’t know why they weren’t evacuated quicker. I think it’s really bad, really.’

  ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day. Big things take time. They know what they’re doing, and people like you who don’t know all the facts shouldn’t overreact,’ he says.

  I don’t respond. I read in the Reader’s Digest that if you want to do well in a job it’s best to let the boss have the last word and this is true, I’m sure, even if he is an asshole like mine. Brad’s latest line is that no one can accuse him of discrimination, because he hates black people and gay people equally.

  ‘I still say she should have postponed or chosen some other place.’ We are whispering. The wedding, being held in a place known as the catfish capital of the world, is about to begin.

  ‘This venue is not available again for another two months.’

  ‘Well, it’s hardly available now. Some of the glass is covered with Saran Wrap. Who wants to get married in Belzoni? The town sounds like a pizza.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be such a snob,’ Mom says.

  We are still arguing as the music starts up. Patty’s Mississippi groom walks down the makeshift aisle, backslapping, shoulder-squeezing, high-fiving and talking to everyone as he makes his way to the front. I’m glad we’re not sitting on the aisle.

  The first thing you notice about Gary is his moustache and receding chin. He looks a bit like an old chipmunk. At first his hair doesn’t look long, because it’s pulled back in a ponytail. We keep getting a view of a large round bald patch on the very top of his head when he bends down to speak to the seated guests. He is wearing a white suit that must be pure linen because it looks so bedraggled. This was a really bad choice, because it is crazy humid; Patty is getting married in the hot-house of a sort of botanical gardens. There is a terrible stench of lilies and the strong earthy smell of some mulch they must have used to pack in the flowers. Some of the orchids look tilted, wilted and dying. However, all of the flowers everywhere are oversized – like this place is the ‘after’ of genetic engineering gone wrong.

  There are plenty of empty seats around. Someone should suggest we squeeze up, but it doesn’t look like anyone is taking charge of the event. I can’t spot an MC. This kind of thing irritates me because, professionally speaking, when people don’t know what to do they experience anxiety.

  My hair is beginning to frizz up and I’m starting to envy Mom’s wig. It might be artificial but hers is the only hair within fifty feet that looks like it probably is supposed to look. A couple of years ago she bought this wig for use in emergencies and she didn’t have time to get her colour done before the trip. It looks exactly the same as her own hair – short and ash-blonde, the same style she’s had for years now.

  I try to remember when she cut her hair because when I was a kid it was quite long, but maybe it was gradual. As women get older their hair needs to be coloured more and more frequently, and in middle age there seems to be an unspoken rule that it should be cut. Shorter and shorter the hair goes and then it starts to thin, so finally, I suppose, a wig is the neatest, most reliable solution. Liz Taylor used to wear one all the time.

  Speaking of Elizabeth Taylor, I haven’t seen Patty in at least a decade and, since I last saw her, she’s put on a hundred and fifty pounds. Even the Jurassic Park flowers here can’t disguise her size as she waddles towards the podium where Gary and the lady officiate are waiting.

  There are no bridesmaids and, although this is her third or fourth marriage and she’s my mother’s age, Patty is wearing a white wedding dress with a cream lace veil over her face. She looks like a slightly toasted marshmallow. An extremely old and small man with a walker escorts her. Mom nudges me and whispers, ‘That’s Patty’s uncle.’ When some little kid starts to wail the sound distracts him. He lets go of the walker to straighten up and look around, puzzled, like he’s forgotten where he was or what he was supposed to be doing. Patty tugs on his arm to encourage him forward again.

  ‘Alzheimer’s,’ Mom says. ‘Pitiful.’

  As soon as they get to the front, Gary pulls the uncle towards a waiting chair and uses the walker to block him in place. Patty lifts the veil off her own face and dumps the flowers on her uncle’s lap.

  We are called to order. The officiate begins by saying she is here, with us, to participate in our experience. She says her role is to ensure it is all done according to the laws of Mississippi. Her title is ‘celebrant’ and she fully anticipates that she will celebrate with us today. She makes a little clapping motion. I begin to be entranced by her large, expressive hands, which she uses to emphasise otherwise familiar words in the marriage ceremony. Perhaps referring to Patty’s previous series of unsuccessful marriages, she gestures with her right thumb over her shoulder and tells us, ‘The past is there, in the past. Locked away – ’ she mimes turning a key in a lock ‘ – safe and secure, not to be revisited.’ Now her face becomes serious as she indicates the four sides of a box, or safe perhaps, and she pauses, allowing this information to sink in, before she continues. ‘Time to come … ’ She stops and points to indicate that the future is situated in the lobby, ‘is yet to arrive.’ At this her face lifts into a big smile. We should be happy about the future. I’m beginning to wonder if she perhaps was the only hearing child in a household of deaf people.

  Mom whispers, ‘Does she think we’re all idiots?’

  ‘Shush.’ I like this woman’s sincerity. This is probably a second career for her. I’m sure people don’t set out to do this kind of work until they’ve acquired a bit of life experience because it must be difficult to command a mixed audience like this. She looks a little bit older than me – in her fifties probably – and she’s wearing a sensible outfit for the occasion, for her large size, and for the heat: a flowing dress in thin material, grey background with small geometric patterns randomly set.

  Now she’s talking about the highway of life – she indicates holding a steering wheel – ‘with all the potential of a lot of different paths to take.’ She turns her head all the way left and right, convincingly like a confused driver. And then she does another long pause for us to catch up and finally she concludes, ‘Patty and Gary have decided to go this way … here … today.’ Using both hands, she dramatically points to the ground immediately in front of the feet of the bride and groom. Everyone seems to lean forward in unison to look at whatever she’s pointing at and at this movement the old man, Patty’s uncle, suddenly stands up. The bouquet falls to the ground and he shouts, ‘What the hell is happening?’

  Patty rushes over to calm him and gets him seated again and the woman quickly sums it all up by announcing Patty and Gary ‘wife and husband.’ For my part, I’m a bit disappointed that she decides to end it so abruptly, because not only have I been enjoying the dramatics, I’ve concluded that this style of talk would also do nicely for a funeral service, and if she could go on for a bit longer it would test the theory more soundly.

  After the ceremony, over champagne and cloying strawberry tartlets served by bored-looking waitresses, Gary continues to work what would be the room; his interaction is easier now that people are no longer stationary and everyone is nearly eye-level. ‘Just call me Gary,’ he says when he wanders up to Mom and me. We’re huddled together near the drinks table. She’s had three; I’m on my second glass.

  I ask, ‘So have you got another name we could use?’

  He looks at me blankly.

  Mom tells him first that she and Patty have been friends forever and then introduces me. ‘This is my daughter. She begged to come with me. Support, you know, and Patty knows her. She positively adores Patty. We’re very close.’

  I’m not sure if Mom means she and I are close or that she and Patty are close but Gary seems to understand well enough that we’re all good buddies. He nods. ‘Uh huh.’ There is a brief, polite, pause then he changes gea
r and says, ‘So, have you heard the joke about the guy out hunting in the woods?’ I have already heard Brad tell this stupid joke a hundred times. ‘So, anyway,’ Gary says without acknowledging my nod, ‘this guy shot his friend. Hunting accident. He phones 911 and he tells them there’s been an accident and he’s shot this guy and the girl on the phone asks, is he dead? She asks, is he dead? First thing, can you check and see that he’s dead? And then … and then … ha, ha, ha … there’s another shot … The guy comes back to the phone and says okay, now he’s dead. Ha, ha, ha,’ Gary says, ‘what do you make of that, hey?’

  Mom starts up with fake laughing.

  ‘So exactly how long have you known Patty?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh, years. Long time,’ he says. He is looking over my shoulder.

  ‘Hilarious joke,’ Mom says. ‘Ha, ha, ha.’

  He drifts away again and Mom says to me, ‘She’s got some terrible taste in men, but there was no need to be rude.’

  ‘I can’t think when it’s this hot. I’m sweating like a pig.’

  ‘Yes, imagine poor Patty. How hot she must be – the size of a baby elephant.’

  ‘So, what happened? Stomach balloon removed?’

  ‘She was in fashion. I guess when she retired she wanted to eat.’ She pauses to look around. ‘Honey, I’ve got to find the restroom.’ Now she puts her empty champagne flute to her cheek then her forehead. It tilts the wig a bit, makes it a little crooked and it’s suddenly obvious that she’s wearing a wig. Before I can say anything Patty waves and heads our way. She makes a grab for Mom. They air kiss and the hair moves a little more. ‘Let me look at you,’ Patty says, speaking to Mom. ‘How long has it been?’

  ‘Let me look at you. There’s sure a lot to see.’

  ‘I know.’ She looks around. ‘We chose the place because it’s just so unusual. Hey, you grew up around here, didn’t you?’ She doesn’t wait for a reply and breathlessly rushes on. ‘I’m so, so, so pleased you made the effort. I know Katrina rather stole the show. Did you meet my man Gary yet?’

  ‘We sure did,’ Mom says.

  ‘Isn’t he just one sweet guy? My man. My man,’ Patty repeats.

  ‘He is that. Funny guy. And it’s all legal, done and dusted.’ Mom puts down her empty and reaches for another glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waitress, and, again, rests this one against her cheek. It moves the wig once more. ‘Ah, that’s better.’

  But Patty isn’t listening because she’s spotted this and gasps. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘It’s a sauna in here,’ Mom says. ‘Never mind blushing, you must be the boiling bride.’

  ‘Honey, do you need any help? Can I get you anything? God, all this time and life just goes so fast and then it’s over. Oh, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘My mom is not dying,’ I say.

  Mom says, ‘Patty, you are the most bouncy-back person I will ever know.’

  ‘Oh, honey, you are just so kind to say something like that.’ She looks like she’s about to cry. Underneath all that blubber she’s got a pretty face, and she obviously really cares about Mom. ‘Coming from you that means loads. I don’t know anyone who has overcome as much as you.’

  I say, ‘We were just on our way to the restroom to freshen up. Where can we find it?’

  ‘Over there.’ She points to near the entrance. Then she leans over and hisses in my ear, ‘I’m so, so sorry. Thank you for making this effort to come along. You must let me know, won’t you? Oh, God.’

  ‘She’s fine,’ I say. ‘Really. She is.’

  ‘So brave!’ she calls after us. ‘So, so brave.’

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Mom says. ‘I can’t believe you let me come.’

  We go straight past the restrooms and out the entrance into the slightly fresher heat the other side of the double doors. ‘Who in their right mind would have a wedding this time of year?’ Mom says. She wobbles on her feet as she gets into the taxi – probably waiting for someone else – outside.

  ‘Well, who’d get married?’ I reply.

  But I guess Mom has absorbed something of the wedding talk and she’s been drinking. ‘You know, honey, sometimes I even miss your dad, God rest his sad little soul, and you must miss something from when you were married to the midget.’

  ‘He wasn’t a midget.’

  ‘Dwarf, then.’

  ‘He was the love of my life.’

  ‘Suppose a person doesn’t notice height when you’re lying down.’ She laughs at her joke.

  ‘I do kind of miss regular sex.’ This is true. I frequently miss having someone near me in bed at night. I suddenly realise how much I want to be wanted like that by a man again. I wonder if I’ll ever be wanted like that again. ‘Maybe Patty did a good thing getting married. She’ll have done a pre-nup, of course.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Then Mom sounds wistful when she says, ‘Me, I’d have liked the opportunity to miss regular sex. But your father … ’

  I interrupt. I don’t want to hear about whatever they got up to in bed, or didn’t.

  ‘Love,’ I say. ‘Patty must just love Gary. God knows why, but that must be it.’

  ‘You know, nowadays you can have regular sex, honey – as much as you want or as much as you need – with whoever you want, whatever you want nowadays, no one needs to be married any more, unless you want an excuse for an event, I guess. People can sleep with other people. It’s okay.’

  ‘I know that.’

  I spot that the cab driver is following our conversation with interest. He is looking at the two of us in his rear-view mirror and smirking.

  Normally I’d have given him the finger, but in this backwater dump in an unfamiliar state and given the content of our conversation, it wouldn’t help the situation, so I just look out the window and calculate how much his tip would have been now that he’s not going to have one.

  It’s a long enough drive – around twenty miles back to the motel – and Mom seems to doze off. Where we stayed last night and will stay tonight is halfway between the wedding venue and Mid Delta Airport outside Greenville. We didn’t rent a car because there was nothing available when we arrived. It’s such a small place clearly not even rent-a-wreck can be bothered to make the effort. I saw some diner within walking distance where we can eat tonight, but there are no bright lights in Belzoni.

  When we get back to the room, the TV is blaring out. ‘You forgot to turn the TV off.’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ she says.

  ‘I went to the office to get the cab and left you here. You didn’t turn it off.’

  ‘The maid must have been watching it.’ She pulls the wig from her head and throws it on her bed. ‘I’m going to take a shower and cool down. Turn the AC up. This humidity and heat is just awful.’

  ‘I know you left the TV on,’ I mutter. I sit down on my bed right in front of the screen where images of the hurricane aftermath are crowding in one after the other accompanied by commentary about the too-little, too-late evacuation. There are more amateur video clips, then still after still of stranded people. Almost every single one of the people in the pictures is black. There’s one of a mother trying to hold her small child above the water, of a man in a boat struggling to paddle it with a plank of wood, of what appears to be a dead body floating in the floodwater.

  ‘You should change the channel,’ she calls through from the bathroom.

  Instead I turn up the AC as she requested. Cool air blasts into the room from the unit.

  I think about the past and future of these people and of the place. Poverty is a life sentence, sometimes a death sentence. Poverty ties people to places for generations.

  This county here seems really deprived, full of inbred trailer-trash rednecks. Patty said Mom grew up not far away, which is hard to believe, but Mom didn’t disagree. She never talks about her childhood. She had a couple of sisters that she hated and, once she moved out of state with Dad, I think she never saw them again. Most seniors bang on about th
e past, but not Mom. Where we lived when I grew up, and where she lives now, are a different world from this one. I momentarily regret withholding the tip from the cab driver.

  Mom comes back into the room, dripping wet and wrapped in a towel. ‘I agree with Patty.’ She glances at the TV. ‘You can’t always focus on the bad stuff. Put on the shopping channel.’

  I don’t move. The president is being interviewed in Mississippi. ‘Bush is in Biloxi,’ I say. ‘It’s real bad there too.’

  ‘That’s hundreds of miles from here.’

  ‘Two hundred.’

  The coverage cuts back to stills of the damage. There’s a dead dog at the side of a pile of slurry; an aerial view of the tops of houses, like Monopoly pieces in a puddle; a helicopter tries to rescue a woman and what looks like a boy, but might be a girl, or another woman, the two of them are clinging to a rooftop. Then there’s a video clip of a helicopter circling a family group – a man holding a baby, a woman and another small child. The helicopter flies off suddenly, apparently abandoning the rescue effort.

  ‘How can they leave people like this?’ I say.

  ‘Don’t upset yourself.’

  She goes back to the bathroom and I hear the hairdryer going. ‘Shut the door,’ I shout, but she doesn’t reply. Maybe she can’t hear me, but, then, she never actually listens to me. I turn up the volume. It looks like reports from a war zone or something and it reminds me about how Vietnam invaded our home when I was a little kid.

  The entire landscape will never be the same again. It’ll take a quarter of a century before it starts to look okay. There are more and more photos. People in distress crying, devastated houses. The ticker-tape at the bottom of the screen reports that the Superdome roof is leaking and the building is now flooding. The conditions inside are dire and there are reports of violence, drugs and rape. None confirmed, it adds, but three evacuees have died there already. Buses are to evacuate the stadium and also the tens of thousands of people currently housed in the New Orleans Convention Center. They’re taking them to Texas.