Montreal Stories by Mavis Gallant Page B

If you don’t want me to, my mother-in-law will.”
    “I could help you take him to the hospital.”
    “Forget the Fenton family,” he said. “Lunch is the cutoff.”
    Late in the afternoon Ray came home and they had tea and sandwiches at the kitchen table. Nora was wearing Gerry’s old white terry-cloth robe. Her washed hair was in rollers.
    “There was nothing to it, no problem,” she said again. “He needed a hospital checkup. He was run-down. I don’t know which hospital.”
    “I could find out,” said Ray.
    “I think they don’t want anybody around.”
    “What did you eat for lunch?” said her mother.
    “Some kind of cold soup. Some kind of cold meat. A fruit salad. Iced tea. The men drank beer. There was no bread on the table.”
    “Pass Nora the peanut butter,” said Ray.
    “Did you meet Mr. Fenton because of Ninette,” said Nora, “or did you know him first? Did you know Dr. Marchand first, or Mr. Fenton?”
    “It’s a small world,” said her father. “Anyways, I’ve got some money for you.”
    “How much?” said Nora. “No, never mind. I’ll ask if I ever need it.”
    “You’ll never need anything,” he said. “Not as long as your old dad’s around.”
    “You know that Mrs. Clopstock?” said Nora. “She’s the first person I’ve ever met from Toronto. I didn’t stare at her, but I took a good look. Maman, how can you tell real pearls?”
    “They wouldn’t be real,” said Ray. “The real ones would be on deposit. Rosalie had a string of pearls.”
    “They had to sell them on account of Ninette,” said her mother.
    “Maybe you could find out the name of the hospital,” Nora said. “He might like to see me. He knows me.”
    “He’s already forgotten you,” her mother said.
    “I wouldn’t swear to that,” said Ray. “I can remember somebody bending over my baby buggy. I don’t know who it was, though.”
    He will remember that I picked him up, Nora decided. He will remember the smell of the incense. He will remember the front door and moving into the dark hall. I’ll try to remember him. It’s the best I can do.
    She said to Ray, “What’s the exact truth? Just what’s on paper?”
    “Nora,” said her mother. “Look at me. Look me right in the face. Forget that child. He isn’t yours. If you want children, get married. All right?”
    “All right,” her father answered for her. “Why don’t you put on some clothes and I’ll take you both to a movie.” He began to whistle, not “Don’t Let It Bother You,” but some other thing just as easy.

THE END OF THE WORLD
    I NEVER LIKE to leave Canada, because I’m disappointed every time. I’ve felt disappointed about places I haven’t even seen. My wife went to Florida with her mother once. When they arrived there, they met some neighbors from home who told them about a sign saying NO CANADIANS . They never saw this sign anywhere, but they kept hearing about others who did, or whose friends had seen it, always in different places, and it spoiled their trip for them. Many people, like them, have never come across it but have heard about it, so it must be there somewhere. Another time I had to go and look after my brother Kenny in Buffalo. He had stolen a credit card and was being deported on that account. I went down to vouch for him and pay up for him and bring him home. Neither of us cared for Buffalo.
    “What have they got here that’s so marvelous?” I said.
    “Proust,” said Kenny.
    “What?”
    “Memorabilia,” he said. He was reading it off a piece of paper.
    “Why does a guy with your education do a dumb thing like swiping a credit card?” I said.
    “Does Mother know?” said Kenny.
    “Mum knows, and Lou knows, and I know, and Beryl knows. It was in the papers. ‘Kenneth Apostolesco, of this city …’ ”
    “I’d better stay away,” my brother said.
    “No, you’d better not, for Mum’s sake. We’ve only got one mother.”
    “Thank God,” he said. “Only one of each. One