Snowbirds

by

Clovis McIverson

(pen name)

Well, it certainly was not my intention to be rude. I like to think of myself as reasonably tolerant of personality differences. At work, I have to be. We all do. But to be put to the test at lunch, by my wife’s beloved Aunt Gertrude from the so-called great state of New York when I least expected it, when the day had begun rather well actually, was something more than I had bargained for.

We were hardly seated before she started in. “Would you believe it?” she said. “A dead cat . . . smashed like a ripe tomato. Annabella, Clovis, would you believe that? Right in front of the hotel. Still there this morning. You saw it, didn’t you, Miriam?”

I felt such compassion for Miriam, her traveling companion. Her frail, arthritic shoulders barely cleared the top of the luncheon table. Her soft, measured, monotone voice rose as from offstage behind a copy of that huge, tri-fold bill of fare they have there at the Towhee Inn.

“Yes, Gertie,” she said, “I saw it.”

I elected not to watch as this “Gertie,” as her friend called her—this pretentious yet apparently revered, sole living representative of the previous Garfield generation—glanced quickly about the luncheon room, and then, of all things, reached behind Annabella and plunged her brown-papered cigarette butt in the damp soil beneath a philodendron plant in a window box.

Daisy, our waitress, came to take our appetizer orders.

“How are the snails? I want the snails,” this . . . this pompous kinswoman announced in a voice too loud. She continued to talk out of turn, although anyone could see that the rest of us had to practically shout to Daisy our orders for the main course so that Daisy could write them down.

“Guess what that ruminant at the front desk told me?” Incredibly, she continued. “Did you hear her, Miriam?”

“Yes, Gertie. I heard her,” Miriam said.

“Not her problem. That’s what she said. Not her problem. Right out front, guts strewn a half-block, and it’s not her problem. Do you realize you don’t even have a health department in this preposterous settlement? Clovis, you ought to look into that. I had to telephone the sheriff’s office. What is the population of Towhee? I had no idea North Carolina was so backward. Miriam, did you anticipate that North Carolina would be so backward?”

“No, Gertie, I didn’t,” Miriam said.

Annabella and I ordered the shrimp cocktail. Miriam chose the fruit.

“Guess what the sheriff said? Try to guess. Annabella, what do you think the sheriff said?” She continued on in a voice too loud. “He said, ‘Mayhem.’. . . That’s the title he assigned to me. Isn’t that a corker? I may speak my mind now and then. But mayhem? I don’t think I’ve ever been guilty of mayhem. Have I, Miriam?”

“No, Gertie, you haven’t,” Miriam said.

“He said, ‘Mayhem, we don’t have time for something like that.’ Those were his exact words. No time. Absurd.”

I had Annabella to thank for arranging luncheon with her aunt. I must confess I did nothing to forestall it. Annabella wrote and invited this . . . this chain smoking, Big Apple aristocracy and poor Miriam to stop on their way south. “Stay with us,” Annabella begged in her invitation. “Clovis would love to meet you.” Granted I was mildly curious. Annabella idolized the woman. However, I had already begun to thank my private God that they had booked a room at the Inn rather than burden us at the house.

“My treat; sky’s the limit,” this Auntie roared. Annabella always said she was the most generous human in the whole world. Retired. Rich. Twice divorced. No doubt, both times she had the better lawyer.

“How long has it been since I’ve seen you, Annabella? When and where was it? Miriam and I were trying to remember yesterday in the car. Weren’t we, Miriam?”

“Yes, Gertie, we were.”

Wantonly, she flagged Daisy, our waitress. “Miss, would you replace this coffee with hot? Good coffee should be hot . . . and kept hot, young lady. Not that this is terribly good coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Daisy said.

Loud enough so all twelve tables could follow along, Auntie continued, “Miriam and I decided that it was the year your father died. You were a cute child before you shot up like a pole bean. At least he was spared that spectacle. But do you remember, Annabella, how, towards the end, they had to operate on his nose to improve his breathing. Bloody operation.” She paused to dig one of her escargots out of its shell with her left hand, the tip of the tiny seafood fork barely visible in the curl of her meaty fist. She swished the little mollusk around in garlic sauce and popped it in her mouth.

Good God how offensive, I thought. Covertly, with two fingers, I slid the remainder of my shrimp cocktail past my empty butter plate, concealing it behind a ketchup bottle as best I could. I took a refreshing sip of water and tried to concentrate on what I needed to accomplish at the office later that afternoon.

“Clovis, you’re not eating your shrimp,” she said.

I said, “I believe I’ll let them go by the board.”

“Well, pass them here,” she commanded.

I suppose that was when my blood pressure began to rise just a bit. I love shrimp, but she ruined my appetite for them that day. I could not believe she would choose to go right on about the cat.

“Why it reminds me of those horror tales of sanitation in the streets of London during the plague. Have you been to London, Clovis? I wonder if the Scots-Irish heritage of so many of these North Carolina mountain people might explain the region’s cavalier approach to sanitation.”

All stereotyping amuses Annabella. She tittered, then invited the two of them to the house for ice cream after lunch.

“Not this time, lovey,” the battleaxe said. “We have reservations in Charleston for tonight. We want to see where they auctioned the slaves. Don’t we, Miriam?”

“Yes we do, Gertie,” Miriam said.

Beneath my vest, I had begun to sweat. I knew I had to get away from this presence even if it meant missing lunch. However just then Daisy brought our entrees. She served Gertrude first, and before she could escape, the arrogant wretch was upon her. “Do you have a name, sweetheart?”

“Daisy, ma’am.”

“Isn’t that a pleasant name? Daisy, is it? Well tell me, Daisy, what in Sam Hill do you call that?” she asked, pointing a crooked forefinger at a hushpuppy half hidden beside her barbecued pork.

“That is a hushpuppy, ma’am. It is made of cornmeal and lots of—”

“Looks like a you-know-what,” Gertrude said. “Doesn’t it look just like a you-know-what to you, Miriam?” She poked at it with her fork.

“Please, Gertie,” Miriam said.

Gertrude put down her fork. “Take it away. The whole plate. Quicker the better. Bring me the rib eye, medium rare. With potatoes. Lots of potatoes.”

“Yes, ma’am. Directly.”

I so regretted young Daisy’s exposure to such base inferences. I think no woman, during my entire life, had ever spoken with such implied vulgarity, and at table, and in a public place.

She ignited another of those stogie-like cigarettes and went on for ten minutes about how offensive certain provincial foods can appear without the indigenous population being the slightest bit aware of it. “But I suppose, when in Rome . . .  Speaking of Rome—” she started to say. Then, she pivoted on her seat first one way and then the other. “Where in God’s name is my rib eye? She doesn’t seem too eager for a tip. Do you think she deserves a tip, Miriam?”

“Here she comes, Gertie,” Miriam said.

Suddenly, I was surprised to find myself standing. My elbow brushed against Daisy’s shoulder. Annabella touched my arm as though to restrain me. Gertrude said something.

“Thank you, no.” I replied. “I’m afraid I’m due back at the office.”

“Well, you’d best run along,” she said. “We girls will have a nice chat over coffee. Won’t we, girls?”

I sensed Annabella’s annoyance and Gertrude’s haughty glare. On the way out, as I lurched towards the cashier, I think I said, “Marjorie, that big [blankety-blank] from New York gets the tab.” I will not repeat the expletives that I inserted in a voice too loud. I recall handing Marjorie a twenty-dollar bill. I know I said, “Make sure Daisy gets this. She earned her stripes today.”

I regret not conducting my own behavior nearly as well.

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