Perpetuity Blues

Perpetuity Blues

Neal Barrett, Jr

The first thing she noticed was things had changed in the year she’d been away. Instead of the ’72 Ford, there was a late mode Buick with a boat hitch on the back. Poking out of the garage was a Ranger fishing boat, an 18-footer with a big Merc outboard on the stern.

“You better be dead or dying,” said Maggie.

The living room looked like Sears and Western Auto had explodes. There was a brand new Sony and a VCR, and hit tapes like Gymnasts in Chains. The kitchen was a wildlife preserve. Maggie stood at the door but wouldn’t go in. Things moved around under plates. There were cartons of Hershey bars and chips. Canned Danish hams and foreign mustards, All over the house there were things still in boxes. Uncle Ned had dug tunnels through empty bottles and dirty books. There were new Hawaiian shirts. Hush Puppies in several different styles. A man appeared in one of the tunnels.

“I’m Dr. Kraft, I guess you’re Maggie.”

“Is he really dying? What’s wrong with him?”

“Take your pick. The man’s got everything. A person can’t live like that and expect their organs to behave. »

Perpetuity Blues. Photo : Elena

Maggie went upstairs. Uncle Ned looked dead already. There were green oxygen tanks and plastic tubes.

“I’m real glad you came. This is nice.”

“Uncle Ned, where’d you get all this stuff?”

“That all you got to say? You don’t want to hear how I am?”

“I can see how you are.”

“You’re entitled to bad feelings. I deserve whatever you want to dish out. I want to settle things up before I go to damnation and meet your aunt. Your father had an employee stock plan at Montgomery Wards. Left your mother well off and that woman was too cheap to spend it. We got the money when she died and you came to us. We sort of took these little vacations. Nothing big.”