Gryphon

by Charles Baxter

  He put up Gregory’s planetary wheel on the refrigerator door. Above the wheel he wrote down Gregory’s virtue-words in blue and yellow crayon. For the next week, he explained the chart to Gregory and told him what the planets said he would be like. He explained what all the words were and what they meant. At first Gregory was silent about all this, but one morning he asked Burrage if he could take his horoscope to school. Given permission, he put the chart in his Lone Ranger lunchbox. That afternoon, when he got into the car, he said that most of the other kids wanted Burrage to make up their horoscopes but that the only one he really had to do was Magda Brodsky’s.

  “Who’s Magda Brodsky?” Burrage asked.

  “Somebody,” Gregory said. “She’s in the class.”

  “Is she your friend?”

  “I guess so.”

  “What does she look like?”

  “She’s nice.”

  “I mean, what does she look like?”

  “I told you. She’s nice.”

  “Is she your friend?”

  “I guess. She doesn’t say a whole lot.”

  “When’s her birthday?”

  “I asked her. She said the fourth of July.”

  “Is she as old as you are?”

  “Yeah.”

  This time, Burrage did not consult the book, although he pretended to do so whenever Gregory was in the room. He drew the wheel, wrote out the symbols for the signs in the quadrants, and then wrote down Magda Brodsky’s virtues in green and orange crayon. It was like making up a calendar that had no relation to real dates or days of the week. Burrage decided that Magda was courageous, businesslike, and articulate. In addition, she was affectionate, physically agile, sensible, and generous. The adjectives came to him easily. Burrage drew a picture of Saturn at the top of the chart, along with several five-pointed stars. He told Gregory to give the chart to Magda, and he explained what all the words were, and what they meant. Gregory took the chart to school the next day.

  In the evening, after dinner, Magda’s mother called him. Being the assistant manager of a branch bank, Burrage had expected this call and thought he knew how to handle it.

  “Hello, Mr. Birmingham? This is Amelia Brodsky.” She had a pleasant but resolute voice. “Look, I don’t want to disturb you, but Magda brought this sheet of paper home from school today, which she says she got from your boy. I want you to understand that I’m not objecting to it. In fact, it’s made a distinct difference in her behavior this afternoon. She’s been quite an angel. I just want to know what this thing is. Did you do it? Can you explain it to me?”

  “I thought you’d be calling,” Burrage said. “Actually, it’s her horoscope, but it’s not accurate. By that I mean that I made up a horoscope to give my boy some confidence, and he took it to school. When he came home he said his friend Magda wanted one, so I made up that one for her.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Brodsky sounded discreetly taken aback. “You see,” she began, then stopped. She tried again. “You see, it’s not that I think this little game is doing any harm.” She paused. “What do you mean when you say it’s not accurate?”

  Burrage smiled and waited a moment. Then he said, “I just drew some symbols on the horoscope and listed a few virtues at the top. It’s not accurate because I didn’t check an ephemeris, where her planetary signs would be listed. I just wrote down some virtues I thought she might like to have. I’ve never met your daughter. My boy asked me to do it as a favor to her. Do you mind?”

  “Well, no. That is, I don’t think so. I’m not sure. I’m not a believer in astrology. Not at all. It’s against my discipline. I’m a professional biologist.” She said this last sentence as if it were an astounding revelation, with pauses between the words.

  “Well,” Burrage said, “I don’t believe in it either, and I’m a banker.”

  “If you don’t believe in it,” she asked, “why did you do it?”

  Burrage had had a drink in preparation for this call, which was probably why he said, “I’m trying to learn how to be a parent.”

  This statement proved to be too much for Mrs. Brodsky, who rapidly thanked Burrage for explaining the whole matter to her before she hung up.

  Later in the week, sitting in the dark of Gregory’s room, with a cigar in his hand and Glenn Miller playing “Chattanooga Choo-Choo” softly beside him, Burrage began a bunny story. “Once upon a time, there was a bunny who lived with his mommy and daddy bunny in the bunny hole at the edge of the great green wood.” All the bunny stories started with that sentence. After it, Burrage was deep in the terror of fictional improvisation. “One day the little bunny went hopping out on the bunny path in the woods when he met his friend the porcupine. The wind was blowing like this.” Burrage made a wind sound, and the cigar smoke blew out of his mouth. “Together the bunny and the porcupine walked down the path, gazing at the branches that waved back and forth, when suddenly the little bunny fell into a hole. It was a deep hole that the little bunny hadn’t seen, because he had been staring at the branches waving in the wind. ‘Help!’ he cried. ‘Help!’ ”

  “Uncle Burrage,” Gregory said.

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to hear any more bunny stories.”

  “Any of them? Or just this one?”

  “Any of them.” He brought his stuffed dragon closer to his face. “Tell me my horoscope.”

  “It will be warm tomorrow,” Burrage said, having seen the weather reports. “It will be a fine spring day. Soon it will be summer, and you’ll be playing outside.” Burrage stopped. “You will learn to swim, and you’ll take boat rides.”

  Gregory’s eyes opened. “I want a boat ride.”

  “When?”

  “Right away.”

  “What kind of boat?”

  “I don’t care. I want a boat ride. Can Magda come?”

  “You want a ride in a rowboat?”

  “Sure. Can Magda come?”

  “Next Saturday,” Burrage said, “if the weather is good. You’ll have to remember to invite her.”

  “Don’t worry,” Gregory said.

  Amelia Brodsky delivered Magda promptly at nine o’clock in the morning ten days later. She kept the pleasantries to a minimum. She couldn’t stay to chat, she said, because she was on her way to the farmers’ market, where she would have to battle the crowds. She asked which lake they were going to, and when Burrage said Cloverleaf Lake, Mrs. Brodsky nodded and said there was a rowboat concession there, with life jackets, and with that she kissed Magda good-bye and left in her station wagon. Burrage had been glad to see her go: she was well over six feet tall and wore a button on her blouse with some slogan on it that he had been unable to read.

  Magda was looking at him suspiciously. She was a small girl, even for her age, with tightly curled hair and intelligently watchful brown eyes. She was wearing jeans and a pink sweatshirt that said “Say good things about Detroit” on it, the words printed underneath a rainbow. She and Gregory climbed into the backseat, whispering to each other but then falling silent. Burrage looked in at them. “Do we have everything?” he asked, feeling shaky himself. “Jackets, caps, snacks, and shoes?” From his list he realized how nervous he was. “Anybody have to go to the bathroom before we leave?” They both shook their heads. “All right,” he said. “Here goes.” He backed the car out of the driveway into the street, where Mrs. Schultz happened to be standing, a slightly more vacant expression on her face than was usual for her.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, through the open window on the driver’s side.

  “Boating,” Burrage said.

  Mrs. Schultz’s right hand flew to the door handle, clutching it. “Take me along,” she said.

  “Take her along.” It was Gregory. Burrage turned around and stared at him.

  “Mrs. Schultz? You want Mrs. Schultz along with us on our boat ride?” Both Gregory and Magda nodded together. “I don’t get this,” Burrage said aloud, before turning to Mrs. Schultz. “I suppose if you want t
o come along, you can. Are you dressed for it? Is your house locked up?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” She walked around to the passenger side and got into the front seat, slamming the door fiercely. “Let them steal everything, for all I care. I want to go out in a boat. Let’s get going.”

  On the ten-minute drive to the lake, Magda kept silent, though she would nod if either Burrage or Gregory asked her a question. Meanwhile, in the front seat, Mrs. Schultz was watching the landscape with her eyes wide open, as if she had never ridden in an automobile before. She was offering opinions. “I’m glad it’s Saturday,” she said. “If this was during the week, I’d be missing my soap operas.” They passed a water tower. “Never saw one of those before.” Burrage groaned. Mrs. Schultz suddenly turned her gaze on Burrage and asked him, “What does the horoscope say about today, Burrage?”

  “It’ll be beautiful. It is beautiful. Warm. Nothing to worry about.”

  “No episodes?”

  “No. Definitely no episodes.”

  “Good.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m too old for episodes.”

  When they reached the lake, Burrage paid to get into the grounds of the state park, which included a beach and boating area. The two children and the old woman did not seem especially pleased about arriving; nobody announced it. They all stepped out of the car in silence as the moist vegetative smell of the lake drifted up to them. “Anybody have to go to the bathroom?” Burrage asked again, being careful to take the snack bag from the backseat. They all shook their heads. “Well, in that case, let’s go,” he said, and they walked down to the rowboat concession, Mrs. Schultz leading, while Gregory held on to Burrage’s hand and Magda held on to Gregory’s.

  The boy in the concession stand, who was listening to a transistor radio and wearing a Styx T-shirt, tied them all into life jackets, Mrs. Schultz, because of her arthritis, being the hardest to fit. This job finished, he went down to the dock and pulled an aluminum rowboat out to where some steps had been built in the dock’s north side. Magda and Gregory went in front, Mrs. Schultz in back, and Burrage sat down in the middle, where he could row. “You got an hour,” the boy said, scratching his chest. “If you take longer, it’s okay, but you got to pay extra when you get back.” Burrage nodded as he lifted the oars. “You know how to row?”

  “I know how,” Burrage said. “Cast us off.” The boy untied the boat and gave it a push.

  “Bon voyage,” he said, lifting his leg to scratch his ankle.

  Burrage watched the dock recede. Mrs. Schultz was observing something in the distance and sniffing the air. Both Magda and Gregory were staring down into the water. “How far do we go?” Burrage asked them all.

  “To the middle,” Gregory said. “I want to go to the middle.”

  “Yes, that would be fine,” Mrs. Schultz said. “Right to the middle.”

  “Okay.” He felt a slight ache in his shoulders. “If anybody wants a snack,” he said, “there are crackers and things in that bag.” He stopped rowing with his right hand to point to the bag, and, as he did, the boat turned in the water.

  “Come on,” Gregory said. “Don’t do that. Just row.”

  “Be nice,” Mrs. Schultz said to Gregory. “Always try to be nice.”

  Like most lakes in the southern part of the state, Cloverleaf was rather shallow and no more than six miles in circumference. All the houses on the shore, most of them summer cabins, were distinctly visible. A slight breeze from the west blew over them. With the sky blue, and the temperature in the low seventies, Burrage, as he rowed, felt his heart loosen in his chest while the mildness of the day crept over him. He could see several families splashing in the water at the public beach. He smiled, and noticed that Mrs. Schultz was doing the same.

  “Tell me when we get to the middle of the lake,” Burrage said. “Somebody tell me when we’re there.”

  “I’ll tell you,” Magda said. It was her first complete public sentence of the day.

  “Thank you, Magda,” Burrage said, turning around to see her. She was doing finger-flicks in the water.

  Five minutes later she broke the silence by saying, “We’re there.” Burrage raised the oars from the water and let the droplets fall one by one before he brought them into the boat. On the south side of the lake an outboard was pulling a water-skier wearing a blue safety vest. Gregory was letting his hand play in the water, humming a song from the Glenn Miller tape, and Magda was now staring down into the water with her nose only four inches or so from its surface. “I see a monster down there,” she said. No one seemed surprised. “It’s got a long neck and an ugly head.”

  “A reptile,” Mrs. Schultz said, nodding. “Like Loch Ness.”

  “It could bite,” Gregory said. “Watch out.”

  “Sea monsters,” Burrage said, “may not be extinct. Pass me the crackers, please.”

  “After I have mine,” Mrs. Schultz said, her hand in the bag. She was sniffing the air again. “I don’t believe I have ever seen a sea monster, not this far inland. I’ve heard about them, though.” She waited. “I like this lake. It’s a nice lake.”

  “There’s a bug on me,” Magda said, tapping a finger on her sweatshirt. “There. It flew away.”

  “Pass me a cracker,” Gregory said. “Please.”

  “Look at that water-skier,” Burrage said. “He’s very good.”

  The rowboat began to drift, pushed by the breeze. Gregory munched on his cracker, and now Magda was dipping her fingers in the water and experimenting with wave motion. Mrs. Schultz had taken a handkerchief out of her sleeve and put it on her head, apparently to minimize the danger of sunstroke.

  “Does anybody want anything?” Burrage asked, feeling regal.

  “No,” the other three said.

  “Don’t ask me if I have to go to the bathroom,” Mrs. Schultz complained. “Once is enough.” She waited. “Do you know,” she said, “that my grandfather owned land just north of here? He was Scottish, and, of all things, his life’s dream was to build himself a golf course. He was even going to build the hills. But, for some reason, it didn’t happen. Instead, he learned how to play the oboe and could play it lying down in a hammock, during the summer. He had the lungs of a seven-year-old boy.” She looked at Burrage. “He never smoked cigars.”

  “What’s that?” Magda asked. Her finger was pointing toward shore.

  “What’s what?”

  “That.” She was still pointing. “That smoke.”

  “That’s a charcoal grill,” Burrage said. “Somebody’s cooking hamburgers outside, and that’s where all the smoke comes from.”

  “Cooking with charcoal is bad for you,” Mrs. Schultz said. “Too much carbon. Cancer.”

  “Where’s the grill?” Magda asked. “I don’t see it.”

  They all turned to look. Thin strips of smoke rose in the distance behind or near a house. It was hard to tell. The house was a plain white one that seemed to have a screen porch but no other distinguishing features.

  “Is that house on fire?” Magda asked.

  “No,” Burrage said. “It is not on fire. They are just cooking hamburgers.” He did not want to shout. “It’s Saturday. People cook hamburgers on Saturday all the time.” Because there was more smoke, he felt he should raise his voice somewhat. “You shouldn’t worry.”

  “Maybe we ought to row toward it,” Mrs. Schultz suggested, the handkerchief on her head fluttering as her head shook.

  “No,” Burrage said. “I don’t think so. The children should stay away.”

  “Look,” Gregory said, “they’re so small.”

  “Is there someone inside the house?” Magda asked, and began to cry. “I hope there isn’t anyone inside. What if there’s someone inside the house?”

  “It’s not a fire!” Burrage shouted, unable to stop himself. “They’re just cooking lunch! You’d see flames if it was a fire!”

  While they stared, the boat rocked gently underneath them. A fish jumped behind them and slapped the water. The br
eeze brought them a scent of smoke. Burrage turned around and glanced at the opposite side of the lake, where the boy in the rowboat concession was sitting with his feet up in the booth. Gregory reached out for Burrage’s hand. “You didn’t know about this yesterday,” Gregory said. “It wasn’t in the horoscope. Daddy, Magda’s crying.”

  “I know,” Burrage said. “She’ll be all right.”

  “I want to know if someone’s in the house,” Magda said. Mrs. Schultz was murmuring and muttering. “I want to know,” Magda repeated.

  Suddenly Mrs. Schultz stared at Burrage. “You said there wouldn’t be any episodes,” she said, pointing her finger at him. “God damn it, you said nothing would happen to us! And look at what’s happening!” She was shouting. “Look at all the smoke and the fire!” Her finger, still pointing, pointed now at Burrage, Magda, and Gregory.

  “Mrs. Schultz,” Burrage begged, “please don’t swear. There are children here.”

  “It’s a fire,” she repeated. And then she turned around in the boat, bent down, and cupped her hands in the water. Raising her arms, she doused her head. The water streamed into her gray hair and washed the handkerchief off, so that it dropped onto the gunwales of the rowboat. Again she reached down into the lake and again she scooped a small quantity of water over her head. As the children and Burrage watched, handful by handful the old woman soaked her hair, her skin, and her clothes, as if she were making a formal gesture toward the accidents of life, which in their monotonous regularity had brought her to her present condition.

  Horace and Margaret’s Fifty-second

  A FEW MONTHS AFTER she had put her husband, all memory gone, into the home, she herself woke one morning with an unfamiliar sun shining through a window she hadn’t remembered was there. A new window! Pranksters were playing a shabby joke on her. She rose heavily from the bed, a groan bursting by accident out of her throat, and shuffled to the new window they had installed during the night. Through the dusty glass she saw the apartment’s ragged backyard of cement and weeds. A puddle had formed in the alley, and a brown bird was flapping in it, making muddy waves as it bathed. Then she looked more closely and saw that the bird was lying on its side.