The 14 stories in this collection display the often quiet, inconspicuous way in which terrible truths and experiences are intimated: the death of a sailboarder makes a widower see deeper into love and loss; a young poet visits his former teacher only to discover he is literally not the person he used to be; a middle-aged man glimpses the terrible humdrum of his third marriage as his son embarks on a new chapter in his life. Conveyed without grandeur or pathos, the revelations in these minimalist stories demonstrate clearly and effectively Fruelund’s gift of subtlety and nuance; like scenes from life, characters’ dramas are played out in brief but brilliant flashes. Ranging across the wide arc of human experience, from the comic to the tragic, each piece explores the complex emotions of the human heart.
The 14 stories in this collection display the often quiet, inconspicuous way in which terrible truths and experiences are intimated: the death of a sailboarder makes a widower see deeper into love and loss; a young poet visits his former teacher only to discover he is literally not the person he used to be; a middle-aged man glimpses the terrible humdrum of his third marriage as his son embarks on a new chapter in his life. Conveyed without grandeur or pathos, the revelations in these minimalist stories demonstrate clearly and effectively Fruelund’s gift of subtlety and nuance; like scenes from life, characters’ dramas are played out in brief but brilliant flashes. Ranging across the wide arc of human experience, from the comic to the tragic, each piece explores the complex emotions of the human heart.
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Overview
The 14 stories in this collection display the often quiet, inconspicuous way in which terrible truths and experiences are intimated: the death of a sailboarder makes a widower see deeper into love and loss; a young poet visits his former teacher only to discover he is literally not the person he used to be; a middle-aged man glimpses the terrible humdrum of his third marriage as his son embarks on a new chapter in his life. Conveyed without grandeur or pathos, the revelations in these minimalist stories demonstrate clearly and effectively Fruelund’s gift of subtlety and nuance; like scenes from life, characters’ dramas are played out in brief but brilliant flashes. Ranging across the wide arc of human experience, from the comic to the tragic, each piece explores the complex emotions of the human heart.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780988225275 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Santa Fe Writer's Project |
| Publication date: | 10/01/2013 |
| Edition description: | Reprint |
| Pages: | 110 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.40(w) x 8.70(h) x 0.30(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Milk
And Other Stories
By Simon Fruelund, K.E. Semmel
Santa Fe Writers Project
Copyright © 1997 Simon FruelundAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-939650-00-9
CHAPTER 1
Tide
It was early spring. I walked past the inn and saw a young couple stepping out of a silver-gray Peugeot. They had driven over while the water was rising, and the car was wet along the sides. Each had shoulder-length hair and was of slender build. The man was just a little taller than the woman and they resembled each other like two siblings.
That same evening the innkeeper, Poul, called.
— There's a couple who'd like to go out tomorrow.
I looked at the tide table and gave him a time. Then I went out to the barn to get the wagon ready. I swept it out and arranged a row of straw bales along each of its sides. I checked the oil in the tractor and filled it up with diesel. Before I went inside again, I glanced toward the sky. There was a thin cloud cover, and almost no wind. It'll be nice out tomorrow, I thought.
The next morning I woke to the sound of raindrops on the window. I put water on for coffee and went out to check on the sheep. When I returned, the window in the kitchen was all fogged up. I ate breakfast and watched the rain through a small opening, which I kept wiping clear with my shirtsleeve.
Five minutes before ten I started the tractor and drove to the inn. The young couple sat in a corner of the dining room eating breakfast.
— They know it costs extra when there's only two? I said to the innkeeper, who stood behind the counter.
He nodded.
— And there's no guarantee they'll see anything, I said.
— That's fine.
He walked over and exchanged a few words with them, and they raised their heads and turned to me. The young man nodded almost imperceptibly, and the woman registered my presence like someone who sees a ship far away. Then she dipped her head and said something to the man.
The innkeeper returned.
— They'll be ready in five minutes.
I nodded at him and went out to the parking lot. It was still raining, and I seated myself in the tractor cab.
Fifteen minutes later the door opened.
They had each borrowed rain gear from the innkeeper, I noticed. Their pant legs bunched at their feet, and their sleeves covered their hands. The woman wore a pair of sturdy insulated boots, the man a pair of green rubber boots.
I climbed from the tractor to help them up. We walked to the back of the wagon, and I opened the tailgate.
— It might get a little cold, I said.
— We have extra clothes, the man said and nodded in the direction of a little backpack the woman held in her hand.
We drove through town and onto the dike. The water had begun to retreat and small islands of sand poked up everywhere. With the tractor crawling down the dike, I cast a glance in each of the mirrors: in one I could see him, in the other her. I could see him smiling and saying something to her; I could see her staring ahead of us, past the mirror and out across the water.
It was the first time I was out that year, and the fall storms had dug new ruts in the sand and filled up old ones. One spot was so deep I had to drive around it to get past. The rain lessened, and a short while later I noticed that the young couple had pulled their hoods down.
She got out a camera and I watched her photograph a flock of starlings that passed us.
When we were almost halfway out, I noticed something lying on a sandbank to our right. I veered off route, and when we got a bit closer, I was able to see that it was a sailboard: its orange sail swelling off and on in the weak breeze. I climbed from the tractor, and as I bent over the board, I realized that the woman was standing right beside me. She stared at it, and then turned and snapped a picture of the tractor and wagon.
I noted the spot, and we went on.
The water level had now fallen so low that you could see lugworm burrows on the sand. In certain spots the water looked like nothing more than dark stains.
We reached the breeding ground, cordoned off with orange tape, before we saw the first seal. It lay with its hind flippers in the air and its head on the sand.
We continued along the demarcation, and soon a small group of seals followed us in the water. At the end of the breeding ground, I halted the tractor and the young couple jumped from the wagon. I climbed out and watched them head toward the water's edge. The seals kept their distance, but the youngest of them swam in circles toward the shore: suddenly it appeared just fifteen feet from land. The woman squatted down and extended her hand.
For a moment the seal stood still, water dripping from its white whiskers and onto its spotted coat. Then it thrust itself sideways and swam off in a half-circle. The man eased the camera from the woman and stood poised for the next time the seal turned up.
The other seals grew more courageous and swam toward the shore. A pair raised their heads right near the beach; the man photographed them, and the woman squatted and talked to them.
After a little while the seals retreated, and the young couple watched them go. The woman had risen and was now resting her head on his shoulder. Then they turned and walked up to me.
The woman smiled.
— How much time is there? the man asked.
I looked across the water.
— A little less than an hour, I said.
They walked back to the water's edge. They followed it a ways and then angled up over the sandbank. I seated myself in the tractor cab to eat from my lunch box, and when I looked for them again they were gone.
I watched for them now and again.
After an hour, I still couldn't see them. Wind had begun to blow from the west, and because the tide could change at any moment, I started the tractor and began driving slowly forward.
I followed their footprints until I reached the place where they'd gone over the sandbank. Then I honked the tractor's horn.
I looked back the way I'd come. Already water was filling in the wheel tracks.
I honked the horn a few times.
I climbed from the tractor and called after them.
— Hello, I yelled. I didn't know their names.
After fifteen minutes, I caught a glimpse of two tiny figures walking toward me from far away.
I drove to meet them, and as I drew the tractor up beside them, they smiled as if nothing was wrong. I told them they were late.
— It's so easy to forget about time out here, the man said, helping the woman up on the wagon. They sat close to each other on the left side. Now the water was seriously beginning to rise, and I drove back as fast as I could. Water sprayed from the tractor's rear wheels, and the young couple scooted toward the center of the wagon. In the mirror I could see them huddled together. When we were only halfway in, we drove through a foot of water. When the island became visible, the water had risen almost two feet.
I gripped the steering wheel hard and felt the sweat form on my stomach.
Only when we arrived on the dike did I have time to glance in the mirror again. The man and woman sat in the same position. It didn't look as though they were talking. They sat as if they were hypnotized and stared in the same direction, toward the sea.
When we pulled up in front of the inn, it had begun to rain again. The man handed me the agreed-upon payment, and they hurried in. That's when I noticed sand on the woman's rain jacket.
I stood a bit under the awning before I followed them inside. I opened the glass door and saw the innkeeper sitting at a table doing his books. I sat opposite him and waited for him to look up.
— Any seals? he said
— Yeah.
He added a column of figures and raised his head.
His eyes rested heavily on me as I told him about the sailboard. He put the pencil down on the table.
After I had described the board pretty closely, he got to his feet without saying a word and went into the kitchen.
I heard him talk on the telephone, and then I heard his wife begin to cry, at first softly, then louder. I remained seated at the table.
In a little while the innkeeper returned.
— Let me know if there's anything I can do, I said.
He shook his head and followed me to the door.
— I don't think so, he said.
When I came home, I couldn't relax. I thought about the young couple and the innkeeper's son, and then I thought about Karen. I searched for my pipe, and when I couldn't find it, I went out to the sheep. Rain drummed on the roof, and in a short while I heard the helicopter. One of the sheep came forward and licked my hand.
They act like they have all the time in the world, I thought.
CHAPTER 2What Is It?
Jakob is my son from my second marriage. He must have heard me arrive, because as I backed the van up to his building, there he stood suddenly beside me. He looked smaller, younger; maybe it was the sneakers he wore and the loose-fitting T-shirt. He lifted his hand and made a 90-degree angle with his thumb and index finger, the kind of thing truck drivers do as they pass each other. Typical Jakob, I thought. When things seem their worst, he always has a gesture or a story to make you smile. I smiled and found the emergency brake, near the rear left side of the wheel, halfway to the pedals.
I got out of the car and we hugged.
— What a mess, I said.
— Yeah, he said, grimacing.
We stood looking at each other for a moment.
— C'mon, he said.
We went through the entrance and into the front hallway. Their apartment was on the ground floor, and the door was wide open.
— Everything's in here, he said, and I followed him into the bedroom. I recognized the heavy mahogany desk that had once belonged to my father. Around it were about twenty-five boxes stacked three or four levels high, and beside them: a light blue mattress, a stereo system, a TV, and a white wardrobe. I tried to picture it all in the van.
— We'll manage, I said. We'll make it fit.
— Helene will be back in about an hour, he said. Let's try to be out of here by then.
It was as if he stared at my right ear as he said it. I nodded — I couldn't do anything else — and brought my hand up to my ear, then rubbed my earlobe between my fingers.
We took the boxes first. One box, with medical books inside, was extremely heavy and we had to haul it out together. Otherwise we grabbed one each; he trotted, and I tried to keep up. It was autumn, the air crisp and clear, but before long I could feel the sweat trickling down my arms. My heart thumped so hard in my chest that I was forced to stop. After I'd carried out five boxes, I slowed my pace, and managed to carry out four more. Jakob got the rest.
— Could I have a glass of water? I asked.
— How about a beer?
— No thanks. It's too early. Water will be just fine.
He returned with a glass, and I could see how he studied me as I drank. I turned and smiled at him.
— That hit the spot, I said.
I looked for something that wasn't too heavy, and caught sight of a brown wooden box beside the stereo. There were black, hieroglyph-like letters on the lid.
— That's Igor, Jakob said.
I could see a few yellowed bones and the crown of a skull. I pushed the lid in place and carried the box out with my arms stretched, carefully, so that it wouldn't rattle.
When we got to the wardrobe, Jakob glanced at his watch.
— Twenty minutes, he said.
I grabbed the bottom, and as we wedged it through the door, our eyes met. It occurred to me that it'd been a long time since I'd seen his eyes lit up this way. It must be the shock, I thought. Right when it happens, you don't feel a thing.
— Watch your fingers, I said as we angled the wardrobe around the corner and into the entryway.
Finally there was only the TV left, and I took that. I saw Jakob getting out a notepad and I guessed he would write a note to Helene. There were only five minutes to go, so I made sure that everything was securely fastened, and stayed by the van.
He ran out carrying his windbreaker.
I had just started the van when he remembered the keys. He worked his fingers feverishly to slide the keys from the ring. Then he got out and ran back to the apartment with them. I glanced up the street, but Helene was nowhere in sight.
We reached the first light. We sat waiting and suddenly I could sense it. I followed Jakob's glance until I saw her on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. It was striking how much she looked like herself; she wore a short, red jacket and tight blue pants. I saw how she pulled the hair from her face, how she shook her head very lightly, her curly blond hair bobbing up and down. Neither of us said a word. We passed within a few feet of her and she didn't see us.
This is rather unexpected, I said.
We had driven in silence for a few minutes. Jakob turned and looked at me. It was rush hour, and I kept my eyes on the traffic.
— Yeah, he said.
He sat with a foot propped up on the dashboard.
— Is it ... your decision, or ... is it hers?
— It's mostly mine, he said.
I looked at him, curious.
We drove on for a while without speaking. Then I looked at him again. His eyes were squinted into slits because of the sun.
— How'd she take it?
— Watch out!
A bus squeezed in ahead of us, and I hit the brake — harder than it was actually necessary. I could hear something shifting in the back, but nothing crashed down. We both turned to look, but with the piles of boxes blocking the little cab window, we couldn't see anything. Jakob said:
— I think it's all right. Let's just keep going.
We continued, and soon after I said:
— How'd she take it?
Jakob turned his head and looked at me. Then he looked out the front window again.
— All right.
I veered into the left lane, then shifted gear and turned the corner.
— It all sounds a little rash, I said.
— We've got to turn left up here.
We turned from the heavily congested road and onto a quiet street with a speed bump and three-story houses on either side. There was a Laundromat, an old-fashioned greengrocer, and a second-hand store.
Jakob pointed at a white building on the corner.
— It's over here.
I pulled the emergency brake and remained in the van. Jakob had already opened the door.
— It looks like a nice neighborhood, I said.
When we had carried everything upstairs, we each sat on a box in the middle of the apartment's largest room.
— I don't know, I said. Have I ever told you why I got divorced from my first wife?
— I don't think so, Jakob said.
I took a swig from my beer.
— It's an odd story, actually.
Jakob tipped his bottle to his mouth and closed his eyes as he drank.
— I happened to read her diary.
I set my eyes directly on Jakob.
— Most of what was in it was relatively banal. I remember that I thought: have I really married a woman who writes so badly? The way she formulated her ideas was so clumsy, I thought, almost childlike. Here and there she had made little drawings, a grumpy face, a happy face. But I kept reading.
Jakob looked down at his shoes.
— And that's how I discovered that she'd had an affair. As far as I could tell, it was over, but I was furious and beside myself and didn't know what to do. At the same time, I was pretty embarrassed that I'd found her out in that way.
I paused, and Jakob rose and walked to the window.
— I just got my things together and moved out.
Jakob stood a moment looking out; then he turned around. He blushed slightly. He had a vertical crease between his brows, which I recognized from myself.
I could feel the warmth rising to my cheeks and lowered my eyes to a spot in the middle of his chest.
I stood and went to him. I put my arm around his back and squeezed him. I could see all the way to the street where the van was parked.
— Listen, Jakob said, and worked himself free. I'm the one who's the asshole here. It's me who's found someone else.
I looked at him.
— Oh.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the roof of the van. Then I pulled myself away and went back to the box and sat down.
— Tell me, I said.
— There's not much to tell. She's sweet. Dorthe is her name. But it's pretty new. I've only known her for three weeks. There's not much to tell.
— Okay.
I finished my beer, and a moment later I stood to leave.
— Oh my, I said.
— It's all right, Jakob said and smiled.
I walked to the van. It was parked underneath a tall chestnut tree, and a green chestnut lay on the roof. I stood on my tippy-toes and clutched it carefully. I turned and glanced up at the apartment. Jakob stood in the window talking on the telephone; he raised his right arm and ran his hand through his hair. I raised mine and waved.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Milk by Simon Fruelund, K.E. Semmel. Copyright © 1997 Simon Fruelund. Excerpted by permission of Santa Fe Writers Project.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Tide,What Is It?,
Crossing,
Kramer,
Hair,
Unsettled,
Intercom,
Rose,
X-Ray,
Phosphorescence,
Chairs,
Milk,
Fling,
Albatross,
Acknowledgments,
Bios,