were successful?” said Christy.
“The money,” said Todd, “the land, etcetera, always went to the daughters and then to the younger sons. Never to the first born.”
“That explains it,” said Mark.
“I didn’t get a cent,” said Todd.
“Exactly what he’d say if he got something,” said Christy.
“The only thing a father ever willed to his first born son was this lucky ring, some kind of family heirloom,” said Todd.
“Luck o’ the Irish,” said Mark, “a bonny ring made o’ four leaf clovers.”
“The luck of the Swedish,” said Christy.
“Made of genuine Swedish fish,” said Mark. “Don’t know the accent for Swedes.”
“You’re wearing it right now,” said Christy.
“Gross,” said Mark. “What, wait?”
“I got your wedding band from your grandma,” said Christy. “She insisted. I know you don’t remember, but I did tell you.”
Mark, Todd, and Christy looked down at Mark’s left hand.
“That isn’t the ring,” said Todd. “It doesn’t look like the ring in the pictures.”
Todd flipped through the pages of the book and pointed to the left hands of his ancestors.
“Good,” said Mark. “It’s not my ring. Good. Hah. It isn’t ring. It’s rings plural. They look different in different pictures.”
“Artistic license,” said Todd. “But your ring, it isn’t even the same color. Look. The family crest.”
Todd opened to a place he had bookmarked.
“Our family animal is a poorly drawn deer?” said Mark.
“I think it’s actually a poorly drawn elk,” said Christy. “Or is it a moose? His eyes are so cartoony.”
“Here,” said Todd, “it’s the ring.”
“Must’ve been a pretty lucky ring,” said Mark.
The ring formed the border of the crest. In places, the poorly drawn family mascot peeked out from behind the edges.
“No,” said Christy, “it’s a camel with antlers.”
“What do the Swedish words mean?” said Mark. “And what’s with all the white? We couldn’t think of anything?”
Above the circle of the ring, beside the poorly drawn head of the family animal, were printed two lines of words. Below that, inside the circle, two more lines of words. The rest of the area within the ring was blank, except for an asterisk that didn’t seem to be part of the crest.
“The words aren’t Swedish,” said Todd. “They’re Latin. The top one says something about one good turn, and the second one, it starts out the same except it says two good turns. As for the blank area here, that’s where the mirror would go if this were a sculpture or an engraving and not a piece of paper.”
“Vanitus Eternum,” said Christy. “That’s your family motto.”
“Didn’t know you spoke Swedish Latin,” said Mark.
Todd read the real words from the page:
Unum bonum torquent
Eligite nocumentum
Duos torquet
Et eligere substitutum
“Christy’s is the secret motto,” said Mark. “Hidden behind the mirror. You have to break it to find it. Vanitus Eternum, vanity forever.”
“Anyway,” said Todd, “look at the color of the ring on the family crest. It’s the same as the color in the paintings, only you can see it better here. If you would, give us a comparison.”
Mark set his left hand, and the ring, alongside the family crest in the book.
“Not the same color,” said Mark.
“It’s still the same ring,” said Christy.
“My deductive powers lead me to deduce,” said Mark, “two rings that aren’t the same color or shape are indubitably not the same ring.”
“I had it coated,” said Christy. “The ring was too weird looking, so a jeweler fixed it for me. I think he said something about Rhodium. Remember how the ring poked you on the way here? Take it off and look at the inside.”
“It’s the same color as the pictures,” said Mark. “Uurhh. And it isn’t even lucky. What is that little poky thing?”
“Rhodium plating?” said Todd. “My forefathers roll in their graves.”
“The coating must be wearing down,” said Christy.
“Three thousand days of my life,” said Mark, “I have been wearing a dead Swedish people ring. You two win. I’ve forgotten about the job interview. This is way, way more traumatic.”
Christy looked at her watch. She had a plan for the afternoon. She’d told Mark about it that morning, when she’d unveiled the whiteboard-ed timetable of all the day’s Distraction Plans.
“Would it be ok if we maybe skip the next thing,” said Mark, “go home and take a short nap?”
“Absolutely,” said Christy. “It’s your day.”
Christy and Mark said goodbye to Todd and drove home. It wasn’t a long drive, or out of the way. Mark fell into bed without taking off his clothes.
“This is a nap, not a sleep,” said Mark. “See? Daytime clothes. Set the alarm for one hour.”
Christy piled in beside him. She fell asleep right away. Mark was tired, but he couldn’t make himself sleep. In day the bedroom wasn’t darker than a living room. The sun came right through the window; the only thing the green curtains did was turn the light green, and the cracked bedroom walls along with. Mark put a pillow over his head. He couldn’t stop his mind from thinking. He lay in bed playing with his ring. There was this conversation he felt compelled to have with Christy. He didn’t know why. It was a silly conversation. It wouldn’t be wrong to say nothing. He didn’t feel guilty; at least he didn’t think he felt guilty. Maybe if he talked about it with Christy, the thing would go out of his mind. That was why he felt compelled, probably.
Christy rolled up onto Mark’s side. He hadn’t heard her roll, lost in thought and a pillow over his face. She was heavy. It was amazing she could roll up on him like this without waking. He was the one who’d asked for the nap. Apparently she needed one just as bad. Christy really was heavy. Mark felt her weight pushing him down into the mattress. Was Christy this heavy? The pillow still over his face, Mark pushed Christy off. His arms moved right through the empty space where his wife should have been.
Mark swept his hands along his body. He thought he heard the mattress creak. He felt himself pressed down against the springs. Mark whipped the pillow from his face and looked. Christy was lying sound asleep on her side of the bed. She was nowhere near him. Mark looked down and there was nothing on top of him. He could feel the weight, feel it pushing down on him. Mark tried to sit up. The muscles of his stomach and back strained against the pressure. He couldn’t sit up. His arms and legs moved fine. It was just this weight, holding him down. But there really wasn’t any weight at all. Of course there wasn’t. Mark knew that.
Then the weight was gone. Mark sat up and looked around, just breathing. Christy lay there still, asleep. Mark snorted quietly.
“Heckuva cramp,” he thought to himself. “I’m falling apart. A back thing, maybe. Doctor or chiropractor? I won’t see either. Doctor’d tell me it’s nothing. Chiropractor’d tell me I better come in twice a week or lose the use of my legs.”
Mark decided maybe he had to go to the bathroom and that was why he couldn’t sleep. He slid to the edge of the bed slowly, like an inchworm. Mark lifted his weight from the bed one leg at a time, trying not to make it creak. Christy rolled in her sleep but she didn’t wake up. Mark went to the bathroom but he didn’t really have to go. When he got back the alarm was going off.
Christy tidied herself in the bathroom. Not twenty minutes later she took the entry ramp onto the highway with the windows down, bound for the drive-in theater in Newton. You could see a movie at sundown and one after that for eight dollars a person. If you didn’t get there early all the good spots got taken.
There was a lot of open road between the apartment and Newton. Mark thought about his compelled conversation sporadically. Not intentionally,
he didn’t begin until the car was pulling into town.
“This isn’t like a serious thing,” said Mark.
“It’s a joke, then?” said Christy.
“No, not a joke,” said Mark. “It’s just kind of this weird thing.”
“If you’re a gay Irish Swede, we’re getting a divorce.”
“Straight,” said Mark. “Hetero scouts honor. Don’t really know how to explain this. It’s not real. It’s just kind of this weird game.”
“This does sound like a gay thing,” said Christy. “Start talking, if the mood strikes I can still slap you with my non driving hand.”
“Alright,” said Mark. “You remember the jogger this morning?”
“The one who prompted your question about yoga pants?” said Christy.
“Yes,” said Mark.
He looked out the car window and started talking.
“It’s just, I used to try and not look at joggers and, you know, potentially attractive women. Not just when you were around. All the time. I felt like, hey, it’s better not to. And when I say look, I mean look. Not imagine myself having sex with. I would kind of, if there were any thinnish girl-like blobs around, I wouldn’t look in that direction. If I had to talk to an attractive woman, I’d be almost like, rude. You know, so she wouldn’t even have a chance of getting ideas.
“Over time, accidentally I think, I saw some of the blobs and joggers. Always assumed they were all so attractive. I can’t look at any of these blobs, because they are all perfect tens, and they have these huge boobs, and if I look long enough I won’t think my wife is hot. Well, most of them weren’t attractive at all. They were bad looking. The ones
Two Good Turns Page 2
