Once Peter had brought her suitcase on board the train he seemed eager to get himself out of the way. But not to leave. He explained to her that he was just uneasy that the train should start to move. Out on the platform looking up at their window, he stood waving. Smiling, waving. The smile for Katy was wide open, sunny, without a doubt in the world, as if he believed that she would continue to be a marvel to him, and he to her, forever. The smile for his wife seemed hopeful and trusting, with some sort of determination about it. Something that could not easily be put into words and indeed might never be. If Greta had mentioned such a thing he would have said, Don't be ridiculous. And she would have agreed with him, thinking that it was unnatural for people who saw each other daily, constantly, to have to go through explanations of any kind.
When Peter was a baby, his mother had carried him across some mountains whose name Greta kept forgetting, in order to get out of Soviet Czechoslovakia into Western Europe. There were other people of course. Peter's father had intended to be with them but he had been sent to a sanatorium just before the date for the secret departure. He was to follow them when he could, but he died instead.
"I've read stories like that," Greta said, when Peter first told her about this. She explained how in the stories the baby would start to cry and invariably had to be smothered or strangled so that the noise did not endanger the whole illegal party.
Peter said he had never heard such a story and would not say what his mother would have done in such circumstances....
-A shaky marriage! Repression! Welcome to the world of Alice Munro. How a small thing can mean so much more than it seems to mean. Why can't Greta let Peter finish his solemn story about his childhood? If Greta insists on talking about fictional stories, why can't Peter just chuckle and play along? You can see, in this snippet, that there is a gulf between the two characters. You see it just through that exchange about the European mountains. You see it also in the "sort of determination" Greta detects in Peter's smile. A determination not to acknowledge everything that there is to acknowledge. Greta knows if she tried to dig deeper--if she started a blunt, reflective conversation--Peter would shut down. Or Greta thinks that she knows this.
-Peter's caution is evident in his behavior. He won't stand on the train. He won't even stand in the doorway. You can sense Greta's disappointment here. Couldn't Peter be a bit more romantic, a bit more generous? (The story about Czechoslovakia then helps us to understand Peter's caution, and it might surface simply because Greta thinks of it whenever she is bothered by Peter's withholding/restraint.) The story seems to start in the middle of a thought; you can imagine Alice Munro cutting the four or five paragraphs that went before it. Greta notices how a smile can morph; how a person can produce two different smiles for two different people. We understand that Greta is intelligent, without Munro spelling this out. "To get out of the way but not to leave": This seems like a fine summary or symbol of Munro's preoccupation, which is ambivalence. To be neither here nor there. In a liminal spot. In pain.
-The smile for Katy was wide open, sunny, without a doubt in the world, as if he believed that she would continue to be a marvel to him, and he to her, forever. The language is un-showy, but so powerful. Can you picture this smile right away? From a father to his little kid. Why wouldn't Katy be a marvel to Peter, and he to him, forever? And can you imagine a better way to describe parenthood? (The bond between parent and child is important in this story. Children in peril will turn out to be a main theme. It's plausible, in this moment, that Greta would recall the tense conversation with Peter about babies starting to cry in trite novels about Soviet Czechoslovakia. But, also, Munro is putting down a time bomb: We sense that a baby, or child, in this very story, might do something alarming--on a journey of her own. Keep reading...)
When Peter was a baby, his mother had carried him across some mountains whose name Greta kept forgetting, in order to get out of Soviet Czechoslovakia into Western Europe. There were other people of course. Peter's father had intended to be with them but he had been sent to a sanatorium just before the date for the secret departure. He was to follow them when he could, but he died instead.
"I've read stories like that," Greta said, when Peter first told her about this. She explained how in the stories the baby would start to cry and invariably had to be smothered or strangled so that the noise did not endanger the whole illegal party.
Peter said he had never heard such a story and would not say what his mother would have done in such circumstances....
-A shaky marriage! Repression! Welcome to the world of Alice Munro. How a small thing can mean so much more than it seems to mean. Why can't Greta let Peter finish his solemn story about his childhood? If Greta insists on talking about fictional stories, why can't Peter just chuckle and play along? You can see, in this snippet, that there is a gulf between the two characters. You see it just through that exchange about the European mountains. You see it also in the "sort of determination" Greta detects in Peter's smile. A determination not to acknowledge everything that there is to acknowledge. Greta knows if she tried to dig deeper--if she started a blunt, reflective conversation--Peter would shut down. Or Greta thinks that she knows this.
-Peter's caution is evident in his behavior. He won't stand on the train. He won't even stand in the doorway. You can sense Greta's disappointment here. Couldn't Peter be a bit more romantic, a bit more generous? (The story about Czechoslovakia then helps us to understand Peter's caution, and it might surface simply because Greta thinks of it whenever she is bothered by Peter's withholding/restraint.) The story seems to start in the middle of a thought; you can imagine Alice Munro cutting the four or five paragraphs that went before it. Greta notices how a smile can morph; how a person can produce two different smiles for two different people. We understand that Greta is intelligent, without Munro spelling this out. "To get out of the way but not to leave": This seems like a fine summary or symbol of Munro's preoccupation, which is ambivalence. To be neither here nor there. In a liminal spot. In pain.
-The smile for Katy was wide open, sunny, without a doubt in the world, as if he believed that she would continue to be a marvel to him, and he to her, forever. The language is un-showy, but so powerful. Can you picture this smile right away? From a father to his little kid. Why wouldn't Katy be a marvel to Peter, and he to him, forever? And can you imagine a better way to describe parenthood? (The bond between parent and child is important in this story. Children in peril will turn out to be a main theme. It's plausible, in this moment, that Greta would recall the tense conversation with Peter about babies starting to cry in trite novels about Soviet Czechoslovakia. But, also, Munro is putting down a time bomb: We sense that a baby, or child, in this very story, might do something alarming--on a journey of her own. Keep reading...)
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