Animus
By enrico
- 499 reads
Animus
It had only been six months since we last had dinner at the Olofson's
house but a lot had changed since then. Rather than struggling for
recognition, Mrs. Olofson was now somewhat famous, at least among the
theater-going public and probably more broadly. There had been several
articles about her most recent performance and she'd been interviewed
on an, as they say, intellectual television show with a national
syndication. It helped, too, that she was a new mother since her roll
had in part been about motherly strength. Mrs. Olofson showed herself
to be very enthusiastic about this recent foray into the public eye and
warmly announced her success. She was not boastful by nature and so
these announcements were very pleasing for all of us. In fact, we
waited with anticipation to hear of her next exploit and laughed at
ourselves for this indulgence. It was only Mr. Olofson who we found to
be almost blazing in his bitterness. And though we all had sympathy for
his position - he'd had to take care of their new daughter while Mrs.
Olofson made her rounds, as he said, her rounds among the rich and
famous, which kept him from working on his novel - we found his
emotional response to that position lacking charity for his wife. In
fact, several of his friends had taken him aside to explain their
concern. One man, a friend of Mr. Olofson's since elementary school,
went so far as to say that Mr. Olofson's meanness, as he said, his
meanness was getting the best of him, taking over his life and crushing
his soul. And not, as he explained, harming his wife in the least. For
the moment, her success kept her from harm, he said. The most a husband
could do with this mean behavior was bring on a wife's pity. His friend
said, This response of pity to meanness, no doubt repeated over and
over several months, would be, of course, a downward spiral for you. It
could be your undoing, he quietly pushed. To this, Mr. Olofson had
hurled his pint to the floor and stormed out of the bar. So when we
found ourselves at the table, conflicted over a desire to hear Mrs.
Olofson's tales of fortune and a censure of Mr. Olofson's brooding, we
were happy to find Mr. Olofson appearing jolly and engaging. We talked
enthusiastically for the entire meal, exchanging jokes and stories and
good wishes. All seemed to be on the upswing. Near the end of the meal
and during a lull in the conversation, Mr. Olofson leaned forward in
his chair. Drunk and swaying, he said conspiratorially, You know, it's
truly amazing how good my wife's milk tastes. It's really very good, he
announced with a tip of his coffee cup to everyone. Mrs. Olofson here
produces very good milk. Don't you agree?
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