The Age of Cities by Brett Josef Grubisic

know, I think Mr. Carlyle actually kept that poster up for years after V-Day because Doris left him. He’s such a bitter fellow. He’d refer to ‘an ill wind’ with a wink after a friendly lady left his wicket.”
    â€œMaybe he should have learned to drink a little less and keep his hands to himself, silly man. Everybody concerned would be happier.” She had not nurtured many friendships, but Alberta managed to be up to date with grapevine dispatches. Returning home with staff room gossip, Winston was usually confounded that she’d heard details that hadn’t passed his way.
    Alberta told him that she was giddy as a bride, and had spent the hour wandering through several floors crawling with merchandise. The bins, shelves, and stacked towers of tinned goods in the Food Department made the Bend shops look like chicken scratch, as if they were still living in the Depression, she exclaimed. And the prices weren’t bad, either.
    â€œThere’s enough to clothe an army. We can wander through it all later,” Alberta added. “You must be hungry, though. Any good news from the specialist?”
    She was up and moving before he answered. Wandering along the aisle, she explained that she’d made a reservation for luncheon at the Marine Room, a fancy restaurant she had happened across on the top floor. “It’s a lovely room. I requested that our table overlook the water. The hostess said she thought there would be something available. We’d best not be late.”
    Winston was hungry and, now, curious. He asked, “You’re sure? We’re not far from rail tracks here, Mother, we could head that way for a thriftier meal. We could split a can of pork and beans with some tramps down that way. Shoot some dice for dessert. I’d guarantee the view would be great there, too.”
    â€œYes, I suppose we could. But….” She slowed for a moment to caress a diaphanous sun-coloured scarf worn by a blank-eyed plaster head. “You have plenty of money squirreled away, and you’re buying. All the ladies will be impressed: A Good Son Taking His Delicate Mother Out For Luncheon.” Her left hand semaphored the words in capital letters. “They’ll all have the same thought, I can promise you that.”
    Alberta led him to a marble-clad wall punctuated with three bronze elevators. Riding the middle car, they remained silent till arriving at the sixth floor. Together or alone, they felt uncomfortable holding conversations at spots where they were sure of being overheard; in bank and post office lineups or the grocery store check-out, their concern was with getting through before being trapped by a chatty Mrs. Bell or Mr. Jenkins into shooting the breeze about the weather, the price of stamps or the latest setback on the new bridge. That compulsion of men to speak—to say just anything at all to halt the birth of silence—was one they did not share.
    The elevator panel’s square button lit 6 and a bell dinged their arrival. Stepping quickly out of the car Alberta said, “This way, sir,” with mock-solemnity and mimicked the white-gloved military hand directions of a policeman at a busy intersection. Winston followed her signs.
    En route to the Marine Room, they passed under a long and narrow showcase corridor. Winston studied its vaulted stained glass ceiling. The patriotic scenes of British Columbian industriousness had been captured with chunky leaded rectangles and translucent glass, a year of cutting and soldering at least, he guessed. Such an undertaking! An undulating indigo banner proclaiming A Century of Progress in bright yellow ran through the centre, and on either side were illustrated the provincial hallmarks as deigned by some centennial committee—Energy and Power, Recreation, Fisheries, Forestry and Logging, Mining, Agriculture, Education, Commerce. Winston noted that Education was represented by a milky one-room