Aunt Matilda needed himdesperately, but when hearrived she did not wanthim and neither did anyoneelse in his home town.
THE
GALLERY
By ROG PHILLIPS
ILLUSTRATOR LLEWELLYN
I was in the midst of thefourth draft of my doctoratethesis when Aunt Matilda's telegramcame. It could not havecome at a worse time. The deadlinefor my thesis was four daysaway and there was a minimumof five days of hard work to doon it yet. I was working aroundthe clock.
If it had been a telegram informingme of her death I couldnot have taken time out to attendthe funeral. If it had beena telegram saying she was atdeath's door I'm very muchafraid I would have had to callthe hospital and order them tokeep her alive a few days longer.
Instead, it was a terselyworded appeal. ARTHUR STOPCOME AT ONCE STOP AM INTERRIBLE TROUBLE STOPDO NOT PHONE STOP AUNTMATILDA.
So there was nothing else forme to do. I laid the telegramaside and kept on working onmy thesis. That is not as heartlessas it might seem. I simplycould not imagine Aunt Matildain terrible trouble. The end ofthe world I could imagine, butnot Aunt Matilda in trouble.
Wherever he went Arthur felt the power behind the lens.She was the classic flat-chestedageless spinster living alonein the midst of her dustlessbric-a-brac and Spode ina frame house of the same vintageas herself at the edge ofthe classic small town of Sumac,near the southwest corner ofWisconsin. I had visited her fortwo days over a year ago, andshe had looked exactly the sameas she had when I stayed withher when I was six all summer,and there was no question butwhat she would some day attendmy funeral when I died of oldage, and she would still look thesame as always.
There was no conceivabletrouble of terrestrial origin thatcould touch her—or would wantto. And, as it turned out, I wasright in that respect.
I was right in another respecttoo. By finishing my thesis I becamea Ph.D. on schedule, and ifI had abandoned all that andrushed to Sumac the moment Ireceived the telegram it couldnot have materially altered theoutcome of things. And AuntMatilda, hanging on the wall ofmy study, knitting things forthe Red Cross, will attest tothat.
You, of course, might argueabout her being there. Youmight even insist that I amhanging on her wall instead.And I would have to agree withyou, since it all depends on thepoint of view and as I sit heretyping I can look up and see myselfhanging on her wall.
But perhaps I had better beginat the beginning when, withmy thesis behind me, I arrivedon the 4:15 milk run, as theycall the train that stops on itsway past Sumac.
I was in a very disturbedstate of mind, as anyone whohas ever turned in a doctoratethesis can well imagine. For thelife of me I couldn't be surewhether I had used symbol ortoken on line 7, sheet 23, of mythesis, and it was a bad habitof mine to unconsciously interchangethem unpredictably, andI knew that Dr. Walters couldvery well vote against acceptanceof my thesis on that groundalone. Also, I had thought of amuch better opening sentence tomy thesis, and was having to usewill power to keep from rushingback to the university to askpermission to change it.
I had practically no sleep duringthe fourteen-hour run, andwhat sleep I did have had beeninterrupted by violent starts ofawaking with a conviction thatthis