January 18, 1982 Issue
By Edna O'Brien
The New Yorker, January 18, 1982 P. 36
Mabel McCann's family and the family of the narrator were very close. Mabel had been away in Australia for ten years when she wrote that she was on her way home. Both families were excited at the prospect. Mabel's mother cleaned the house carefully, and made a special cake. When Mabel arrived she was a disappointment. She was older than they'd imagined, and had an unattractive accent. The narrator's mother said she looked like a scarecrow. By the end of several months, everyone in town had grown tired of Mabel, so Mabel favored the narrator with her attention, taking her on walks. They tried to get invited in to tea. One day they went to a house where two young girls who were home from England were staying. The girls were delighted to have company, and for a while the narrator and Mabel went to their house every Sunday. One day Mabel met Matt, an old recluse. She tried to make the narrator carry him a note. At a dance she danced with him, and they disappeared for a while. After that, Mabel started to get fat and a rumor went around that she was pregnant. Soon there was no doubt, and Mabel wore the shame of pregnancy proudly, going brazenly to bars, etc. But when she went into labor, and the doctor came, he examined her and said there was no child. It was a hysterical pregnancy. Soon after this Mabel left town, and in time it was as if she had never come home, as if she were still in Australia.
Published in the print edition of the January 18, 1982, issue.
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