The Heart Begins Here
Page 18
“We have a lot to talk about,” she said. “I’ll call when I get back.”
Meanwhile, I’ve found a place in a cheaper part of town, a small apartment I can afford on my own, so I’ll be moving at the end of the month.
Or who knows? Maybe I’ll move to Winnipeg, perhaps begin a genealogical search at the St. Boniface Historical Society.
MY MOTHER JUST CALLED. “Do you know what day it is?”
“Remembrance Day.”
“And I hope you’re remembering your father. This is the date of his death.” I had forgotten.
Then, my mother starts in again about the number “eleven” and all the negative associations it carries. She goes on to decry the decline of moral values in our society, which brings her to the death of that woman that was in all the papers.
“Imagine her abandoning her son like that. No wonder that poor man was driven over the edge like that.”
I decide to do what Wanda has urged me to do all these years: Be direct and let the shit hit the fan.
“Listen, Mom,” I say. “I’m just like that woman.”
“Marguerite, what a terrible thing to joke about.”
“It’s not a joke, Mom. I’m lesbian, just like her. The reason I left Dan was to be with Wanda.”
My mother hesitates for only a few seconds.
“Your father would’ve got the joke,” she says. “He had a much better sense of humour than me.”
“But Mom, I’m not joking. I love women. I love them, and not just as friends. I’m lesbian, Mom.”
“You take after him, you know, ever since you were a little girl. Always joking, always teasing. But you know what? Your father always knew when to stop.”
“Mom, for the past seven years, I’ve been living with another woman in a house with one double bed. You saw it with your very own eyes.”
“Don’t be silly dear. You have a bed in the basement too.”
“A single bed in the guest room. Wanda and I haven’t been just housemates all this time. We’ve been lovers. Wanda was my lover. Until a couple of months ago, we were sleeping together in the same bed.”
“There, you see? You’re obviously not doing it anymore. You may have been a little mixed-up for a while, but now you’re back to normal. I know my daughter. After all, I’m not your mother for nothing.”
You can’t will someone to know something she refuses to know.
I think of Reverend Rosie’s final words at the memorial service.
“All of us are hurting right now, but if there’s one thing we must remember it’s that if death separates us physically from those we love, it does not have the power to separate us from love itself. Indeed, the reality of death makes us more sensitive to those who are alive. Go in peace, my friends, and love one another while you can.”
And just now, a chorus of birds, just like that first morning on the lanai in Maui, when, for a few moments, the world seemed as it should be.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The reading with Nicole Brossard is as imaginary as the rest of the novel.
Thanks to Bonnie Bishop, Di Brandt, Aline Brault, Janine Brodie, Sharon Budnarchuk, Steve Budnarchuk, David Cheoros, Terry Paul Choyce, Margot Cross, Caterina Edwards, Gloria Filax, Kristy Harcourt, Brian Harris, Karen Harrison, Barbara Hartmann, Brenda Mann, Richard McFarlane, Louise McCrindle, Jill McIvor, Mary Mullins, Dianne Oberg, Roz Ostendorf, Eunice Scarfe, Debra Shogan, Malinda Smith, Lida Somchynsky, Heather Swain, Marty Taylor, Mary W. Walters, Mike Wayman, Janice Williamson, Carol Seajay and the Feminist Bookstore Network, the Providence Renewal Centre in Edmonton, the Banff Centre for the Arts, the beautiful community of writers and readers who rallied around Orlando Books in October 2002, and to the independent booksellers of the world—thank you all for years of support and inspiration.
Special thank you to the diligent and caring Luciana Ricciutelli, Editor-in-Chief at Inanna Publications, and Renée Knapp, Publicist/Marketing Manager, the best friends a writer can have.
RIP:
Gilbert Bouchard
Tom Edge
Maureen Irwin
Claude Kenneson
Sheryl McInnis
Gordon Morash
Barbara Mousseau
Anna Pellatt
Gloria Sawai
Elizabeth Smart
Giuseppe Vannelli
Photo: Judi Risser
Jacqueline Dumas is a writer and educator who lives in Nova Scotia. She was a long-time resident of Edmonton, Alberta, where she ran Aspen Books (1977-1985) and latterly Orlando Books (1993-2002), a progressive, feminist bookstore that promoted countless writers from across the country. Her published works include: Madeleine & the Angel (1989), winner of the 1989 Georges Bugnet Award for Best Alberta novel, and a finalist for the 1989 Books in Canada/W.H. Smith Best First Novel Award; The Last Sigh (1993); a children’s picture book, And I’m Never Coming Back (1986); and a one-act play, Secrets, which was produced at the 2013 Edmonton International Fringe Festival. In 2012, she edited an anthology of work by second language writers, Writing in the Margins (Writers Beyond Borders). Her community involvement and commitment has earned her various awards, including awards for service to the Gay and Lesbian communities and the YWCA Woman of Distinction for the Arts.