Michael was the one to open the basement door. He was surprised; that was all. She wanted him to be thrilled or at least moderately pleased to see her, but she settled for the raised eyebrows and tilted head. She had to ask him to invite her inside. Then he seemed to think that she had wanted to see his uncle or aunt. “They’re drinking up there, you know,” he warned.
Brenda forced herself to laugh lightly. She could hear the country music blasting from an open upstairs window. “You don’t drink with them?”
Michael shook his head and muttered something about not enjoying the old alcoholic crowd. She ignored the bitterness she heard in his words.
“Just thought I’d drop by and say hi,” she managed. “I was at the hall. Kind of boring there, the same old faces, the same old games every night.”
The basement between the outside door and his bedroom door was a disaster. Old clothes, damp newspapers and decaying cardboard boxes, tools and fishing gear, tin cans and bottles; they all seemed to mingle in haphazard heaps that threatened to topple if bumped the wrong way, provided they had not already toppled. As she looked around, he could not hide his embarrassment.
Michael’s room was a sharp contrast. It was small and sparsely furnished. Brenda saw a single bed, neatly made and covered by a slightly faded green blanket. She saw an old dresser on top of which sat a small radio. She heard the sounds of an urban rock station. Beside the radio was a trio of paperback books. A yellow plastic crate, serving as a table for an alarm clock and flashlight, was pushed up next to the bed. Not one picture or photo adorned any of the walls. There was no sign of the disorder beyond the door, but there was not much sign of life either. She did not know what she had expected to find in his bedroom. Perhaps some indication of who he was, of what he liked or cared about. Instead, his room seemed institutional, almost how she imagined a prison cell or military barracks to be. Michael sat on the bare cement floor while she perched on the edge of the bed.
Brenda was wearing faded skin-tight jeans and a sleeveless rose-coloured blouse. She had left her hair down, without ponytail or barrettes, and it cascaded down her back. She knew that she looked good. Even so, Michael was reluctant to do more than steal the odd glance at her. He asked her a few questions about school and what she was doing for the summer. That was all. When the silence between them grew too thick, she got up and left. She replayed the scene over and over again as she walked back to the hall and home. She figured that he was just shy or that he was just being respectful.
Brenda visited Michael at his room exactly four times that summer. Most nights, she could not manage to get away from the others at the hall. Teenagers hung around in clumps. It was unusual to see anyone sneaking off by themselves. The worst times were when she thought she had gotten away, and one of the girls would catch up and walk with her. Once she made it all the way to the Clydesdale house only to find people sitting outside. There was no way she could walk by them without being noticed, and worse, questioned. As if to frustrate her plans further, her mother decided to occasionally let Thomas go with her and Junior to the hall. Tom had been begging to be allowed ever since school let out. Junior told their mother it would be fine, that he and Brenda would keep an eye out for their younger brother. Brenda fumed.
The second time that Brenda was able to successfully make her way to the Clydesdale house, the place stood ominously dark and quiet. She knocked on the basement door and she clearly heard the echo. Michael answered the door. Once again, he invited her inside with reluctance. She wondered if he was ashamed of where he stayed, and if that was the reason he discouraged visitors. She had brought him a pop from the store, but he told her that he never touched the stuff.
Brenda had expected the second visit to be easier than the first. She was wrong. Being alone together in the basement room seemed even more awkward. Michael was mostly silent. Her disappointment soon began to show. Then he broke the silence. “Look, I had a long day at work. I’m pretty tired, okay?” She had left a few minutes later.
It took nearly two weeks for Brenda to convince herself to visit Michael again. Maybe this guy was just not interested in her. She had to know for sure. She forced herself to take an afternoon walk by the construction site. Michael returned her smiles and waves, just like he had before. Perhaps there was something there after all. Something to work with. When she had crossed the unfinished road and had looked up at the second storey where he was working, she had seen how fully and completely he smiled. Yes, his whole face had lit up. She knew that she had made him happy. More encouragement on her part could move things along. With a vague sense of determination, she made more trips to the worksite.
The summer holidays were already winding down. Brenda would be returning to school soon and what would she have to show for the summer? Not much, that was for sure. Yes, she could add some juicy details to her sneak visits to the Clydesdale house, but what had really happened? There was still no boyfriend to show for her efforts. The days were already getting shorter. One night after nine o’clock when it was already dark, Brenda walked from the hall to Michael’s. She stood at the basement door for a while, thinking that she could hear faint music. Then she knocked. No one answered. She knocked again and still no one answered. She was forced to retreat.
A few days later, on a Sunday evening, Brenda returned to the Clydesdale house. If Michael did not answer the door this time, she swore to herself that she would never visit again. Never. She was about to give up when Michael opened the basement door. He did not seem surprised to see her. Straightaway, he stepped aside in the doorway and gestured for her to come in. He kissed her as soon as she was inside his room. Then instead of sitting on the floor, he sat beside her on the bed. After all of her planning and fantasizing, Brenda expected to be more prepared, more ready. Instead, she found that she did not know what to do. She was so nervous that she froze. She could no longer speak.
In one way she had no idea of what she was doing, of what was going on; in another, she knew exactly. She felt unable to move, and yet there she was, moving her mouth, her arms, her back, her shoulders. The only thing that made sense to her, that felt like a necessity, was holding and touching this man who was still a stranger to her. He did not say a word. He did not have to say anything. She felt like this could go on forever, that all she had ever wanted was to be wordless like this, to be making and hearing voice through her body alone.
Afterwards, things changed quickly. Michael seemed angry; she felt that very clearly and wished she could not. He turned away from her on the narrow bed and sat up, facing the wall. He still did not speak, and she could not bring herself to make a sound. Michael was being very deliberate with this action, or non-action. Minutes went by. He was waiting for her to go. She picked her clothes up from the floor, dressed, and made her way home through the darkness.
After what was essentially a humiliation, what had ever made her go back? She no longer even dared to visit the construction site. After how he had treated her, how could she have returned? She did not know; that was the thing. Brenda had become obsessed by what she could not figure out. Somehow she had got things wrong and was misreading the situation. No matter how much she tried, she still could not figure it out. Once more, she told herself. She would give Michael — this idea she had of Michael and Brenda — one more chance.
If she was somewhat unsure of his anger the first time, she did not doubt it the second time. She had to undress before he would even go near her. She could feel his scorn in every touch. When she was leaving he stood up and kissed her gently on the cheek. Then he lay back down and pulled the single blanket over himself, once again facing away from her. She understood that he was saying goodbye. She did not even turn around when she let herself out. She already knew that she would not be back.
TWO
From where Nona sat at her kitchen table, she had an uninterrupted view of the front and the southern side of the Joe house. From her sturdy wooden cha
ir, she could see directly into their living room. Her son had warned her once again on the phone only the evening before about becoming too involved — too preoccupied, he had said — with the comings and goings of Martin Joe and his family. She could not help looking out her own window, could she? Nona had told Charlie many times as he was growing up that her neighbour was her close relative, and therefore, their close relative. Martin’s father and her mother had the same grandmother. They were that close. It was only proper for Nona to keep an eye out for her own family. Charlie really did not grasp that part.
As she drank her morning coffee, Nona watched all the Joe children leave for school. A few minutes later, she saw Martin come through the kitchen porch door and down the same three short steps. Martin, she assumed, was on his way down to the Kitsum dock and the fishermen’s floats. Commercial fishing for chum (or dog salmon, as the fish were more commonly known to locals) was due to begin soon. There was nowhere else he would have been going but to his boat, the Pacific Queen. Martin had been a commercial fisherman for most of his life. In the days before a fishing opening, he would head down to the floats every morning to work on his boat like all the other fishermen. Nona’s late husband had followed the exact same routine, and she still kept up with the fishing news.
Something was afoot in the Joe household. Nona finished her second cup of coffee. It was an unusual movement that had caught her attention. What was going on with Ruby? Through her neighbour’s front picture window, Nona could see things flying through the air. At first, she thought that Ruby was shaking out the brightly coloured couch covers and pounding dust from the thick cushions and rug. But no, that was not it. Lamps and books and chairs were not hurled across the living room when anyone cleaned. Nona lowered the volume on the radio. She was sure that she could make out the sounds of banging, of things hitting walls, and that — that was most definitely the sound of breaking glass.
There was no other possible explanation. Someone must have told. That must have been what happened. Things had been okay at the Joe house after sunup. Not anymore. It was no secret; everyone in Kitsum probably knew by now. Everyone that was, except Ruby. Why would anyone tell her? Some people had no common sense.
Nona’s cousin had phoned her the night before. Nona did not consider it anything to brag about, but Carolyn had called to say that Charmayne was home. So her daughter was back and showing off. Nona had nearly snorted in response. What was it this time? Her new car, her new clothes, her husband’s new job? Charmayne always had something. If she was really so happy living in Vancouver, Charmayne would have stayed there. If she was really satisfied with life with her husband, she would not show up in Kitsum every few months to cause nothing but trouble. Martin Joe was only the latest on a long list of married men for whom she had created a scandal.
The door across the street slammed hard. There was Ruby, stomping the short walkway to the road. Even from a distance, Nona could see that her face was red. Her light jacket was only partly pulled up over her shoulders. Her usually neat hair hung wildly over her shoulders. Ruby was not a big woman — she was indeed quite short and slender — but the way she charged toward the road made her appear a lot larger. The woman looked livid. She headed straight past Nona’s open window without so much as glancing upward, and stormed on down the trail that led to the southern end of the village.
Martin would be home soon and what would he find? Poor man, working all morning on his boat so that he could do well for his family, only to come home to an empty house. Not just an empty house, she corrected herself, but a house that his wife had trashed. Every man makes mistakes. Nona wished that she could step in and do something for her cousin, maybe redirect him to her house for a decent lunch. But right away, Martin would have known that something was wrong. He always ate at home.
Carolyn had filled her in about Charmayne’s current visit. Nona was supposed to be envious that Carolyn had a child who visited her mother so often. When was the last time Charlie came home? Carolyn had asked innocently enough, as though she did not know very well that Charlie had not been back since the spring. Nona had almost worked out a way to hang up on her cousin when Carolyn changed her tone. In a voice quieter than the one she normally used, she had begun: “Sometimes I don’t know what to do about Charmayne.”
“What do you mean?”
Carolyn had spoken vaguely about Charmayne and “her men,” only to pass it all off as a bit of fun for her. After all, there was not much to do in Kitsum. Before Nona could feel her blood boil again, Carolyn had dropped her voice even lower.
“But the latest…I could not believe the latest. I mean, I always thought he was faithful to Ruby. I mean, I know he got into some trouble when he was younger, but that was ages ago. He’s on the straight and narrow nowadays, you know. I mean, I did not think he would do that. Not anymore.”
Nona had to be sure of what she was hearing. “Who?”
“Martin,” Carolyn had breathed. “Charmayne was with him on the weekend. Martin. She told me herself. I guess she was having a few drinks with a couple of her friends at Dan’s place. Anyways, Martin stopped by, looking for Dan’s boy. He needed another deckhand for the dog salmon opening. Only Dan and his son had gone to Campbell River. I guess Dan’s daughter told Martin that they’d be back soon and offered him a beer while he waited. Charmayne was surprised when he joined them. Martin ended up talking to Charmayne, and so it went. She didn’t have to spell it all out for me. Ruby is going to be so pissed.”
Carolyn had emphasized the “pissed,” letting the “ss” sit behind her teeth for that extra instant. Nona had wanted to say a thing or two to her about Charmayne. There was a lot she could have said, too. Instead she had merely asked when Charmayne was going home. Carolyn could read into questions as well as anyone.
“Charmayne is leaving on Saturday.” The conversation ended there.
It had taken Carolyn many years to get back at Ruby, but she had finally done it. Nona had sat for a long time thinking about what had happened. Even smart, capable men like Martin who knew the ways of the world could still be damned fools around young women. Especially one who looked so much like the young girl who had wanted him so badly all those years ago. Nona remembered the fishing season when Carolyn herself had all but chased Martin around Kitsum. She remembered the young woman’s string of invented excuses to go down to the floats when Martin had been a deckhand for his father. In those days, he could often be found working on the old Kitsum Pride when he was off school. Back then, Carolyn had told anyone who would listen that Martin liked her. Nona had never bought it though, no matter what tales Carolyn had told her and everyone else. In fact, Martin’s mother had complained to Nona that Carolyn was always hanging around. She had openly told Nona that it was Ruby Smith — and only Ruby Smith — who interested her son.
Maybe Martin regretted never taking Carolyn up on her offers long ago. Maybe he just wanted to feel young again, even for a little while. Nona was suddenly angry at herself for even thinking such things. For all she knew, Charmayne might have spiked his beer. Nona would not put anything past that woman. Charmayne had been nursed on her mother’s desire for revenge against Ruby. The second that Martin accepted that beer, her scheming must have begun. She would have come up with a plan to get him alone with her. Yes, Nona was convinced that Charmayne had somehow manipulated her relative.
Martin was walking towards his house. He looked like he had not a worry in the world. The chaos inside his home would be the first shock. Nona held her breath. A few minutes later she could see the man standing in the middle of his living room. She watched him turn one way and then the other. After surveying the damage, it would not take him long to realize what had happened.
Nona wanted Martin to give up waiting for his wife and to get back to his boat. The dog salmon opening was coming up fast. It was one of his last chances to fish before winter. Even so, Martin stayed put. Then the younger kids arrived ho
me from Kitsum Elementary. It was clear that Thomas had firm instructions to wait for his sisters because the three of them always arrived home together. Ruby had done a good job there. The kids were well behaved. As a neighbour, Nona had no problems from them. The Joe children would not be found among those kids out at all hours, yelling, swearing, throwing stones, wrecking things.
About an hour later, Brenda and Martin Junior returned home from the high school. There was still no sign of Ruby. Brenda was old enough to cook dinner. The family would be fine, Nona told herself, and took a step away from the window. She had best make her own supper, even if it was only a fried egg and a piece of toast. Charlie would not have been impressed to learn that she had spent most of her day staring at the Joe house and summing up their situation. She could almost hear him: “What good does that do anybody?”
Sometimes she wished that she and Harry had had more children. It had taken her over two years to get pregnant with Charlie. A few years later, there had been a miscarriage. The doctor in Port Hope had not even been able to tell her if it had been a boy or a girl. It was too early to know, he had said, but she had not believed it. After that, she was never able to become pregnant again. Then Dr. Wensicott — the one who did not seem to know anything — had told her to “just keep trying.” What kind of advice was that from a doctor? She still suspected him of being a closet alcoholic. People said that you could smell the booze on him when he was called into the tiny hospital on an emergency. A useless know-nothing, that’s what Nona thought of him.
Harry had never complained. He had never made her feel bad. He had never acted as though anything were wrong. He had also taken Charlie down to the boat and out fishing every chance he got. If Nona could see Ruby right now, she would tell her to thank her lucky stars for a husband like Martin and those children of hers. Every man makes mistakes. Ruby had it good. Martin was always straight back home after any fishing trip. Nona had noticed their truckloads of groceries and the kids in their new winter jackets. No, Ruby had certainly never gone without.
Through Different Eyes Page 2