Through Different Eyes

by Karen Charleson

  She saved less now that she was alone. Charlie got his own from wherever the Hartley Bay people got their herring eggs. Still though, by herself she could easily go through forty or fifty bags. And fresh kwukmis; there was no better food on Earth. Nona had watched the herrings moving in and out of the bay for over a week before they started to spawn. Then Junior stopped by to tell her that they had put trees out. A day later, he offered her a ride to the floats with her bags and containers.

  Nona plucked the thickest pieces of kwukmis from the branches and shoved them into her freezer bags. She could not resist eating some. The fresh stuff was just too delicious. Whenever she happened across a particularly thick branch, she put it into her smaller bucket to cook fresh after she got home. She listened as a few feet away from her, Susan Joe began telling her granddaughter about how they used to dry branches of kwukmis on long racks in the sun and breeze. Nona nodded along in agreement. She recalled her own mother setting up such racks and hanging the boughs that were full of eggs. She remembered how her mother had soaked the dried kwukmis before they were allowed to eat it, so that the eggs puffed back up. Susan carried on with her story, telling Brenda about all the places near Kitsum where herrings spawned.

  Seeing Nona’s containers full, Junior offered to pack them up in the truck and drive her home. It seemed like the afternoon had passed too quickly. Others, she knew, would be back on the floats the next day to store away more kwukmis. She would be at her house then, with enough for a single person already put away in her freezer and fridge. Yes, she would be eating pots full of kwukmis for days.

  She was eager to tell Charlie about the spawn and her kwukmis too. It was with that thought in mind that she said goodbye to Brenda, Ruby, and Susan. She would phone her son as soon as she had her bags safely stowed away.

  He was home too! As she knew he would be, Charlie was excited and happy for her. The herring spawn near Hartley Bay was still weeks away, or so he figured. She had no idea where herrings spawned on the North Coast. Her son told her the names of places, but they were all meaningless to her. She had no connection to any of them. Not like around Kitsum, where she could name every point and every beach for miles in both directions. Here she could remember where a particular family came from, where coho salmon went up the creek to spawn, or where to dig clams or pick salal berries. She could recall whole streams of information, of history and knowing, tied to so many places. Here, she knew what places meant to people.

  Maybe it was eating all that kwukmis that put Nona in such a happy, youthful mood. She decided the very next evening to accept her son’s invitation to visit. That day, she felt daring and bold. Why not go to Hartley Bay for a few weeks? She could spend some time with her grandchildren. What did she have to lose? Before she could change her mind or find some reason not to go, she phoned Charlie. She could tell he was surprised to hear from her again so quickly. “I’ll come up then,” she told him. “That is, if you still want me to. Just let me know when to be ready.”

  He sounded really happy; Nona was glad of that. He laughed a little and told her that the kids would be excited to see their grandmother again. Nona expected that would have been the end of their conversation, but her son seemed to want to stay on the line. This was uncharacteristic of him, but maybe he really did miss her. He asked more about the herring. Were they still spawning? In which areas had they spawned? Did everyone get lots of kwukmis?

  Nona told him as much as she knew and teased him about having fresh kwukmis for lunch and dinner. Charlie groaned enviously. Once the herring talk had subsided, Nona again expected Charlie to say good night. Instead, he blurted out, “So how is Brenda?”

  It was Nona’s turn to be surprised. Her son looking for gossip; that was completely unlike him. He had never been particularly close to Brenda. He had gone fishing with Martin a few times over the years but mostly he had fished with his own father. Other than that, he had not had too much to do with Martin and Ruby’s children. They were all quite a bit younger than him.

  “She seems all right,” Nona answered carefully. “She was down at the floats doing kwukmis with everyone.”

  Charlie seemed to wait for more. Nona could not think of much else to tell him. Brenda had seemed cheerful, at least until she saw Monica. Or that was how things had looked to her. “I guess that’s to be expected,” her son pronounced.

  Nona had no idea what he meant. “You mean the moodiness that goes with pregnancy?”

  “Well, that too, I guess.”

  This was the strangest conversation with Charlie that Nona could remember. What was her son getting at? Maybe she was just drowsy from all the recent fresh air.

  Charlie talked about Brenda being young and capable of getting over things. Then he said that Brenda and Monica would be close again, that there was no taking away the fact that the two of them had grown up together and were part of the same family. Her son — usually so straightforward — was speaking to her in riddles. Nona raised her voice in frustration.

  “Hang on…what has Monica got to do with all of this?”

  Charlie’s voice grew quieter. “You mean you didn’t know?”

  “Know what?” Nona did not often get peeved with Charlie, but she was well on her way.

  “I just assumed you knew. That’s the only reason I brought it up.”

  “Charlie, you’d better tell me what is going on.”

  She heard her son take a deep breath. He’d been talking to Michael Clydesdale recently on the phone. He liked to talk to a few of the guys from back home, and he had stayed in touch with Michael over the years.

  “Anyways,” her son said cheerily, “I can’t help but be happy for Mike now. He’s finally found someone he can trust and rely on.”

  Incredulous, Nona nearly shouted, “Brenda?”

  Her son spoke to her as he would to one of his children. “Not Brenda, Mom. Monica.”

  Nona could tell he was sorry to have ever initiated this conversation with her. She chided herself for all her stupid questions, but it was too late to take any of them back. She changed the subject.

  “You know, you could make a quick trip down and find out how everyone is doing yourself. I’ll be sure to save you lots of kwukmis.”

  SIXTEEN

  The excitement of kwukmis had lured Brenda out of the house. Like everyone in her family, and everyone in Kitsum, she absolutely loved kwukmis. On the floats, she worked alongside her mother, grandmother, grandfather, Auntie Kate, and Nona. She peeled chunk after chunk of the thick layers of herring eggs from the hemlock branches and stuffed them into her waiting mouth. The sun was shining; the sky was clear blue with mere wisps of cloud. Most of Kitsum seemed to be out and in a good mood. Even the seagulls drifting alongside the floats — who were scooping up leftovers and squawking their apparent good fortune — seemed to be in a state of casual celebration. Indeed, Brenda relished the crunch of the popcorn-like eggs between her teeth as she cut the branches full of kwukmis into smaller pieces and eagerly filled their totes. She found herself smiling and laughing easily.

  There were five long “fingers” to the village floats. Tied up to those fingers were an assortment of fishing boats, small motor boats, rowboats, and canoes. Even with most of the trollers and herring punts gone for the fishing openings, the floats still looked fairly full. At first glance, the gillnet drums, buckets, ropes, chains, and tools appeared to merely litter the floats. Upon closer examination, the fishing gear proved to be sorted into easily distinguishable areas, according to which skipper it belonged to, and where that skipper generally tied up his boat.

  When Brenda was not looking at the kwukmis or her mother or grandparents, her eyes were drawn to the Queen’s gillnet drum at the end of the finger. Even after what her father had done, she still missed him.

  She was staring at the drum when she heard the commotion coming from the other direction. She turned her head and saw the schoolc
hildren coming down the ramp. Gary was at least a head taller than everyone else, so he was easy to see. No sooner had she recognized them than she heard Thomas shout in their direction. Brenda and her mother returned the greeting. Then, before Brenda had even finished lowering her arm, she saw her aunt. Only slightly taller than the students, there was Monica, waving and smiling. Brenda stared. She watched as her aunt helped some of the girls with a branch that was heavily loaded with kwukmis. Suddenly it felt like everyone else on the floats vanished. All she could feel was her aunt’s presence; all she could hear was Monica’s clear voice and the telltale sound of her laughter. Brenda would have recognized that laughter anywhere. She had grown up with it. How could Monica be so happy? What right did she have to all the joy in the world? The kwukmis in Brenda’s mouth turned to rubber. It was no longer a perfect day.

  When her mother asked her to go down to the floats with them the next day, she almost refused. However, the thought of more fresh kwukmis was overpowering. On a Saturday, Monica would likely be off in town shopping. Besides, her aunt would know full well that Ruby and her family would be down at the floats doing kwukmis. She would not dare show her face. Why shouldn’t Brenda be out enjoying her favourite season with her mother and the kids?

  The day went well until later in the afternoon. The sun — already low in the sky — was not too high above the western mountains. Her grandfather and brothers had brought in the last of their trees hours ago. Her grandmother and Auntie Kate had already gone up, as had most people. The last of their bins was wedged in between herself and her mother, and it was nearly full. Another few branches, and it would overflow. One tree full of kwukmis lay on the far side of her mother.

  Brenda wondered if her grandfather had already promised that last tree to someone. They no longer had the room, since Junior had brought most of their full totes to the truck. He was getting tougher, she noted. All that working with their father and grandfather, and all the basketball training, was paying off. Parked near the top of the ramp, she noticed her brother stopping to speak with two people on their way down. Brenda resumed cutting up branches. Her hands were getting numb now, even from a light breeze. At that time of year, so early into spring, any wind was enough to bring back the chill of winter.

  When Brenda looked up again, Junior and the two people following him were standing in front of her and her mother. Monica and Michael! It was the first time she had laid eyes on Michael in nearly six months. It was too late to pretend that she had not seen him or Monica. They were right there and she was staring right at them.

  “Hey,” Monica said, as though everything was perfectly normal, as though the world was not threatening to blow apart.

  Brenda wanted more than anything to flee, but there was no escape. The thought of having to raise her bloated body from its spot on the railing of the float kept her glued in place. She managed a nod and nudged closer to her mother.

  “Peter said that you should take that tree there,” her mother said, tilting her head in the direction of the full tree.

  Brenda realized that her mother was speaking to Monica. How could she? How could her grandfather? Give Monica kwukmis after all she had done. How could they?

  Monica prattled on. Brenda recognized the excitement over kwukmis in her voice, but there was something else there as well. Her aunt was actually nervous. Three times, she heard her repeat herself about thanking Peter. Michael remained silent. Just take the tree and go, Brenda felt like shouting.

  Then, of course, her aunt could not just leave things alone. “How you doing, Bren?” she asked quietly.

  Raw anger gave Brenda the strength to glare up at her. “How the hell do you think I am?” was on the tip of her tongue, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw the lines around her mother’s eyes tighten. “Fine,” she answered grimly and looked away.

  Maybe Monica wanted to avoid a confrontation too. Her aunt held her tongue after that. She stepped past Brenda and picked up the loaded branches. Michael was watching Monica and the kwukmis as though they were the only things that existed in the world. Leaning on her mother, Brenda heaved herself up and headed for the truck. She doubted that anyone was paying the least bit of attention.

  SEVENTEEN

  Not long after all the kwukmis had been collected — Monica remembered specifically that it had been during the third week of March when the herrings had spawned near Kitsum — she received a visitor. She was getting ready to leave the sixth-grade classroom when she heard a series of small knocks on the nearby main door. Thinking it was only students looking for something to do, she ignored them. She would just tell the kids that everyone had left on her way out. However, the tapping did not stop. It only grew louder. Irritated now, Monica gathered her papers to take home and flung the metal door open. There, standing under the brief overhang, was Saul. She would have been no more shocked to see the pope himself at her doorstep.

  “Saul,” she managed. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I went to Ruby’s first. She gave me directions.” Saul smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

  “I’m just locking up. Everyone’s left for the day.” Monica fumbled in her pocket for the key to the deadbolt. Carolyn never failed to complain if one of the staff forgot to lock a door. It did not occur to her to invite Saul into the school. Monica stepped outside, turned the key, and stood looking at this man with whom she had once lived.

  “Ruby mentioned that you had your own place. I was a little surprised at that news. I just assumed that you’d be with your sister as usual.”

  There was nothing wrong with Ruby telling Saul where she lived, she told herself. It was not a secret. What else was her sister supposed to do but tell Saul where to find her? “Come on,” she said, and began walking around the building. Even half a step behind, Saul seemed to tower above her.

  “I needed my own spot,” she explained. “I was taking Thomas’s room and that didn’t seem fair, not for such a long time, anyways.” She held the door open and told Saul to have a seat on the small blanketed sofa. “I’ll make tea,” she said. “You still drink tea?”

  “It hasn’t been that long.” Saul tried to laugh. “Yes. I still drink tea.”

  Before the tea was even ready, Saul began talking. She figured that he had to have prepared his speech well in advance. “I kept thinking of phoning, Monica. Then I realized there was too much to explain on the telephone. I don’t know how many letters to you I started and tore up in frustration. Finally, I realized that the only thing that would do was for me to come here and talk to you in person.”

  Monica pretended to busy herself with selecting cups. Did he expect her to congratulate him on his decision or his showing up out of the blue? “Do you still take honey?”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

  Monica looked hard at Saul. He was wearing a light green golf shirt with its top two buttons undone, and new blue jeans. She saw that he had dressed to appear casual. It was one of a few “looks” he used. The faint beginnings — or endings — of a tan showed on his neck. The muscles of his arms flexed ever so slightly as he reached for the teacup. He still worked out, she thought. Three times a week, and once every other weekend. He would not have changed his routine. She thought that she should be polite and ask him something. “How’s Ottawa?” she ventured.

  “It’s…” For a second, she expected a sincere revelation, but then he seemed to revert to a prepared speech. “It’s different. I’m enjoying the university. They seem to appreciate me; there’s lots of support and interest in my research. And then, there’s nothing like being in Ottawa close to the archives. The sheer amount of material there is absolutely astounding. Ottawa really is the centre of things, in a big way. But Monica…it’s lonely too. I miss you.”

  She did not answer. Instead she concentrated on the small table. She sat on one of the two kitchen chairs. That was the only place to sit, other than on the couch
beside Saul. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him taking in the room. She tried to see it all as he would see it. The books stacked on the floor, the armchair full of laundry, the dirty dishes on the counter beside the tall scented candles she had picked up at the market in Port Hope. The dried flowers in a pink-tinged vase on the windowsill, and the photos of her nieces and nephews stuck with magnets onto the refrigerator. The cream-coloured curtains that offset the arrangement of beach stones and shells on the new bookcase. How did it all appear to him? Monica had taken immense pride in every item she had added to this room. It irked her now, to see Saul so casually looking everything over. She glanced at her wristwatch and saw that Michael would be home soon. That was Saul’s own fault, she told herself. He should not have come.

  “Can I use your washroom? I had a long drive.”

  Monica nodded and waited. Now that he was here, she wished that she had thought to invite him into the school instead.

  It was not the same affable Saul who exited the bathroom. She recognized the furrowed forehead as a sure sign of anger. Just what had he seen, exactly? Nervously, she looked to the window and door.

  “Expecting someone, Monica?” Even his voice had changed.

  “Michael.” She cleared her throat. “Michael Clydesdale.”

  “That didn’t take you long.”

  Monica felt like telling him that it was none of his business, but she held back her words. “He’s from Kitsum. Like me,” she said instead, and then wondered where that had come from. “He lives here. With me.”

  “So I travelled all this way…for…this. I know you didn’t like the idea of moving to Ottawa, even though it was important for my career. I understood that, or so I thought. But Monica, I never dreamed there was someone else. You didn’t even have the guts to tell me. I should have known. Your refusing to come back after Christmas. Your treating me like a fool.”