The train stopped twice. And when it did we closed the doors and peeped through the cracks in the boxcar. We stopped near a town called Mud River where we couldn’t see anything except a brick wall. What made it worse was that the railway workers kept walking past and so we had to keep quiet. And it was so hot in the boxcar we began to sweat. We soon drank the last of the water and all the cans of soda. But it was nice when the train moved on. We opened up the doors and put our faces into the breeze.
Later we stopped at a town that had dozens of cattle pens. Guys wearing cowboy hats loaded cattle on to the front of the train. One guy, sitting on a horse, had a sidearm and he kept on shouting to the other guys to get a move on. Guess he must have been the foreman. I was scared they’d put cattle in the boxcar. But the Rat said they wouldn’t, and they didn’t, and the train moved on.
The land changed from prairie land to mountains and from big towns to small towns where small children waved at us and we waved back. There were grassy plains that spread out to the horizon and blue rivers that ran into waterfalls. There were bald eagles, sheep-covered hills, and horses hovering around streams. There were green gorges, rocky canyons, and ravines with water gushing through them.
There was desert-looking land as well. It looked like it had been beaten by the elements since prehistoric times. There were boulders lying in valleys where the rain had caused rockslides, and there were tall rocks carved into strange shapes by the wind. I could imagine you’d find dinosaur bones there if you dug up the ground.
It was my first time out of Manitoba, the Rat’s too. And if things had been different I would have enjoyed travelling across Canada on a freight train. I was really impressed by our country: how big it was and how much there was to see.
Later we passed through a tacky town with more than its fair share of badly painted houses. It had lawnmowers for sale all along the tracks and it had second-hand cars adorned with bunting. If I had a choice between living in a tacky town or in a desert, I’d live in the desert. I’m not being a snob or anything, but when you’ve lived in a big city like Winnipeg you could never live anywhere tacky. And tacky towns have tacky people. No one likes tacky people.
I slept for a while but every time the train slowed for a bend the boxcar shook from side to side. It was tiring trying to stay asleep and so I sat up to see what the Rat was doing. She was staring at the photograph Mary White Cloud had given us. ‘Suppose he doesn’t want us?’ I asked.
‘Who wouldn’t want us? Uncle Jerome will jump for joy when he sees his new niece and nephew! We’re great kids!’
She made me laugh sometimes. But we were great kids. ‘What if he wants us to move to New York? Won’t you miss Winnipeg?’
‘Oh course. I’ll miss my friends and Harold. And I’ll miss Ms Mountshaft and the ballet.’ She put the back of her hand to her forehead. ‘I could have been the greatest ballet dancer Winnipeg had ever seen! I’ll just have to settle for being a great actress.’
‘You’ll always be a drama queen, that’s for sure.’
The Rat sat up straight. ‘Suppose he wants us to sell drugs for him! Hey baby, you wanna get high? Come on by! Don’t be shy!’ she said like a seventies pimp. Then she turned into Little Lord Fauntleroy’s sister. ‘One ought to be careful whom one sells narcotics to. Otherwise one might end up in a rather large house where one might be ridiculed for one’s accent! Nevertheless, it could be a rather lucrative venture.’
‘So you’d sell drugs?’
‘Absolutely not!’ she said speaking normally. ‘I wouldn’t be a great kid then. And I like being a great kid.’
‘You’d live on the profits though. If Uncle Jerome,’ she had me calling him that, ‘decided he would take us in.’
‘We’re orphans, brother. We’d have no choice. Anyway forget about that for now. If you had a choice of meeting a big-time American celebrity, who would it be?’
I could never understand why it’s such a big deal to be a celebrity. But the Rat’s obsessed with them. She doesn’t so much read celebrity magazines as study them. Then she analyses what she’s studied and makes her decision. She’s as good as a Wall Street trader when it comes to predicting who’s on their way up and who’s on their way down. And when the Rat said someone was out it was like celebrity death. They were never heard of again.
‘I don’t know. Jennifer Lopez, I think, or Julia Roberts or Halle Berry. I like Halle Berry!’
‘You’d wanna meet bimbos with big butts. That’s pathetic!’
‘You can be so snotty at times! You really can! Who’d you like to meet? Go on tell me!’
‘I don’t think I will if that’s your attitude.’ Just then her cellphone beeped. ‘It’s Harold,’ she said looking at the text message. ‘He said we should think about getting Father Henri to give Dad a proper burial, and he wants us to be careful.’
‘I knew he wouldn’t like the Native burial.’
‘It’s not that Harold didn’t like it. He’s just set in his Christian ways.’ The Rat crawled into her sleeping bag. ‘Well, I’m going to have a nap; wake me up if something interesting happens.’ She sank down inside and disappeared. ‘Halle beeping Berry,’ she mumbled. ‘She’s old enough to be your grandmother.’
At dusk the train stopped in the middle of absolutely nowhere. And as far as you could see there was a sea of wheat. We pulled back the doors and looked at the far end of the train. We couldn’t see anyone, not even the driver, it was like being on a ghost train. And so we sat in the doorway and watched the sun go down.
I thought about what it would be like to live there, without ever meeting another soul, just me and the Rat. Then she drank the last of her mocha and, jumping down, she snaked her way through the wheat.
‘Don’t blame me if you get left behind.’
She just lay there. ‘I won’t get left behind.’
The sky turned the wheat from a golden colour to pink and then red as the last of the sun faded into the horizon. I think the driver only stopped to watch the sunset because as soon as it was over the train started to move.
‘You think Mom ran off with him?’
‘Who?’ asked the Rat, climbing back in the boxcar.
‘Uncle Jerome.’
‘Is that what happened?’ Her round eyes turned beady and shifted from side to side. ‘Our very own family scandal! Mom runs away with Dad’s very own brother! Jerome DeBillier versus Dad DeBillier! Pistols at dawn and all that!’
I was sorry I asked her.
‘Jerome DeBillier barred from any further contact with the House of DeBillier! And we missed it all!’ She sat back and chewed on it for a while. ‘Anything else to eat?’
‘No.’
‘I’m going to sleep then.’
She curled up in her sleeping bag and within a minute she was making this little rodent snoring noise. She reminded me of a hamster we used to have. It was the laziest hamster that ever lived. Not once did it ever run around in its wheel. I don’t think it knew how. It ate and then it curled up in its straw and slept.
But I could never get to sleep straight away. I lay there until the stars came out and thought about the Rat’s crazy version of an afterlife. I looked at the stars and the moon and imagined the other worlds that lay beyond them. All those galaxies and solar systems the Rat said we could only dream about. And so that’s what I did. I closed my eyes and I dreamt about them. ‘Good night, Dad, wherever you are.’
Chapter Seven
When I opened my eyes I saw we were coming into a railyard like the one we had left in Winnipeg. I jumped up and tried to get my bearings, but we came alongside another freight train and my view was blocked. The train slowed. There was a loud clatter as one section of train locked into another. And then we bumped to a stop.
The Rat sat up. ‘What the beep was that?’
‘We’re here!’ I said.
We rolled up our sleeping bags, attached them to the rucksacks, and lowered our bikes to the ground. Within a minute of waking we were re
ady to ride. We were desperate to be out of the railyard, but in both directions freight trains walled us in.
‘Which way?’ said the Rat.
‘This way!’ I said.
We rode in between two freight trains, which curved around a bend. And what happened? We rode straight into the path of a big-gutted guard.
‘Hey! What are you kids doing?’
We skidded to a stop and turned quickly.
‘Come back here!’
We went back the way we came, pedalling like the wind. But two more guards came towards us. We braked hard.
‘Follow me!’ said the Rat. She dropped to the ground and scrambled under a train.
‘Hey!’ shouted the guards.
The Rat disappeared, dragging her bike behind her. I dropped to the ground and followed. Underneath the train’s parts looked scary. The thought of being electrocuted ran through my mind. I scrambled over the tracks and got out the other side. The Rat was already on her bike. I saw a hill with a low fence and cars running along a road. ‘Head for the trees!’ I shouted. There were no trees, only bushes, but I was panicking. We rode across a wooden ramp that crossed two sets of train tracks and, reaching the foot of the hill, we dismounted. We scrambled upwards, our sneakers sliding on the soil. The Rat dug in and passed me. She lifted her bike over the fence and it cracked on the sidewalk. Then she threw herself over headfirst like a Marine.
‘You kids are going to get hurt playing around here!’ shouted the guard.
When I heard his voice, I looked back. He never tried to climb up; he just stood there with his hands on his hips, breathing heavily. I lifted the bike over the fence and jumped over.
The Rat sat on her bike with her arms folded. ‘What kept you, Bob?’
I couldn’t speak. My heart was pounding. All this grief and I’d just woken up. But to the Rat it was all part of the adventure. She could have fun on a battlefield. I rode away without knowing where I was going. I was shaky for a while, but the further we got from the railyard the better I felt. In the distance we saw the top of the CN Tower and cycled toward it. We had made it to Toronto.
The CN Tower never looked that far away but it was a long ride downtown, and when we got there the city had not woken up. There were only a few people on the streets, most of them homeless. The rest were the early-morning people: garbage collectors, postal workers, and groups of taxi drivers finishing the night shift. Seeing a sign for Lake Ontario we headed towards it. I wanted to be by the water. I always found it calming and I needed calming. I was a little overawed with events.
Passing through a small park we came to the lake, which was pale blue like the sky and large like the sea. It even had small waves and a sea-like breeze. It was hard to believe it was just a lake. Then we headed along the waterfront while looking at the silhouettes of islands made hazy by the mist. We passed dozens of white yachts resting in rows. We passed an old-time sailing ship that had wooden masts and sails like sheets. Next to it was a bright orange boat belonging to the Canadian Coast Guard and next to that was a fireboat with a water gun like a cannon. Most of the boats had the Canadian flag fluttering above them. I love our Canadian flag. It’s just a maple leaf, nothing to get excited about. But it represents more than a tree common to our country. It represents being down to earth and true like the tree itself. And it stands for modesty and compassion, which is our Canadian way. At least that’s what it means to me. I’m sure most people care about their countries but Canada’s special. It’s like America without the armies and the arrogance.
We rode past a woman feeding seagulls, a deckhand mopping the decks of an idle tour boat, and we circled Molson Place: an open-air concert venue. It felt good being by the waterfront. It wasn’t just the cool breeze and the quiet lake. I felt kind of proud, like a pioneer, now that we had made it to Toronto. And I think Dad would have been proud of us too.
‘What do you say to a coffee, Bob?’
‘I say yes.’
Riding into one of the quays we saw an old boathouse that had been turned into a Second Cup coffee shop. As we neared it the doors opened and the smell of coffee wafted around the wharf. The Rat couldn’t lock up her bike fast enough, she’s such an addict, but I wasn’t far behind her. It was either the fear of being chased or I hadn’t drunk in a while because my mouth was parched.
‘I’ll have a mocha!’ said the Rat as we went through the door. ‘And I’ll have an orange juice and two oatmeal raisin cookies.
‘I’ll have an orange juice, a regular coffee, and three oatmeal raisin cookies,’ I said.
We had sort of startled the oriental girl behind the counter but she never got annoyed.
She gave us our drinks, and, sitting by the window, we watched the water. I felt nice and relaxed then.
‘How are we going to get across the border, Bob?’
We’d only just arrived and she was putting me under pressure. ‘Well, we should wait until it gets dark. Then we can find a street or a path somewhere near the border crossing but not too close. Then we’ll ride across. We’re only a couple of kids. If we act as though we live around there they shouldn’t bother us.’
‘But suppose they do, Bob? And suppose there are ditches and walls with armed guards? Or rows of razor wire? Or mines that explode when you step on them? Suppose they come after us in helicopters with snipers hanging out of them? What’s the plan then? Quick, Bob, what’s the plan?’ She stared at me like a scary kid.
‘Why don’t you drink your mocha?’
She laughed. She was just winding me up.
We stepped out of the coffee shop with enough caffeine and sugar in us to climb the steps of the CN Tower. But we didn’t. We walked up to the Greyhound bus terminal and put our rucksacks in a locker. Then we went to the Eaton Centre, Toronto’s biggest shopping mall. The Rat was happy then. She donned her dark sunglasses and paraded around like a millionaire. She tried on all the free samples of perfumes until she reeked like a sewer Rat. And then she tried on all the clothes in all the shops, while being helped by all sorts of women who thought she was cute. All except one older woman with dyed hair and too much make-up. ‘Are you going to buy something?’ she asked. ‘Because if not you shouldn’t be trying on the clothes.’ She was kind of snotty and her lip curled when she spoke.
‘It’s not trying on the clothes,’ said the Rat in aristocracy. ‘It’s trying the clothes on. And in answer to your question, No. Not quite my taste, if you know what I mean.’
I laughed. I always found the Rat funny when she was annoying other people.
When we came out we walked around downtown Toronto with the Rat making constant comparisons with Winnipeg. ‘Their Union Station is like our Union Station but ours is prettier. Their Royal York Hotel is like our Fort Garry Hotel but ours is grander and a little more refined. And the Eaton Centre was nice but our Polar Park Shopping Centre is just as good. And, yes, they have more skyscrapers but Winnipeg is catching up. And anyway, these Torontonians are nowhere near as sophisticated as us Winnipeggers. And that’s all I have to say really.’
Eventually we made our way back to the bus depot while dodging the homeless people who loitered like zombies. Toronto’s homeless people are nowhere near as nice as Winnipeg’s. I’m not just saying that, it’s true. Anyway, we avoided giving them money and, collecting our rucksacks, we headed back to the quay.
It was getting hot and we wanted to take a nap, and so unlocking our bikes we looked for the park we had ridden through earlier that morning. There were lots of people along the waterfront by then. They strolled or sunbathed or got in our way as we rode. When we found the park we removed our rucksacks and lay under a solitary tree. The grass was springy and cool and comfortable to lie on. I don’t care how nice the Rat said the boxcar’s spirit was. I never got a decent night’s sleep. But who can sleep on floorboards?
The Rat put her head on her rucksack and closed her eyes. ‘Wake me up if something interesting happens.’
She was dreaming in Disneyworld
if she thought I was going to stay awake. I closed my eyes and allowed the sun to create patterns like a kaleidoscope. The patterns turned into images and the images turned into dreams. I slept while listening to the children play and the parents shout and the Rat who snored like a rodent.
* * *
When I woke she wasn’t there. Her bike and rucksack were there, but she wasn’t. Standing up, I saw her on the boardwalk looking out at the lake. Shaking my head, I walked towards her. Just then some guy stopped to talk to her. He had cameras around his belly. The Rat’s hands went to her hips, never a good sign.
‘Am I lost?’ I heard her say. ‘I’m not lost, you goddamn paedophile! Now beat it or I’ll call the cops!’
The man staggered back and carried on going.
‘Go on, beep off!’
I ran towards her. ‘What did he say?’
The Rat screwed up her face and stared hard at the retreating man. ‘Oh no!’
‘What?’
‘I thought he was a paedophile but he’s not! Sorry, mister!’ she shouted. ‘It’s OK, I’m not lost! And thank you for your concern!’
The man couldn’t get away fast enough.
‘Are you crazy? You can’t go around saying things like that!’
‘Well pardon me, Bob, for making a mistake!’
She wandered over towards some bicycle couriers and I went back to the bikes and sat there bewildered. She just didn’t seem to understand certain things. Some days I thought she really was crazy. I watched her as she talked to the couriers, who seemed to be entertained by her. She looked normal enough, from a distance, and I couldn’t see any signs of madness. But I swear the Rat was deranged in some way.
When she got bored with the couriers she wandered back towards me. ‘We follow the Gardener Expressway and then we follow the signs for Burlington, Hamilton, Niagara Falls, and Fort Erie, that’s where the border is. They said it would take forever to cycle there, so we better get going. And they said we’ll never get past the border patrol. But what do they know? They’re grown men who ride around on bikes all day.’ She knelt down and opened her rucksack. ‘I bought you a sandwich and some biscuits when you were asleep. You can have them when you’re hungry. And I bought a large bottle of Coke. We can drink it along the way.’ She put on her rucksack and stood up. ‘I’m having a good time so far, Bob. What about you?’
Unhooking the Moon Page 7