Pure Spring

by Brian Doyle

  I pull three more cases, ginger ale this time, off the truck and dolly them into the garage and shut the door. I bring back the dolly, load it quiet, crawl back into the cellar.

  Mutt McDowell’s stolen cases are back! I’m a thief again, in reverse!

  When I come up through the trap door in the store I see Gerty giving Randy the bunch of tulips. Randy loves tulips. I told her about that.

  “Oh, really?” she said when I told her, her eyes smiling.

  “Martin tells me that you’ve been very kind to him and he arranged that I give you these tulips to give to your lovely wife. He’s told me so much about the two of you...” says Gerty.

  Randy can’t keep his eyes off Gerty. And the tulips. I want to smash Randy’s head open with something, anything. Maybe a case of Pure Spring Honee Orange.

  “They don’t need anything today,” I say to Randy. “They’ve got plenty.”

  Randy glares at me for a second. Don’t need anything? What’s going on?

  Mr. McDowell shuffles out and stands by the cellar window. He’s coughing and spitting up.

  “There’s four cases of empties,” I say. “Should I put them out?”

  “Might as well,” says Randy. He’s sniffing the tulips and looking Gerty over.

  I go down and pitch out the four cases of empties. I can see Mutt McDowell’s skinny legs and his cane tip through the window.

  It’s over. Distract, then act!

  I’m so excited I can hardly breathe. Mr. Mutt McDowell’s got back the cases of drinks we stole.

  We’re back in the truck. Randy won’t miss the missing cases until tonight when he takes the truck back to the bottling plant. That’s when he counts. Or sometimes, because it’s the weekend, he won’t bother until Monday.

  Depends. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll never see him again.

  Now Randy’s back in the truck.

  “Old man McDowell sure got to the window in a hurry...”

  “Did he?” I say.

  “Do you think he’s on to us?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is they didn’t need any drinks. Business isn’t very good there, I guess.”

  “Yeah,” says Randy. “I heard ya the first time.”

  We pull away, Sandy and Gerty waving good-bye.

  “Who’s that jerky little army guy, anyway? Is he crazy?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve never seen him before in my whole life.” Granny said once that sometimes telling a lie can be a whole lot of fun!

  I’m so happy I feel like jumping out of the truck right now and running back in to Gerty. But I can’t. It’s not in the plan.

  “Oh yeah,” says Randy. “I should tell you before I forget. I invited your little patootie over to my place tomorrow for lunch. She said sure. She’d love to. You and pretty little Gerty. Show up at noon.”

  Now I’m not happy any more.

  Now I’m confused.

  His place? A lunch?

  What is happening?

  What Happened • Five

  ALONG CURVING road through ghost black bare trees, branches clawing at the swirling storm.

  Your father pulled Horrors Leblanc’s car around the circular driveway.

  Then you and your family walked up the wide walk, wide enough for a car. Then three wide concrete steps. Then four granite steps and between four square slate pillars reaching to a canopy. There were three windows over the doors.

  The letters carved in the stone above the two large doors: ONTARIO HOSPITAL SCHOOL.

  The building was only two stories high.

  Inside, two more doors, then a curved lobby and a starched nurse in white greeted you with a wide smile.

  What was that smell? Lysol? Piss? Bleach?

  Phil was frozen to the floor. You tried to move him but he wouldn’t. Then he began to howl. Howling to the high ceiling of the lobby. Howling echoing down two long, long hallways.

  Two men in black suits, white shirts, black bow ties, shiny, shiny black shoes came walking with long strides. A nurse arrived with a wheelchair. Phil was acting the worst you’ve ever seen him. Froth in his mouth. His face choking purple.

  Another nurse came with a needle. The two men with the black bow ties grabbed Phil and took off his coat and sweater. The nurse bared his arm and stuck him with a needle.

  They put him limp in the wheelchair. They put straps around him so he wouldn’t fall out.

  Then the whole group of you started down a long hallway. You couldn’t see the end, the hall was so long. You walked and you walked and then you walked some more.

  Phil was awake now and calmed down. He seemed to be enjoying the ride. Soothing.

  It hardly seemed possible but you were still walking. One of the bow ties said the place had over three miles of hallway connecting all the buildings. He seemed proud of it.

  And then, after a long time still walking, the other bow tie said, “...and this is one of the shorter ones.” It was a joke about the hallway but nobody laughed.

  Then the bow tie pushing Phil in the chair said, “What’s his name? You said Phil? Let’s speed things up a bit here, Phil!” And he took off running ahead, running ahead pushing Phil down the hallway for the ride of his life until they got smaller and smaller and Phil giggling hysterically — the fun of it!

  “Wheeee!” Phil screamed with delight. They became just dots down there where they at last stopped to wait for us. Phil’s voice echoing down through the long hall.

  Papers signed.

  It was time to go.

  Your mother tried hugging Phil but he didn’t want to. “That’s enough,” your father said. “He doesn’t understand. You’re just making things worse. Let’s go.”

  Standing sad there.

  You remembered, for some reason, something that happened a long time ago.

  You got on the St. Patrick Street streetcar and your mother was standing with Phil out there on the sidewalk. It was summer and the streetcar windows were open and you waved at Phil as soon as you sat down and you were surprised when you saw Phil wave back. You were sure he did — at least a little bit of a wave. You saw it, you were startled by it — he never waved before — and you felt so glad but your father said afterwards no, Phil was too stupid to wave, he didn’t know what waving meant, he couldn’t have waved, he was probably swatting a fly or scratching his head or something, but you thought he waved because he looked right at you and his hand went up and it was a nice look he had on his face that you’d never seen before...

  Time to go.

  “Phil,” you said. Phil looked up from the ice cream that they gave him. You waved. “Bye, Phil,” you said.

  Phil looked.

  Your twin looked at you.

  Strange eyes not yours.

  Did he wave?

  Or was he just going back at the ice cream with his spoon?

  Time to go.

  Time to go.

  Go.

  Leave Phil there. Bye bye.

  17

  Running Away with Gerty

  GERTY WANTS to get him. Get Randy. There’s a fire in her that scares me. She doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything.

  We’ll go. We agree. Gerty says we’ll go. Go to Randy’s. We won’t stay long. Just long enough to steal the papers for Igor and then out the door we go. What could be wrong with that? Just go in. Wait for a chance to steal the papers for Igor. Then out we go. Run. What can he do? We’ll never see Randy again.

  Gerty, I think, is more brave than I am. But I want to be the brave one.

  “We’ll do it. We’ll go. We’ll fix Randy twice this way,” I say bravely. Her fire makes me so excited.

  This is the girl I love. She always surprises, there’s always surprises in her! Spring surprises. Gerty surprises.

  We walk over from Sandy Hill to Lowertown to number 60 Cobourg Street. We have umbrellas. It’s a big springtime rain. A warm kissing rain. Dark day. Even though it’s noon, it’s like evening. Everything is soft. Pussy-willow soft
. The spring rain closes us in. It’s like a private cave in the rain that is nobody else’s but ours. The rain is a room. Our own room.

  We look up at the red brick building with the dirty streaked-down windows like people have been crying on them.

  Inside, we go up the shaky elevator.

  We knock and Randy opens the door. The apartment has no lights on. Candles on the kitchen table.

  “Welcome. Welcome to lunch. My wife can’t make it. Have a seat at the kitchen table. Be careful of the candles. Don’t set fire to yourselves.”

  He leaves. He sounds happy as anything. Randy sounds happy but I know he’s pretending. He’s not happy, he’s angry. I know him. I know his angry voice.

  I take a peek into the darkened living room.

  Nobody there.

  I go in. Look up at the dirty book shelf filled with old newspapers and magazines. There’s the dusty stopped clock. There’s the folder. The folder with Igor’s pages in Russian.

  I grab it and slip back into the kitchen. I show it to Gerty. She’s looking around to find a place to hide it. I take it and shove it under my shirt. It shows. He’ll see. Gerty pulls the curtain of the kitchen window aside and lets the light into the gloom. The kitchen window is open about half way. There’s a bit of breeze. She tries to open it more. It won’t go. There’s a big nail holding it there.

  We hear Randy coming back. Gerty takes the folder. She lifts her dress away up and slides the folder down inside her blue panties with the pink ribbon trim. Then she drops her dress and with both hands smooths the front down.

  We can hear Randy’s footsteps coming.

  I try the kitchen door. Locked. No key.

  He comes into the gloomy kitchen and sits at the table. He’s got a big knife. He rams it hard into the table. It stands quivering there.

  “Now,” says Randy. “Last night, when I did my inventory, I noticed I’m missing six cases, full. Three ginger, three Honee. I figure you two crooks took these cases from Randy’s truck yesterday while we were admiring the tulips...right? Randy doesn’t like crooks. Nobody steals from Randy and gets away with it.”

  While he’s talking, he’s looking at the knife sticking in the table. But I’m looking at him. And while I’m looking at him I have a strange feeling that I’m getting bigger. For the first time, I realize that I’m bigger than Randy.

  Ever since what happened I’ve felt so small, like I was disappearing, but now Randy looks like such a pipsqueak compared to me.

  Randy pulls the knife out of the wooden table and drives it back in. Making a frightening noise.

  “So now, your punishment. Boy, tell your little patootie here to start taking off her clothes. Give old Randy a little payback for getting robbed! Know what I mean?”

  Time to get out of here.

  I stand up and lift the table up over on top of Randy and as he hits the floor, I pick up the chair I was sitting on and bring it smashing down on top of him. Then I turn and smash the window out with the chair.

  “Out the window!” I yell at Gerty, and when she’s half way out the window I go back and smash Randy down with the chair again.

  I’m tearing at the curtain and shoving Gerty out through the opening over the broken glass onto the fire escape. The glass is cutting us and there’s blood.

  And I look back while I’m crawling out after her and there’s Randy with the big knife stabbing at me and missing my legs and I tumble out on to the fire escape, the taste of black iron in my mouth.

  I race after Gerty down the bouncing squeaking shaking metal stairs. Up above, out the window, Randy is screeching, “Come back here yez little snot-nosed crook criminals. Stole six cases from my truck. Police! Police! Randy’s going to kill you, Boy! Wait and see! Nobody steals from Randy!”

  It’s almost like when Mr. George was screaming at Billy Batson and me when we ruined his organ concert back then at St. Alban’s Church.

  Gerty is wild-eyed and so am I.

  We feel as in a dream.

  We’re running so beautiful. Striding together. I’m surprised how fast Gerty can run, as we run streaking through the warm rain, blood flying off our cuts from the broken window.

  “The papers,” I say. “Igor’s papers. Have you got them?”

  “They’re right here,” she says, running and panting. “Safe and sound right here,” she says, patting her belly.

  And I’m safe and sound, too.

  Bigger than I ever felt.

  18

  Goodbye, Mr. Mirsky

  IT ‘S 10:00 A.M. in the morning here at Pure Spring Bottling Company, 22 Aberdeen Street. It rained early in the morning and the streets are clean and fresh. There’s a nice breeze, warm in the cool, and there’s a smell of flowers and breakfast toast in the air. Birds are chirping and nesting.

  Anita is in her office and I don’t have to wait very long to get to see her.

  “Right choo are, Martin O’Boy!” she says. “Glad to see you. What do ya think?”

  “I think Randy is a thief,” I say. And then I say, “And so am I.”

  Anita’s eyelashes do a few nervous ups and downs.

  “And I want to tell Mr. Mirsky,” I say. “My Grampa Rip says tell it all and it will all go away.”

  “Hold on there, hold on there, my boy. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Start telling me first where you got all the cuts on your hands and your arms. And those two on your face. Your forehead. And your cheek.”

  “Randy invited my friend Gerty and me over to his place for lunch yesterday with him and his wife but his wife wasn’t there and he took out a knife and he wanted me to tell my friend Gerty to take off her clothes so I hit him with a chair and then I broke the window and we escaped.”

  “You hit Randy with a chair?”

  “Yes. Twice.”

  The air in the room isn’t moving. Nothing is moving. Anita’s eyelashes aren’t moving. The frills on her blouse aren’t moving. Her bracelets aren’t moving. Even her perfume is still.

  “First of all,” says Anita, “your Randy has no wife. Your Randy’s wife ran away two years ago with another man. One of the other drivers. Can you blame her? Married to a nut like that? Guy named Freeman. Irish guy. Randy thought it was Freiman like the department store, A.J. Freiman. So Randy figured Freeman was Jewish. Told everybody all the time how he hated Jews.”

  I take out my list of thievery and put it on the desk. “Before I show you this I have to tell you something. I lied to Mr. Mirsky about my age. I’m not sixteen. I won’t be sixteen until August 6, the day they dropped the bomb. I’m only fifteen.”

  “You could pass for eighteen. You would’ve gotten away with it.”

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

  “Conscience.”

  “And then I helped Randy steal from the customers. Here’s every cent we stole and how we stole it on this list.”

  Anita looks over the list.

  Then her phone buzzes.

  She answers.

  “Right choo are, Mr. Mirsky,” she says and gets up. “You come back in one hour,” she says. “And take a seat outside Mr. Mirsky’s office. Wait there. I’ll get your pay ready. He’ll probably want to talk to you. In fact, I know he will.”

  * * *

  “This is quite the document, Martin O’Boy. Quite the document indeed.”

  Mr. Mirsky is not behind his desk. He’s sitting beside me on the sofa that’s there in his office for special visitors.

  “All of these customers will have to be apologized to and reimbursed.”

  “Not all.”

  “Oh?”

  “McDowell’s Grocery and Lunch has already been apologized to. And reimbursed.”

  “Oh?” (Reimbursed: a new word to show Grampa Rip.)

  “Yes.”

  “I see. Knowing you as I do, I believe there’s an interesting story there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And this document, as I was saying. Very effective. And excellently written, I mig
ht add. The description of each crime. Very clear, graphic. You have a very fine style.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You know, of course, you’ll have to resign.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “We’ll deal with Randy. He needs a lot of help. Psychological help.”

  I’m looking at Mr. Mirsky and he’s looking at me. There’s understanding in his face.

  “This has been a trying and dangerous time for you. But you came through it with flying colors, as they say.”

  I look at him, frowning a bit.

  “Flying colors? It’s a military term. A fleet of ships returns to port victorious in battle, all their flags flying in celebration.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  “When you turn sixteen you can come back and we’ll hire you immediately. But I’d rather see you going to school. Bright boy like you. Get your education.”

  Mr. Mirsky hands me a small brown envelope.

  “Your pay. You’ll find some extra in there. Let’s call it an integrity bonus.”

  “Thank you, sir.”.

  “I’m going to visit each and every one of these customers personally and see to it that they are reimbursed. And I want you to come with me as a reliable witness. Will you do that for me?”

  “Yes, sir. I will.”

  “Anita will notify you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You never did tell us everything that happened.”

  “Maybe I will some day.”

  “Good-bye, Martin O’Boy.”

  “Good-bye, Mr. Mirsky.”

  What Happened • Six

  YOU WERE heading home. Your father had another bottle. Where did he get them all? Sipping from it, talking about the future of your family.

  “Everything’s going to be different. We’re going to have a normal family from now on. And there’ll be no more drinkin’. No more booze. Soon’s I finish this bottle, get home, sleep it all off — be a new man, a new morning! What d’ya think of that?”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” your mother said, only whispering.

  The snow seemed to make the car so quiet.