Little Fish

by Casey Plett

  “I do too,” said Wendy. “I wouldn’t think for a minute otherwise.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” said Anna. “Don’t want anyone. To get the wrong idea. He struggled. And he fought.”

  “I’m sure he did.”

  Anna didn’t say anything more. The two women sat there with their coffee at the table in the noon light.

  “Well,” Wendy eventually said, breathing out. “I don’t suppose you might let me take a look at a letter or two he wrote you? I don’t want to pry, but I seem to remember you mentioning that.”

  Wordlessly Anna reached over to the old wooden box on the table and opened it. She withdrew an envelope from a small stack and pushed it over to Wendy. “This one. I thought you might want to see. Talks about his thoughts. About cameras. You mentioned.”

  “I can’t read this,” said Wendy.

  “No? It’s in English.”

  “Look.”

  “Didn’t know you couldn’t read cursive.”

  “I can read cursive, but this doesn’t make any sense to me.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Of course. Gothic script. Was a certain way of writing. Mostly used for German of course, but. Many wrote English as well.” She thought. “I suppose it wouldn’t take too long to transcribe this one. You came all this way. I could just read it to you. But this one in particular, I thought you might want to look at and see for yourself. In ‘black and white,’ as they say.”

  “That’s extremely kind of you.”

  “Let me make some more coffee. I’ll just type it up on the computer here.” She smiled shyly. “I spend enough time on there for. Useless things.”

  “Don’t we all,” said Wendy reflexively. Lord help me, don’t tell me she’s going to friend me on Facebook.

  Wendy sat in her chair as more coffee burbled, looking out the window to the poplars and behind them empty fields under a bright sun. She didn’t take out her phone. She got up and refilled her mug then sat there with her hands on the gingham tablecloth, looking out at the land, with the clacking of a keyboard and ticking of a clock coming from deeper in the house.

  Twenty minutes later, Anna returned with a fresh sheet of paper.

  Dear Conrad and Anna,

  Wendy looked up. “Conrad?”

  “My husband.”

  “He also knew about Henry?”

  Anna grinned in a way Wendy couldn’t interpret. “My husband didn’t read English.”

  Given that it has been some time since we last saw each other at my father’s funeral, it seemed prudent to write.

  We have been blessed with good weather down here. The snow has mostly melted and we are readying ourselves for a busy year. Neighbours Peter Ungers are aging, and we are assisting their sons somewhat around their farm. May the Lord bless the whole effort.

  My poor mother has not coped well with death. She cries often and other times will say, “Where’s Dad?” The rest of our family has stayed in good spirits. God has served us well.

  Ben has gone on to attend Mennonite Brethren Bible College in Winnipeg. Aganetha and I discussed this at length but we considered it appropriate in the end. We have our hopes with him. The rest of the children continue to live at home, though Peter has been spending a great amount of time with George and Helena Barkman’s daughter.

  I have experienced renewed faith in our Lord and Saviour Jesus as of late. For this I have the Holy Spirit to thank but also yourself, Anna. I am and will always be grateful for your patience and compassion, for your words and your listening. Your invocation of Romans 12 has been of great solace as of late, in matters of my own personal grief.

  On a lighter topic, but not unrelatedly, I have reconsidered the matter of cameras. I have not told Aganetha of your influence, but should at some point you find yourself in need of her good graces …

  Through Christ all things are possible. May that the sins and misjudgements and many errors of my past be forgiven. May the Lord bless and keep your household, and please send news and announcements, etc.

  With love,

  Henry Reimer

  Wendy looked up.

  “That’s it?” she said.

  Anna stared back at her.

  “You have a question,” she finally said.

  Wendy chose her words carefully. “I feel like I may be missing something.”

  “I wanted to share the point,” Anna said, “where he overcame.”

  “Did you,” said Wendy.

  They stared at each other for some time until Anna said, “You perhaps would not have heard. About his friend who died around this time.”

  “No. His friend?”

  “Yes. In the city.”

  When Ben saw Henry in the bar, Wendy thought. He’d been looking for someone. She was starting to lose patience. “When you say friend, do you mean lover?”

  “I wouldn’t. Know anything about that,” Anna said.

  “How’d the friend die?” said Wendy.

  Anna said nothing.

  “Was it AIDS? Oh, holy shit, did Henry die of AIDS too?”

  “No!” Anna said. “Henry never got it.” Then she realized what she said. “I mean …”

  “But his lover did,” Wendy countered in sudden vindication. “Didn’t he? And he couldn’t share this. You know it, and he couldn’t even name it in a letter he wrote to you.”

  Anna was quiet again.

  “He must have been in such pain,” Wendy said softly. “There are no words for this.”

  “Do not underestimate,” Anna replied, looking at Wendy anew, with a strange, haunted look in her eyes. “The strength he had in the Lord.”

  “No,” said Wendy. “I guess I can’t do that, can I.”

  In the sunlight the two women sat at the table across from each other with the letter and their cups of cold coffee between them. At one point, Wendy folded the letter in half and then half again and put it into her bag.

  Finally Wendy said, “I’m sorry. I did not mean to pry or get emotional.”

  “Oh,” said Anna, the mischievous look returning. “That’s alright. All old people. I suppose I. Myself. Decided some secrets had to come to an end.” She got up. “I’ll make those sandwiches I promised you.”

  As they were eating, Anna said, “Wendy, you seem like a young woman whose faith is particularly strong.”

  “I do?”

  “You do,” said Anna. “Many young people are all full of excitements and gadgets. I don’t hear much of that from you. Tell me, what are you excited about? What’s that new nifty gadget completely missing from your life?”

  “Huh?” said Wendy. “Anna, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have everything I want. I told you about my life. Does it sound bad? Why would I want anything else?”

  “No,” she said. “That’s because you have your head on straight.” Anna smiled warmly. “I get the impression you don’t know Scripture too well. There is no shame in that.”

  “No …?” Wendy said. Her voice cracked.

  “As long as you open the Word of the Lord,” said Anna. “You only need to open the book and let it guide you. God will have no anger if you cannot recite every book of the Word in order. You only need to open the book and let Jesus guide you. You told me you have what you want, didn’t you? Your life has been blessed by God.”

  “Yes, it has,” Wendy whispered. “Thank you. Thank Jesus you are here to say these things to me.”

  “There are hard things God asks of us,” said Anna. “I’m sure Henry went through. Difficult times. But I don’t know. It’s just. My grandchildren, even my children. They always talk about happiness. My word, they spend so much time and energy chasing this—idea of happiness! But you’re gone of this Earth before you know it.”

  “Sure,” said Wendy genuinely. “That makes sense. Go on.”

  Suddenly Anna looked shy. “Oh—I’m eighty-four, you know. And it still feels like yesterday I was a little girl. I don’t think unhappiness matters much in the end. My parents nev
er said much about it. They had many difficult times, but they were also very blessed. I don’t think they got cheated.”

  She looked heavy for a moment, staring at Wendy, then said, “I know you had this idea that Henry. Wanted to be a woman. Do you still think that?”

  “I don’t know,” Wendy said, surprised. “Maybe. I wonder if there is a possibility if he had that desire, and he wasn’t aware …”

  “There is much he didn’t tell me,” Anna said. “Won’t presume to tell you that you are wrong.”

  Wendy finished her sandwich and looked at Anna with gratitude.

  “Henry might even be a woman in heaven for all eternity,” said Anna. “Perhaps that’s his Godly reward for enduring on Earth. I don’t think it’s inappropriate to say that’s a possibility. I don’t think it’s sinful or wrong to consider. If you feel sad for him, maybe you can think on that.”

  “Do you think that?”

  “I think,” she said eager and grey, “that it would be as presumptuous to assume that he is not, as it would be presumptuous to assume that he is.”

  It dawned on Wendy like a bird settling into a tree.

  “You’re gay.”

  “I’ve never touched a woman!” Anna said immediately.

  They were both silent for a long time.

  Then Anna talked again and her face was curled. “There’s so much that is hard in this life that God asks us to weather, for reasons we cannot understand. That’s faith. Not judgment. I am very grateful for what I have been allowed in this life. I don’t feel cheated for what I have let go for God. There are so many delights that I would like from the world. I can acknowledge that, but I don’t have to feel cheated. Now, you must think I’m rather stupid,” she continued flatly. “But you don’t know what you’re capable of. Maybe you haven’t had to be strong yet. You don’t have any more or less strength in your marrow than I do. You don’t know you have so much strength. God has so much strength to give! And He will replenish you! And replenish you for every day you can wake up and lift your hands! You will think you can’t possibly take another day, but God’s power will flow through your bones for an ocean of time. He already does. I can tell that. I can see it in you. And I am perhaps presumptuous enough to guess that Jesus isn’t as much your Saviour as you say, but if that’s true, that doesn’t matter here. Most people think you don’t get things if you don’t pray for them. But it is un-Christian to believe God must be asked in order to give. He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous!”

  She looked at Wendy furiously. “You obviously think I am stupid. That I don’t see anything. About you. Who you are. How you have lied to me. Though I have certainly been nothing but gracious!”

  “I—”

  “You have no excuse,” Anna cut her off. “The choices you have made in life. All of you people. None of you are lazy. None of you are stupid. There is much you could have weathered. But you don’t believe in yourself. And you’re not sorry. I can tell right now: You are not sorry. You learn faith. Tulip. Marvin. Whatever you want to call it. God’s fire is pure. You may have thought you needed to be a woman or die. Have you any idea what you can manage? You think you’re weak. And because you think you’re weak, you can’t actually do anything. So you choose the easy, selfish path. Now, I’m telling you that.”

  “You’ll want to take along the last of these sandwiches,” Anna added as Wendy put on her coat and thanked her for her time. They were already wrapped tightly in Saran wrap and neatly placed in Tupperware. “Thank you for dropping by. Very nice to meet you.”

  24

  There aren’t any freeways in the city of Winnipeg. The few highways—what are called highways—are six-lane roads on the major streets with dozens of crossed-time stop lights. A light turns green and a block down, a light turns red. None of the streets have directionals, and nothing is numbered, but a dozen major roads assigned out of sequence, which have no meaning to a stranger, have markers like ROUTE 70 TURN HERE. The map is a collection of stitched, makeshift grids, dozens of blocks that follow an order, then hit a main road and scatter in all directions. In winter, the main roads are ice-capped with trails of snow streaming across faint, barely visible lines. Every minor street is covered in bumpy intractable white-grey ice. But there aren’t any freeways. There is no fast way in or out. The closest thing is the Perimeter. The circle that barely touches the city. Ben would say, “You know, in most places they built highways to get you into town faster. Here we built one so everyone else could go around it.”

  25

  When Wendy got home, she crawled into bed and napped for three hours. When she woke up, it was dark.

  She got dressed after Raina knocked on her door. They went to Cousin’s where she opened a tab, ordered shots, then a double, and shuttled the thought of money into a blank spot in her mind.

  “How was your trip?” said Lila, who’d met them there.

  Wendy stared straight ahead. “Um.”

  “Did that woman turn out to suck?” said Aileen.

  “I—”

  “We’re here for you if you want to talk, Wendy-burger,” said Raina.

  “Well—so—”

  They waited.

  “I don’t think I can talk about this,” Wendy eventually said to her friends. “I’m still processing it. It was terrible. I think I’m really sad. I can’t talk about her right now. I don’t know what I think.”

  There was silence. The others murmured. Somebody coughed.

  “How’s your father’s rickshaw service, Wendy?” said Raina.

  “Oh, that fuckin’ guy!” Wendy hollered, grateful to boomerang the conversation. “Motherfucker thinks he’s gonna be a millionaire pulling his goddamn bicycles around.”

  “He sounds like quite an adventurer,” said Aileen.

  Wendy put her hand on Aileen’s face, the lovely freckled girl’s face. “He’s a fuckin’ psychopath,” she said.

  “Your dad rules …” Lila hiccupped like a mouse.

  “He’s a good guy, he’s a good guy,” Wendy said. “He’s a good dude, he did his best.”

  Aileen kissed Wendy on the top of her head.

  “Oh my God. Surrounded by lesbians, man.”

  Raina smirked. “I logged my time on such matters yesterday, Lila.”

  “Jesus CHRIST!”

  “I’m not a lesbian,” Wendy slurred.

  “You are!” said Lila. “I’ve known you longer than anyone. The only reason you fuck dudes is that you finished going through every carpet-muncher in this city five years ago!”

  Wendy turned her head to look at Lila.

  Lila was grinning like a chipmunk. “I’m not wrong.”

  “Fug off,” said Wendy. The shots were hitting.

  “This polite Canada I kept hearing about,” said Aileen.

  “My dear,” said Raina, “you will likely find that I, the American, am by far the most polite of this bunch.”

  “Right.”

  “Yeah, you haven’t even seen a fuckin’ cabin or, like, a bear,” Wendy said, slouched over in her chair.

  “I have seen concrete and dirt and ice.”

  “Canada,” spat Lila.

  Wendy soon finished her drink and came back with another and also bought everyone shots. They cheered, and Wendy announced, “I feel better.”

  “Woooo!” said Raina, lifting her hands up.

  “You’re cute,” said Wendy. Raina blushed.

  “You know what I saw today for the first time?” Lila said. “The COGIATI.”

  Wendy and Raina exploded in separate pitches of “Nooo!”

  “What’s the COGIATI?” said Aileen.

  “It is—” said Wendy.

  “The worst …” Raina trailed off.

  “The worst what?” said Aileen.

  “Maybe just ‘the worst,’” said Wendy.

  “Very possibly,” said Raina.

  “Seriously, what’s this fucking thing?” said Aileen.<
br />
  “It’s like an online test some trans woman made in the nineties,” said Lila, “where you answer all these multiple-choice questions about yourself and then it tells you whether you’re a transsexual or not.”

  “And the questions are so …” Wendy said.

  “Fucking ridiculous!” said Lila. “It like, asks if you’re good at math and how you would feel if you were in a meeting with all men and the boss says everyone has to hug.”

  “You’re kidding me,” said Aileen.

  “That’s literally a question.”

  “I can’t believe it’s still up there,” said Wendy.

  “I remember it looking like a GeoCities site,” said Raina.

  “It’s still up there, and it ain’t on GeoCities, man,” said Lila. “Also the backgrounds are all, like, pink clouds.” She shivered. “It was fucking creepy, like, it reminded me of all that shit from when I first came out, you know? You know what I kept thinking of? It kept reminding me how they dressed up the woman in Transamerica.”

  “I remember that,” said Wendy.

  “Like a bunch of frilly pink nonsense, that kind of thing?” said Aileen.

  “Nice neat middle-aged white ladies who fretted about their fuckin’ handbags, and if you weren’t dead thirsty for a vag then you weren’t a real woman,” said Lila. “I dunno if that’s Miss COGIATI’s experience or whatever, but, like, you know. When I was a teenager, that’s what I thought being trans was. That’s why I was a gay boy until my mid-twenties.”

  Everyone nodded, murmured understanding. “I wonder,” said Wendy, “how much that shit has hurt us in ways we don’t understand. I like to think I’m over all that stuff.”