Edgy People

Home > Other > Edgy People > Page 16
Edgy People Page 16

by Barb Nobel


  But the horse and buggy continued through town and we seemed to be going a long way out into the country.

  “How will I get to school?” I asked. I was a little afraid to ask because in the orphanage we kept quiet unless the nuns asked us something.

  “Don’t be so stupid,” Mrs. Lapointe said. “Do you think we got you so we could mollycoddle you? You’re going to work, not to school. And don’t even think about complaining. Mother Superior gave you to us. I own you, and you’ll do what I say.”

  I had heard them tell Mother Superior that I would go to school. Wasn’t it a mortal sin to lie to Mother? Would they go to hell for that?

  Even though I know I shouldn’t think that way, sometimes I do wish Mrs. Lapointe, and Muriel too, would go to hell. It would serve them right.

  Now, I’ve been here seven years, and I’ve never gone to school. I think about it every day. I know I’ve forgotten some of what they taught me in the orphanage school. When I go up to my room at night I take some of the newspapers that Mr. Lapointe reads, if I can get it, and I try to read. It’s really hard though. I don’t know if I’m making mistakes and there’s no one to tell me if I do. I’ve given up on learning to add and subtract, but I want to read so badly it’s like something is gnawing at me inside.

  And I’ve never seen my sisters or brothers since I’ve been here. I don’t think they would even know where to find me.

  I take the rag from Mr. Lapointe, who looks at me with sad eyes, and I hold it over the cut on my forehead.

  Louise frowns at her grandmother, who ignores her.

  When my cut stops bleeding, I start on the dishes. Cooking isn’t too bad because we have the electricity, but I have ironing to do tonight as well, and that’s the worst job of all. I have to be so careful not to overheat the flat iron on the stove; if I burn anything, I’ll get hit for sure.

  But tomorrow is Christmas Day, and all I’ll have to do is cook and serve.

  Right now, we have four guests for Christmas: Mr. and Mrs. Tremblay and their two sons, who are about eight and ten years old. Mrs. Tremblay seems to be sick; she’s coughing a lot, holding an embroidered handkerchief to her mouth, and I heard Muriel whisper to her mother about consumption.

  An idea starts to come to me.

  I cough.

  On Christmas Day I’m making the tourtière when Louise comes in from the front room where everyone else is opening gifts and hands me a package. When I open it I find a knitted hat, a little crooked, but done in many different colours, and I know that Louise has used the leftover yarn from her mama’s and grand-mere’s projects. Tears come into my eyes, and I push the hat into my dress pocket so no one will see it. It’s the only gift I have had since I got here.

  In the orphanage we all got an apple, an orange and some candies for Christmas. But here I get nothing.

  Mrs. Tremblay is coughing all the time now, and I get a little scared that maybe she does have tuberculosis, and I guess Mr. Tremblay is scared too because the next day Dr. Belanger shows up. He’s the new doctor, and Mrs. Lapointe doesn’t like him very much because when he came last time he said that I should have more to eat, and more time off for resting. And he asked her why I had a bruise on my arm.

  Dr. Belanger examines Mrs. Tremblay in her room, and when he comes down he tells Mrs. Lapointe that she just has influenza, and should get lots of rest. Then he asks me what happened to my forehead.

  I don’t answer. Then I pretend like I’m trying to answer and cough instead.

  The doctor looks at me, then pulls out his stethoscope and comes over and puts it against my back, although Mrs. Lapointe is telling him not to do that. And I feel scared because I know he can tell with that thing that I’m not sick at all, and after he leaves Mrs. Lapointe will hit me for lying.

  After the doctor listens to my breathing, he comes and puts his face close to mine, saying out loud that he needs to look at my eyes. He tells me to look at him. I do and I see him mouth “say yes”.

  “Yvonne,” he says out loud. “Are you tired a lot?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Do you cough a lot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you coughing up phlegm?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sweating at night?”

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Belanger puts his stethoscope away, looking very serious, and he puts his hand on my forehead and frowns.

  Then he goes over and talks to Mrs. Lapointe in a low voice.

  “But I need her here. It’s Christmas and there’s a lot to do,” I hear Mrs. Lapointe say. And then I hear the doctor talking in a low voice about contagion, and Louise, and danger, and treatment.

  “I’m not paying for her to get treatment. I’m not her mother,” Mrs. Lapointe says.

  “No, no,” the doctor says in a normal voice. “There are free clinics. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take her to Quebec City and get her admitted. You won’t have to pay anything. But she’ll need treatment for at least a year.”

  He turns to me and tells me to pack my stuff, and he’ll come back for me in the morning. It’s like he doesn’t give Mrs. Lapointe time to say no.

  Louise starts to cry and asks Dr. Belanger if I’m going to die, and the doctor bends down to her and tells her that he’ll take good care of me and I’ll soon be as good as new.

  The next morning Dr. Belanger comes for me. Mrs. Lapointe and Muriel are in with the guests, but Mr. Lapointe comes out and kisses me on the forehead. I thank him for helping me. Louise comes out and hugs me, and she’s crying, and I know she’s the one person I will miss. I take out her hat and put it on, and she smiles a bit.

  Driving in the car is very loud and very exciting. I’ve never been in a car before, so I’m a little scared. The wind is blowing in my face, and I can’t believe how fast we’re going.

  We’re out of sight of the house when Dr. Belanger turns to me.

  “I hope you know you don’t really have tuberculosis. You’re healthy as a horse, just too skinny. Didn’t they feed you anything?”

  “I get to eat, but only after everyone else eats” I say. “Except sometimes Mr. Lapointe snuck me some extra food”.

  “Well, congratulations on coughing so convincingly.” He grins. “I’m taking you to my mother’s place in Trois Rivieres. She’s getting on, and you can cook and clean for her, and help her get around. She can’t pay you much, but you can eat whatever and whenever you want.’

  Pay me?

  “You don’t have to go back to that place, ever,” he says, jerking his thumb behind him.

  Then he says that his mother likes it if someone reads to her, because her eyesight is starting to go, and my heart stops. I think if I can’t read maybe his mother won’t want me there.

  “I don’t know how to read,” I say.

  “Don’t worry”, he says. “She used to be a schoolmarm. She’ll teach you soon enough.”

  I can’t believe it, but as I look at him, he nods his head.

  “You’ll learn to read.” he says.

  Hunger Two

  “YVONNE, YVONNE,” I HEAR, AND I turn over, hugging the back of the pew to make sure I don’t roll off.

  I would like to sleep some more, but my hunger and the cold wake me up.

  It’s Veronique, who was sleeping toe to toe with me on the same pew, calling to me in a kind of whisper. Cecile and Denise are in the pew behind us.

  I flip my coat off me, sit up, and put the coat on. I look down at my dress, which is wrinkled, and I know it needs washing, but I haven’t had the opportunity to do anything about that. When I took care of Mrs. Belanger I always kept my clothes clean. But now it’s really hard in the winter, because you can’t put on a wet dress and go out into this cold. So I stand up and smooth the dress down as much as I can.

  I pull my old knit hat over my hair. It’s multi-coloured, a little crooked, and full of memories.

  Veronique gets up and smooths h
er dress as well, muttering to herself. Yesterday, she spilt coffee on her dress, and, like all of us, it’s the only dress she has.

  Veronique is from a farm outside of Levis. She’s the oldest of seven kids, and when she saw that the food they’d preserved in the summer was running out she started to worry that the younger kids would be going hungry. So one morning, she put a couple baked potatoes in her dress pocket and walked away. She ended up here in Trois-Rivieres, and when Cecile and Denise saw she was alone, they befriended her.

  Cecile and Denise are 25 and 23, but Veronique looks to be only about 18.

  Today is Veronique’s first choice of any jobs going. Tomorrow will be mine. We do this alphabetically to make sure it’s fair.

  The four or us make the sign of the cross, genuflect to the altar, and tiptoe to the front door. We try to be quiet because we can see there are others still sleeping.

  At the front door we all complain about the cold. But it’s February in Quebec, so we all know that is that.

  Shivering, we slip and slide across the frozen snow to the restaurant, use the washroom and wash our faces. I use some wet paper towels and wipe off under my arms as much as I can. Then I fold a paper towel and shove it into my shoe over the hole there.

  “Whew”, says Cecile. “Je suis malodorante”.

  None of us have had a bath in a couple weeks, and I’m pretty sure we all smell, and are just used to it.

  Cecile and Denise re-braid each other’s hair. Both Veronique and I have bobbed our hair, not for the style, but for the convenience. Veronique swears she’ll grow hers out again once we get a place to live. Her hair is so dark brown and even short you can see how thick and shiny it is.

  We pool our resources: we make sure we have three cents for the newspaper, and that leaves enough for coffees all around and two doughnuts, which we share. We get the doughnuts with the sugar on top because we know we need the energy from the sugar.

  Two doughnuts among four women isn’t much. All of us are careful, making sure we don’t get more than our share. It feels as if that little piece of dough is dropping through empty air to hit the bottom of my stomach. But I know the other girls are just as hungry as I am.

  At the newspaper stand the headlines are much the same as yesterday: The Great Depression, the newspapers are calling it, and the prediction is that 1937 is not going to be any better than 1936 was. The estimate is that about 20% of the population is unemployed. I wonder if that takes girls and women into account or only men.

  Tuberculosis is there on page two, and the newspaper tells people to use a handkerchief to cover their mouth when they sneeze and don’t shake hands if they can avoid it.

  The newspapers are full of thrift suggestions: how to turn the sheets, how to make a shepherd’s pie in order to stretch the hamburger, which now costs 12 cents a pound. I feel my mouth water at the mention of hamburger which I haven’t tasted in close to a year. If we all got jobs we could probably save 12 cents between the four of us, but we wouldn’t have anywhere to cook the hamburger anyway.

  The ongoing scandal of King Edward and Wallis Simpson is still a good part of the news.

  Just before we turn to the job ads, I see a notice that Amelia Earhart might be planning a trip around the world. I wonder what kind of education or training you need to fly a plane. I’ve never even been in a plane, and probably never will be, never mind flying one.

  Denise flips the paper open to the job ads, and we crane over Veronique’s shoulder. There are a couple jobs available, one for housecleaning and one for living in and minding some children while the parents are working.

  Sometimes in these jobs we get paid in cash, sometimes only in food and a bed for the night. It’s best to negotiate before you start the work, but really, when you’re this hungry you’re happy to work for a good meal, especially if there’s some meat.

  Veronique chooses the child minding job, which is closer and, if it lasts, will give her a place to sleep. The job is a good one; it pays $5.00 a month plus room and board. I hope she gets it. She’s really too young to be sleeping in churches.

  Cecile, who knows the city best, gives Veronique some directions and she starts at a fast walk, hoping to get there before another girl does. This would be a good job for Veronique, who likes children and took care of her younger sisters and brothers at home.

  I go for the housecleaning job, which is on the other side of town, but I’m going to try for it anyway. I’m a fast walker. I think about King Edward and Wallis Simpson as I walk and I’m not sure if it’s a great love story or a great scandal. One thing I know for sure is that they aren’t hungry like I am.

  I wonder if I will ever have a great love. I’m 21 now, and if it weren’t for the depression I would probably be thinking about beaus and getting married. But it is the depression, and I know I’m too scrawny to attract any man.

  I increase my pace. I really want to get this job.

  It takes about 40 minutes of walking . It’s a large house in a nice section of town.

  I knock on the door and the lady who answers is a large, kind- looking lady in a flowered dress, but she tells me that the job is already taken.

  I must look exhausted and desperate because she tells me to come in to the kitchen and have a cup of tea before I start off again. Then she gives me a small piece of bread pudding, with a little maple syrup, and tea. The tea bag’s been used a couple times already, so the tea is pretty weak, and I’m reminded that even people with money practice thrift. The pudding tastes wonderful. It’s been a while since I’ve had anything besides coffee and doughnuts. I’m doing the dishes as a thank you gesture when the lady comes in.

  “Are you going to be okay?” she asks me.

  I can see she’s sincerely concerned for me, and I assure her I’ll be fine, and that the pudding was wonderful and really filling. We’re both grateful to lie a bit, because we can’t fix the situation anyway, and this lady’s already been generous.

  The only thing I can do now is go back and meet the others at our usual place. As I walk back I think about Amelia Earhart, and how she’s flying a plane, and I can’t even get enough to eat. But I really love that a woman is doing something that usually only men get to do.

  I haven’t had any kind of work for about two weeks now, and I start to feel discouraged for the first time. I know I’m losing weight, and I can see it in my friend’s faces as well. And my hair is thinning out because I haven’t had any protein for a long time.

  Also, I don’t get my monthlies very often.

  We’ll have to line up at the soup kitchen tonight, and this is something we hate because most of the people on the soup line are men, and sometimes they look at us in a bad way.

  I see some women in the line-up now, and twice I’ve seen kids. I wonder about these kids, if they have a home and bed at night. I haven’t yet seen any kids sleeping in the church, but I won’t be surprised if that happens soon.

  We’ll certainly be back at the church tonight.

  When I meet my friends back at our usual place, Veronique isn’t there, so I guess she got the child minding job, and I feel really happy for her. I hope they treat her right. I hope she gets lots to eat.

  Now there’s only Denise, Cecile and me left to sleep in the church.

  The soup lines don’t open for another hour, so we walk down the sunny side of the street, looking at all the stuff we can’t afford. We stay away from the restaurants because the smell of the food is too hard to take.

  We look at the Butterick dress patterns in Eaton’s window, and there’s a new pattern for making a reversible house dress. I wish I was wearing one of those now, because this dress is showing the dirt, and it bothers me a lot, but I can’t do anything about it.

  Cecile is looking at the patterns for evening dresses. Her eyes shift to a mannequin dressed in a McCall pattern, then to bolts of material sitting where they won’t get the sun on them: a brilliant blue, a red so dark it’s almost b
lack, a lemony yellow, and a deep plum.

  And I see a different kind of hunger in Cecile’s face.

  “Green satin,” she says to us. “Light-weight satin so it drapes well. That would be perfect.”

  I tell her I don’t know. I’ve never had the chance to go to a dance or to a fancy restaurant. My life has been only work. I have the marks to prove it.

  Denise glances at her sister, and then she puts her arm around Cecile’s shoulder.

  Cecile and Denise are from Quebec City, and they had a different kind of life than I had, but I don’t really ask what happened. Some families that were rich lost everything. I guess that might be harder than starting out with nothing.

  But I’ve never heard these girls say a word about how they used to live, or try to lord it over anyone because they had money before.

  For some reason the two of them thought they would be more likely to get work here in Trois-Rivieres. It seems to me to be bad all over Quebec, but they’ve been here about 16 months now, a little longer than I have. It was them who told me I could sleep in the church.

  I don’t know why they came here instead of staying in Quebec City, but maybe it was so they wouldn’t be seen by the girls they once went to parties with.

  We walk past a store that has a radio in the window. It’s playing loud big band music, and Denise and Cecile grab each other’s hands and dance the jitterbug on the snowy sidewalk. Their skinny legs prance, the hem of their dresses flip up and down, and their braids bounce on their shoulders. A few people stop to smile.

  Giggling, the three of us walk on to the soup line.

  The line is long. I can smell fried bologna, and it smells wonderful. Someone rich must have made a donation. I hope we get some.

  Someone in the lineup coughs, and everyone glances up. The threat of tuberculosis is always there. Consumption, some call it, and it kills.

  The three of us are chatting about Veronique getting work, when I notice a man staring at Cecile.

  “Hey, girlie,” he says, loud enough to be heard by those around us. “You look pretty down on your luck. Tell you what: if I earn a dollar tomorrow, I’ll meet you back here. You can do a little favour for me and I’ll give you the dollar. I bet you’ll like that.”

 

‹ Prev