A DENNY’S BREAKFAST of raspberry pancakes and scrambled eggs all smothered in maple syrup fuelled him up for the day, but it took a conversation with ferry-ticket-seller Rachelle—a cute, pierced, and tattooed platinum blonde—to finally drag him away from the world of the living dead and into the light.
“So, dude, we were house-boating up off the Sunshine Coast when Shade, like, was hanging a chummed line off the stern and smoking a home-rolled, when the rod was near yanked from his hand. He stuffed the rolly between his lips and started the fight of his life. He was no rookie, though, dude. He let the line out and let whatever it was run. It didn’t go far, though. Once it thought the threat was gone, it chilled. Shade passed the smoke and started a slow reel in. He’d reel for a minute, feel the resistance build, and let it out. Then he’d reel a bit more, and then let it out. All the time, man, he was pulling it in, closer and closer, tiring it out, wearing it down. Judging by the bend on that deep-sea rod, we figured he had a salmon-and-a-half on the line.
“He danced with this baby for an hour before he finally got it up to the port side where we rushed with the net. We nearly crapped ourselves when we saw it. Man, it was a beauty.”
“What was it? A Coho? Sockeye?”
“Shark, dude.”
“Shark? No way!”
“Way. It was just a little thing, a meter, meter-and-a-half, but it was big enough to snap the line when we tried to get a net under it.”
“Cool.”
“Beyond cool. But that’s life on the Strait, dude.”
The morning was slow, and Rachelle was hopped up on Red Bull and happy to chat chat chat about the Port, and her many visits north to The Island to party with her cousin Rod in Nanaimo. By the time the M.V. Coho ferry pulled out of port with Jerry on the outside deck, he’d rediscovered his smile.
Exhausted, but relaxed, Jerry sat by himself on the deck, in the wan, early morning sun. The light snowfall stopped and the clouds parted, just for his departure, it seemed to him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, taking in the sea air, purging the road grime and exhaust fumes of the last five days. Seagulls screeched and wheeled in the sky above the ferry, begging for handouts from the few passengers brave enough to face the near-freezing, moist, winter air of the strait, but Jerry paid no attention to either them nor to the less-than-perfect weather. The thick, tangy, sea breeze intoxicated him, drawing out his exhaustion and scattering it far and wide. With his camera tucked inside his heavy red jacket, and a steaming, hot decaf in his gloved hand, he was at peace. I could get used to being near the ocean, he thought. He took a couple snap shots with his iPhone and emailed them to Isis before sitting back, closing his eyes, and surrendering to the moment completely.
SHORTLY AFTER NINE, Jerry called Manny from the ship.
“Tell me you’re here, Jerry! Tell me my new star station manager is in town!”
“About half-an-hour out, or so one of the regular passengers just told me.”
“The ferry from Tsawassan?”
“From where? I’m coming over from Port Angeles. I drove through the States the whole way.”
“Right-oh, mate. You’re on the Coho, then. Good ship and true and all that. Your flat is all ready for you. You want the address and I’ll meet you there, or do you want to come to the station and pick up the keys?”
“Do you mind meeting me at the apartment? I have it programmed into Maggie-Sue, my GPS. It’s been a long trip and I’d like to clean up before meeting the team at the station. Or are they expecting me today?”
“Tomorrow’s soon enough, young fella. That’s one helluva long drive to do alone, so you take the night. Your stuff has been arriving all week, and the boxes are all sitting in the middle of the flat waiting for you to turn it into a home. I left the furniture like you saw in the photos I emailed over, and we found a couple beauty chairs on the weekend that I’ve tossed in, but don’t feel obligated to take ’em. I’ve got two other rental properties I can use ’em in.”
“Sounds great, Manny. I really do appreciate everything you’ve done.”
“You’re one of the family now, Jerry, and family takes care of each other. Besides, I’m going to get my time and money’s worth out of you—there’s a lot of work to be done to get us through this downturn. But all that can wait another day or two, mate. Give me a call when you’re about to dock and I’ll make my way over to the flat.”
“Will do. I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Yeah, must do—year end and all. Finally see you in an hour or so, Jerr.”
“Yeah, I guess you will, Manny. I’m looking forward to it.”
Jerry disconnected, dropped the phone back into his pocket, and relaxed. He was tempted to put the headphones on and listen to some soul-fixing jazz, but the hum of the ship’s engine, the cry of the gulls, and the rhythm of the sea were all the music he needed, so far from where he’d started only days before.
MANNY MET JERRY at the apartment, just as promised, and Jerry was knocked speechless by Manny’s sheer tallness. Jerry estimated his new employer to be over six-and-a-half-feet tall and most of it was smile. Right up to the moment Manny grabbed Jerry’s hand in his massive paw and pumped it like an old friend, Jerry was sure the giant Aussie was going to sweep him up in a hug. After the long drive so far from his roots back east, Jerry probably would have been okay with a hug.
“Welcome to the City of Gardens, Jerry. Not many flowers to see now, but give it a few months and it’ll be a bloody riot of colour. But never mind that. I’m so excited, I’m rambling like a schoolgirl. Let’s get you upstairs and settled in, mate.”
“After you, Boss.”
Together the two of them climbed the gently worn, dark-stained oak stairs to the third floor—Jerry holding Sushi’s travel bowl in one hand and his laptop bag in the other, while Manny carried one of Jerry’s bags in a long-fingered hand, and the apartment keys in the other. He led the way up the stairs and stopped at a spacious landing with only two apartments leading off from it.
Unlocking the knob and the deadbolt, Manny reached in, flicked a light switch with his key hand, and stepped back to let Jerry go in first. Half expecting Manny to simply lead the rest of the way into the apartment, Jerry hesitated, afraid there would be a surprise party waiting for him. He had the impression that when Manny said the station staff were as close as a family, he meant that the little things were taken care of, such as welcoming the new team member with a party, like a long-lost relative returned home. He was relieved to find no one waiting, but the relief was quickly replaced by amazement at the beauty of his new digs.
Twelve-foot-high ceilings, dark-stained oak trim, polished hardwood floors with expensive-looking, imported, oriental carpets, and sparkling stained-glass-crowned windows greeted him. The place begged him to kick off his shoes, drop his worries by the door, and just sink back into the leather couch forever, protected from stress, strain, and everything else he’d left behind. Then he saw the Christmas tree, lit with simple white LEDs and decorated with silver and red glass balls. At six-feet, it wasn’t much taller than him, and it was tucked in a corner, but it was definitely the heart of the amazing space.
“Wow.”
“Right you are, Jerr. This little haven was my own bachelor pad before I met Carmella, and we even spent the first year of our marriage up here, cloistered from the world but close to the slow, steady pulse of Victoria. Conceived our son here, though not on that couch—don’t worry. We loved this little place so much I bought the whole building when it came on the market a few years back.”
His eyes moist with emotion and the release of the stress that had been building for so long, Jerry turned back to Manny. Without a word he reached his hand out to clasp the big man’s own in thanks, but Manny had other ideas though and finally took Jerry into a quick hug. “Like I said, welcome to the family.”
“I . . .”
“No worries. I understand. Carmella stocked the fridge and freezer with a few basics, stuck the nu
mbers of a half-dozen local fast food joints on the fridge, and even made up the bed with some of our spare linens, just so you don’t have to do anything but settle in. Basic HD cable is included, so the flat-screen you shipped out is all hooked up.” He took a few seconds to collect his thoughts. “We know you’ve made a big move here, Jerr, and we wanna do everything we can to make Victoria your new home. Hell, if my daughter wasn’t already married to a great fella . . .”
Jerry laughed. “Thanks, Manny. I appreciate the thought. I now understand the depth of the sentiments behind the rave reviews when I checked your references. I’ve got a bottle of Crown Royal in one of my bags if you’d care to join me in a toast to this new life—before I pass out on that couch from exhaustion.”
“Let’s get everything out of your truck and up here, first, then we can toast and you can pass out, knowing you’ve got nothing to do but relax until tomorrow. And just so you know, tomorrow is just a quickie, Jerr. You’ll swing by the station for the welcome and see your office, but no work for you, yet.” Manny handed Jerry the keys and led the way out of the apartment and down to the street.
“Take a day or so to settle into this place. My old Gran used to say that an unsettled home was no haven, and everyone needs a haven. Cable is set, but if you want a land-line the number to call is on the fridge, too. And if you haven’t called yer insurance company with the new info, you’ll wanna do that, too. The only thing I’m a stickler for is tenant’s insurance, for everyone concerned. If you need an agent for that, just ask.”
Jerry unlocked the Jeep with the remote, and the two men each grabbed an armful of whatever was within reach. “You’ve thought of everything, Manny. Wow.” They headed back up the stairs.
“I can’t take all the credit, lad. Carmella is the organizational queen. It’s all been her doing. I’d forget my own birthday if she wasn’t on top of things. She even programs my Blackberry for me. Hell, I get reminders for events I don’t even know I’m going to. I’d have hired her to manage the station for me, but she knows little to nothing about market shares and music. She thinks Billboard is where she uses a stick-pin to leave Honey-Do lists for me when she goes out. Besides, if I paid her to organize, she’d have to find a new hobby, and I think she loves doing it just for the fun of it.”
“She sounds like quite a lady.”
“The best, Jerr. The best.”
The two men placed their loads inside the apartment and went back out for more of Jerry’s transplanted possessions. The conversation shifted to the various features and services in the neighbourhood, and by the time the Jeep was empty and secured in Jerry’s reserved spot, he felt like he knew more about downtown Victoria after half an hour with Manny than he did about St. Marys or Stratford after three years in that area.
He carried his last load into the well-appointed kitchen, knowing that somewhere in the bag were the bottle of rye and a set of bubbled-wrapped crystal rocks glasses he hadn’t wanted to leave in the hands of the shippers. He found it all and poured out a couple shots while Manny pulled a bag of ice out of the freezer. Jerry chuckled. “She really did think of everything, didn’t she?”
“This one was my idea. There’s a six-pack of cold beer in the fridge, too. I hope you like Keith’s.”
“A pale ale is perfect.”
Two ice cubes went into each family heirloom tumbler, and Jerry handed one to Manny. He raised his own glass. “I’ll keep it simple and not too eloquent. To new beginnings, and to new friends who feel like old friends destined to become best friends.”
“Well said, young fella.” Manny raised his rye in response. “To new beginnings, and new friends who feel like old friends destined to become best friends.”
They clinked glasses, sipped the still-warm Crown Royal, and looked around the box-cluttered apartment in silence. Jerry sighed, then put his glass on the counter and wandered over to look behind a mountain of boxes, something having caught his eye.
“A fireplace? I’ve got a fireplace?”
“Every good home does, Jerr.” Manny placed his own glass in the sink. “Firewood’s in the hall closet for now. West Coast cedar. But you can find that on your own because I do have to get back to the station before the end of the work day.”
“Yeah, sorry, Manny. I’ll let you get out of here. Thanks for—”
“Any time, Jerr. See you at noon tomorrow. Call me if you need directions to the station.” He let himself out, closing the apartment door as he went.
Jerry returned to the kitchen, splashed another shot of whiskey into his glass, and then went looking for the firewood. Manny had comforted him for uprooting himself to come to Victoria, but Jerry saw it in a totally different light. He was strengthened by the idea of being able to “plant” himself somewhere healthy for a change. This was a perfect chance to purge and distance himself from the various unhealthy relationships back east in Ontario. He had a chance to start again, and a rye-on-the-rocks by a cedar-burning fire was the perfect start.
“Let the cleansing of my soul begin.”
It had been a long time since he’d had to set and start a fire, but when the few steps came back to him, Jerry was sure he’d found in them the ritual he needed for his new home. Manny had left newspaper on the hearth, kindling in a copper scuttle, and plenty of already-split logs in the huge closet to get him started, so Jerry began by opening the flue, gingerly leaning in and looking up the chimney, to confirm that it was clear. It was. No squirrel’s nest, and no last-year’s Santa, sooty and frozen in rigor, his underestimated girth caught in an overestimated chimney.
He pulled a copy of the Victoria Times Colonist from the top of the pile and slid out the classified section. As a kid he’d always saved the front section for last, figuring that while the fire was sputtering and grasping, he might as well catch up on the news. These days he had the Internet for that, but there was something solid and reassuring about sitting cross-legged by the fireplace with the front page—or the comics—waiting for the sparks to jump from the crumpled balls of paper to the soft, feathered kindling set up like the poles of a tepee over the paper. When he was growing up, he’d sat on an old camel saddle his father had brought home from a business trip to Egypt in the ’90s. His mother still had that saddle, next to her own hearth, so instead Jerry pulled up the oxblood-red leather ottoman and sat. New hearth, new tradition.
The kindling caught but the paper burned too fast. Jerry quickly crumpled and twisted three more “sticks”, tighter than the first ones, and carefully slid them into the centre of the tepee. The flames found them and grew, this time slowly enough to grab hold of the kindling and consume them gently with a flickering embrace. The kindling crackled and popped as the fire heated the dry sap within, then the flames expanded enough to caress the thicker logs leaning on the tepee, and the whole, contained structure became involved. Fuel was consumed, heat was generated, and his new home was warmed immeasurably.
THERE WAS AN odd change to the tone of the black abyss. The near constant vibration faded away and there was a new radiant warmth like she hadn’t felt since another lifetime. It offered a gentle reassurance she now clung to as the blackness tried to crowd back in. Thoughts of the young man interrupted her reverie, though, and she was heartened to think she might dream of him again soon.
Chapter Five
@TheTaoOfJerr: “Music in the soul can be heard by the universe.”
~Lao Tzu
JERRY EVENTUALLY MOVED from the ottoman to the couch where he tumbled into a nearly dreamless sleep for two hours. He didn’t exactly dream, but there were hints of the young woman in black drifting at the edge of his mind. When he finally awoke, her fleeting images wafted away like mist in the sun. The fire was too low to generate much heat but still had plenty of energy to ignite the fresh log Jerry put on before wandering off to splash cold water on his face and relieve himself.
Back at the couch, he checked his phone for messages then logged onto his browser to check his email account. There were two
messages from Isis, his own copy of his pre-written and weekly-scheduled photography blog, and a reply from his insurance broker, Mostafah. On this one thing, he’d already been ahead of Manny. He’d emailed Mostafah as soon as he knew the new address and the move-in date.
Not yet awake enough to deal with Isis, and not needing to read his own blog, Jerry opened Mostafah’s message confirming the change of address and recommending that he get an appraisal done on the little box of antiquities Mavis had bestowed upon him. An attachment listed three antique shops Mostafah’s Victoria counterparts recommended. The note pointed out that one of them was only a few blocks away from Jerry’s new home address.
IN SPITE OF the gradual shift from driving through the various time zones between St. Marys and Victoria, Jerry’s body was still on Eastern Time, so he was up at five, scrambling a half-dozen eggs, chopping vegetables, and grating a small brick of cheese for a monster-sized omelette. He would have loved ham in it or bacon on the side, but since the headaches had started, the menu held no meat with nitrates for this sick puppy. He missed ham and bacon a bit, but what he really missed from the nitrate-rich, no-go-list was corned beef. There were days he nearly cried out for a Shopsy’s of Toronto corned beef stacked on rye with Dijon mustard and Swiss cheese. With luck, maybe he could find a place in Victoria that did for seafood what Shopsy’s did for deli dining. He just might be able to get used to the idea of fresh scallops, salmon, and a dill cream sauce instead of corned beef on rye. Maybe.
He slipped the finished culinary masterpiece onto a plate, sprinkled the last of the cheddar and dill on top, then ground fresh pepper generously over the whole works. He used as little salt as possible, but loved his fresh-ground Telecherry pepper. He would have liked to relax and chill out, but he also hated sitting still when there was so much to do. He looked up Ipatiev Antiques online and found that they were three blocks away and opened at nine. He didn’t have to be at the station until noon—though he would arrive early as always—so including a walk to the antique store, he had plenty of time to unpack and get the place looking more like a home and less like a storage locker.
Waking Anastasia Page 5