Bishop's Road

by Catherine Hogan Safer

  Harvey haunts the house on Bishop’s Road looking for Ginny Mustard. Joanie Harris keeps shooing him away when he comes crying at the front door so now he’s digging a hole under the gate to the backyard. Through the snow and his big paws are raw from working the cold earth. Every time a door is opened at Ginny Mustard’s house he’s away. Joanie calls Animal Control but they can never catch him in the act. By the time they come around Joe Snake’s been out looking and has talked him into going home. And now he’s in the house and Joanie finds him in the attic so she says what the hell and leaves him there. When Joe Snake comes to fetch him yet again they reach an agreement. Harvey can go back and forth and live wherever he pleases. Joe Snake explains that Ginny Mustard will be home some day and Harvey will be with her and out of Joanie’s hair for good. Joanie says that will be fine with her. She gets lonely in the big house all day when the children are at school and can use company.

  Lonely is only one of the things she is feeling of late. Nervous is another but that’s nothing new. She tries to convince herself that she’s tired and when she gets used to the house she won’t be imagining things the way she does now but still, there, out of the corner of her eye the tail of a black dress disappearing. She finds herself humming hush little baby when her mind relaxes for a minute and at night when the moon is on the garden someone in a red sweater is moving about. Looking for something.

  There is a day in February when the sun is warm and snow melts a little and you can open windows and air the house as long as you remember to close them again when it gets dark. It is reprieve for people in places like this. A short reminder that the season will not last forever. And in March when the rest of the country is shaking off the cold for good and you still can’t see over the snow banks to the sidewalk, you remember that day in February when you opened the windows and aired the house and you are strengthened for the duration. Joanie Harris doesn’t know this and should be in rough shape by the time May rolls around.

  Crazy Rachel is staring at Ginny Mustard’s hands. Burning holes in them all the way to the belly she tries to protect. All the way to the baby floating, floating. Sweet Polly tries to escape the heat. Thinks cold as hard as she can. Makes her mother hum a song of wind and icy water. Sleeps.

  Judy sits on the stone wall in front of the old orphanage and stares at the house. Smokes a little pot. Her life has been noisy since day one and the quiet is about to drive her right around the bend. She went to her parents’ house the other day but couldn’t even get a decent fight started. Her father is in jail again. Her brothers are at home. The oldest is medicated to the eyeballs and lies in bed all day and the others are selling crack from the basement, a relatively silent enterprise with their customers coming and going through the back door, shoes off so mom won’t hear. Not much chance of that. She starts the day with rum in her coffee and doesn’t stop drinking until she passes out right around supper time.

  Judy hasn’t seen Ruth since they all moved out of Mrs. Miflin’s house. She hasn’t heard tell of Dorrie since Christmas day. She has given up shovelling the snow off Eve’s grave. And now Maggie has left her and there’s no one but Joe Snake. Patrick checking once in a while to see if she’s keeping her nose clean. And he doesn’t even bother to come round. Just telephones. Well screw the lot of them. She jumps from her perch on the wall and walks to Ginny Mustard’s house. Packs a bag of clothes. Searches Joe Snake’s desk until she finds his cheque book. Takes the bottom one and heads to Water Street. At the automatic teller she fills it out, giving herself $1,000. Signs Joe Snake’s name and deposits the cheque to her own account. Withdraws everything. It takes two transactions because you can only have $500 each time and the fellow waiting is getting irritated. She tells him to piss off - who the hell does he think he is looking at his watch and making impatient sounds. Strolls to a taxi stand and hires a limo to the air-port where she buys a one-way ticket to Vancouver, as far as you can go in this country before falling off the edge.

  She watches the lights of the city disappear into nothing and curses the place with such venom that she brews an ice storm to keep it immobilized for a week with power lines down and a state of emergency the likes of which no one can recall except for a few really old people and they might be making it up. Shows the flight attendant her fake ID and drinks scotch to the end of the line.

  Mrs. Miflin wants to go home now. She’s had enough of this place with these nurse types smiling ear to ear and asking, “How are we today?” all the time. Holding out their little pills like an offering at some altar. That young pipsqueak of a doctor has been telling her that if she keeps improving the way she has she will be out in no time. Back with her loved ones. She made up a crowd of them just for him. He seemed to need them. Isn’t the kind to let her go until he knows she’ll have support. So there’s Florence, her sister, and Melvin, her nephew, and Malcolm, her dear husband who misses her so much and the only reason they don’t come around is they can’t bear to see her like this. And Dr. Pipsqueak buys every word of it because he only understands half of what she says - being from away - and won’t admit it.

  She weaves her web. Works the tangles out. By the time the release forms are signed she has concocted a new life for her-self and the only task remaining is to get on over to Bishop’s Road and take her house back from whoever the hell is in it now.

  Dorrie wants her own shop. She has found the perfect place, cashed her RRSPs and discussed her ideas with the small group of Barbie fanatics she met through her work in the toy department at Zellers. Once a week they gather in Dorrie’s apartment. She makes tea and pretty cakes and they talk about their dolls. Take turns with show and tell. Jaime Cochrane read the dissertation she presented at the university on the positive aspects of Barbie the night she was ousted from the Women’s Studies Program. “Not a minute too soon,” she said. “If I had to sit in one more talking circle and listen to the crap they spout I’d be pulling my hair out for sure. I think I’ll go into engineering.”

  Kate Morrison, who has a flair for words, is writing advertisements and designing posters to entice the other Barbie women out of the closet. Dorrie has fabric enough for a thousand little dresses and order forms for all the accessories they will ever need. It’s just a matter of signing the lease and decorating the shop and planning the grand opening.

  When Judy lands in Vancouver she is tired and still a little drunk. She takes the bus downtown and wanders aimlessly for awhile until she happens upon a youth hostel that appears half decent and has finished signing in when she realizes the place has a curfew. Demands her money back. “I can get this shit at home.” And leaves. Finds a nasty little room with holes in the sheets and stains on the ceilings. Rusty water in the toilet and no sign that anyone cares what she does. Unpacks her bag and takes a nap. Time enough for adventure when she’s rested.

  Joe Snake tried to call Patrick as soon as he realized he wasn’t going to find Judy but by then her ice storm was in full swing and the phone lines were down. There’s no going out in weather like this so he stays inside by the fireplace. Burns old newspapers and cardboard boxes to keep warm after he uses up all the wood when the electricity dies. Wraps himself in blankets and reads his books by flashlight. Listens to tree branches crack and break in the frozen wind.

  It takes Judy a full nine hours of sleep to feel fit to venture out into the world. It takes another two minutes to get her-self in trouble. She can’t help it. When she sees the guy with two little kids on the street and he yelling and calling them stupid fucking idiots and he’s going to pound them as soon as he gets them home if they don’t stop crying right now, she goes aboard of him. And when he doesn’t back down it takes two policemen to keep her from doing to him what he plans to do to the poor little kids. And when she calls him a dirty black bastard everyone decides she is a racist and it looks like game over for Judy because you can still say what you want to a youngster but God forbid you should mention the shade of an adult’s skin. When they finally stuff her into a sq
uad car and take her to the station they figure, and rightly, that she is a runaway and from the accent on her they are able to pinpoint the place she has run away from. With technology being what it is these days her description and details of her most recent crime might have reached Patrick in no time. With nature being what she’s always been it will take a week or more.

  Joe Snake is the saddest man alive. He studies more than he needs to and has time on his hands. He has painted every room in the house. Stripped and refmished the floors. Read all the baby books. He moves furniture and takes pictures of the living room every which way so Ginny Mustard can tell him what setting she likes best. He plans a garden. Stares at the back yard from the kitchen window. Climbs over banks of ice. Measures every inch. Goes to the seed store and finds there’s nothing on the shelves but last year’s stock and the sales lady tells him he wants to wait a few weeks; she can’t guarantee a decent germination rate on the old stuff. She talks him into buying grow lights and heating cables but they won’t be any good to him until the new seeds arrive. She sells him books about gardening. There’s no one else in the store and he stays for three hours. They have coffee arid when she’s told him all she knows about flowers and trees they talk about weather.

  Home is dark and cold. He turns the heat low whenever he leaves to have something to look forward to on return. Waits a long time for warmth. When he wants a cigarette he holds out until he can’t stand it any more before lighting up. Same with coffee. Food. The suffering makes every ordinary act a gift. Every puff of smoke. Every sip. Every taste an answer to a prayer. The little cats are sleeping in the bathtub with their momma and he takes them out of it gently. Places them in a heap on his bed. His bed. His and Ginny Mustard’s bed. Runs hot water and slides under to thaw his thin body.

  From behind Ginny Mustard looks the same as she always has. Side on you can see she’s pregnant. When Joe Snake comes to visit he brings oranges and they eat them together. Count the seeds. He puts his big hand on her belly to feel their baby move and though it’s too early for that, they all three smile anyway. There is nothing to say.

  Ruth has called the store and told them she can’t work tomorrow. Locked her door and won’t answer the bell. Unplugged the telephone and pulled the curtains to block out the world. Now it’s just her and the secrets and the knowing. And if she can somehow find the right place and time the pieces will meld. She waits. She will not sleep. She stands on a chair. She sits in a corner. And now here’s her mother telling her what a dirty filthy creature she is. Cringing each time she must touch her. Rough when she washes her little face, scrubs her hair. Hurting her always hurting her with touch and words. And here’s her father. And she’s a tiny girl standing in her crib and crying. And she can hear the sound of his shoes on the stairs and he’s coming to her and she screams for her mommy who hears but will not move from her bed. And her father is beating her brother. With his fists. With his belt. And her mommy is just standing there. Just standing there.

  For two days and a night Ruth is haunted. Now and then she tries to stop it but it’s too late. She has to see it through. And she howls into her pillow and hollers at her parents with all the strength she has and when she finally allows them back in their coffins, slams the lids shut, there is some peace. And now she wraps her arms around herself and laughs for a very long time.

  “Well, bitch, letting that man at me with his dirty fingers and his ugly mouth. I guess it explains a lot of things. Like my entire fucking life, for instance. And I don’t know who is worse off but I’m guessing you two because you’re long dead and rotten and I’m still kicking. Okay. Okay. Okay. It’s done. It’s done. And if I can’t make it go away at least I know what it is. Good for you Ruthie girl. Good for you.” And she gets up off the kitchen floor where she had landed some time earlier and fries a couple of eggs. Eats them sandwiched between stale bread and watches the watered-down light of the setting sun through her living room window.

  Eve is restless. Dear God, she is restless. Too long in one place and missing what she’s left behind. And she prays for another earth walk. Just one more time around. Wanders her garden but only at night so as not to frighten anyone. And Joanie Harris looks at the footprints in the backyard of the house on Bishop’s Road and can’t figure out why the grass is green in each one and every-thing else frozen solid. Thinks the old lady in the red sweater must be wearing some kind of heated boots though she’s sure her feet were bare the last time she looked. Walks her own feet through the path of prints and would swear she smells lilacs. She wants to tell someone but she still doesn’t know a soul in this place except for that man who used to come around looking for his dog. When Mrs. Miflin shows up at her door she is lonely enough to invite her in and puts the kettle on.

  “That old Eve had a garden out back. Used to get a hedgehog every summer to eat the slugs, you know. I told her she was crazy, wasting good money like that but would she listen? Not for a minute. None of them ever listened to me which is how I ended up in this sorry state after all my hard work.”

  Joanie has no idea what Mrs. Miflin is talking about. She had assumed that one of her neighbors had finally come by to say hello. Not the Welcome Wagon exactly but better than nothing.

  “She got that no-good Judy to build a bin for her garbage compost too. If you don’t have rats yet you will soon, mark my word. I wouldn’t let them youngsters anywhere near that thing if I was you. What did you take that nice paper off the kitchen walls for? That was there for a long time. I put it up myself, you know. I really liked it with them little roosters and grapes all over it. And now you got it painted blue. And what in God’s name possessed you to hang all your pots and pans off the ceiling? Sure they’ll collect dust like nothing else and you’ll have to be cleaning them every time you want to make a meal.”

  While Mrs. Miflin tells of her trials and tribulations all because of her wicked tenants, Joanie half listens, half dreams. It’s been a long time since she met anyone who strayed over the line that defines normal, unless you count her husband, but she’s not ready to do that. The women Mrs. Miflin is describing, the things they did. Joanie’s mom used to bring home people like that. She gathers that the man with the dog is the heathen Indian that Ginny Mustard married. She wishes now that he would come back. Perhaps if she keeps the dog long enough, he will.

  “Are you after hearing a word I’m saying?” asks Mrs. Miflin, bringing Joanie back to earth. What was she going on about? The house. Something to do with the house.

  “I want it back. I’ve still got all the money. I never spent one penny of it, you know. It’s as good as the day I got it. Now what do you say to that?”

  And Joanie who hasn’t said anything really since she offered Mrs. Miflin a cup of tea and shortbread, looks confused for a minute until her children come running in for lunch and she ushers Mrs. Miflin out the door. Not without difficulty. She doesn’t want to go and is sitting on the steps when the children leave for their afternoon classes.

  Joanie would call John at work but she is only allowed to do that if something happens to one of the children and even then it had best be a life or death situation. She has a car that she can use if one of them breaks a leg or she has to pick up groceries. John checks to see how much gas is in the tank without warning. She used to walk back and forth to the store, saving up for a secret rendezvous with the highway but he noticed once that she couldn’t have driven anywhere because the gauge read full and caught her in the lie.

  Joanie has no clothes to speak of. A suit to wear for emergencies - a trip to the hospital perhaps - as if she would actually stop to change when one of the children comes to her broken. Hurting. She has a pair of good pants and a pair of everyday pants and two shirts. She washes her underwear every night. John figures she’ll never have an affair if it means stripping down to graying cotton. He buys the cheapest panties for her that he can find - three for five dollars - and keeps two tucked away until she can show him holes and elastic beyond repair. She has e
vening gowns which John keeps under lock and key. He takes them out when it’s time to entertain clients. Always says, “Maybe you should wear the purple one this time.” The one with no sleeves that makes her feel so beautiful, and he watches as her eyes light up before saying, “No. I think the gray. We don’t want every man in the place staring at you, do we sweetheart?”

  Joanie didn’t care one way or the other about the move to this place. She stopped caring about most things just after she and John married. What was the point? The only things she wants are her children and the purple gown.

  You never know the half of it, really. The old woman shoving to pass you in the grocery check-out line was your mother’s kindergarten teacher. The men in hardhats, over there, hanging off the scaffolding, sandblasting that building, grew up in the same town as someone who knows your uncle. If you follow your gut and take the long way home today you’ll see the car your brother sold last year in Edmonton and what’s it doing here? If you slow down when you pass the school you’ll hear little girls singing the same skipping songs you sang once upon a time. But first you have to get that look off your face and let your eyes roam free.

  When Judy stepped out of her hotel she sniffed the air and smiled to no one in particular but Artie Mason was testing the new video camera his wife gave him for his birthday and set his sights on the most pleasant thing he’s seen yet. When Judy attacked the man with the kids Artie kept right on filming.