Cheryl shook them off, viciously. “You take your bloody hands off me. I’m gonna have another drink and no one’s gonna stop me. Especially not a superior white bitch. I can take care of myself. I don’t need anyone. Not anyone.”
I recoiled at her loud outburst and sat down again. I watched the liquid in Cheryl’s glass go down once again. The bottle beside her was half-empty.
“I don’t need anyone,” Cheryl repeated to herself. Then she looked at me and said, maliciously, “Especially not you. I couldn’t give a shit about your fancy ways. You’re just a social climber who didn’t make it.”
Cheryl was slurring her words badly, and when she saw that I winced every time she used a vulgar word, I could see that she was delighted.
“So, April Raintree, you think you got all the answers, eh? But you can’t tell me a goddamned thing, can you? Because, in reality, you know fuck all. I’m the one who knows what life is really all about. Me. That’s who. I got the answers. I found the answers all by myself. You lied to me and I lied to you. I did find our precious dear ol’ Dad. He’s a gutter-creature, April. A gutter-creature! All the tricks I turned, well, that helped him, you know? That kept him in booze. Not only that, I joined him, too. Ah, but that’s not all. The best part is still to come.” She smiled a lopsided smile, as if she had lost control of her facial muscles.
“Mother; you know what happened to our poor, dear Mother? She jumped off the Louise Bridge, is what she did. Committed suicide. You know why she stopped seeing us? Because she couldn’t bear the pain. Yup, she committed suicide. They were bums, you know. Both of them. Bums. Boozers. Gutter-creatures. Dad took all that money from me. He didn’t know where it came from. He didn’t care where it came from.
“Mark DeSoto: jack of all trades, drug pusher, bootlegger. Stealing, breaking and entering, pimping; if it was illegal, he was in it. And guess who was right there in it with him? Your little sister, Cheryl Raintree. Your baby sister. Pardon me, there was another one after me. Baby Anna. Did you know about her? Well, she died when she was still a baby. She was the luckiest one of us.”
Cheryl leaned her head on her arms, which were crossed in front of her on the table. She was weeping to herself, repeating the last sentence, “She was the luckiest one.”
I was shocked by her revelations. I didn’t believe them. Cheryl was only trying to shock me. Except now she wasn’t watching me for the desired effect. She wasn’t lying.
I stood up, taking the bottle with me to the kitchen sink. I was going to make coffee for us. Then I was going to see Cheryl to her bed. Tomorrow we were going to talk together. Now that I knew the reason behind her actions, I knew I could do something about it. I was also relieved that it wasn’t because of me that Cheryl had given up. Absent-mindedly, I began pouring the liquid from the whiskey bottle down the sink.
“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” Cheryl screamed at the top of her lungs. She startled me so much that I dropped the bottle into the sink as I jumped. For all of Cheryl’s drunkenness, she moved as swiftly as a mother cat coming to the rescue of her endangered kittens. “Give me that! That’s mine, you bitch!”
I had a hold of the bottle again, and Cheryl lunged for it. We both struggled for control of it. I guess all Cheryl could see was that her precious liquid was seeping down the drain. All I wanted was for her to quit drinking for the night. When the last drop was gone, I let go of the bottle. I turned towards Cheryl. She was enraged. She glared at me furiously, and before I could speak to her, she brought her hand up and struck me violently across the face. I was already off-balance, and the blow sent me reeling backward across the kitchen. I hit the refrigerator hard with my back and shoulders. I put my hand to my face where Cheryl had struck me, and looked at her in disbelief.
Cheryl, momentarily horrified by what she had just done to me, seemed to come out of her drunken stupor.
“Well, you shouldn’t have done that.” Then she grabbed her jacket and I heard her go down the hall. The front door slammed.
16
I shook my head to clear it. This was all too much. I returned to the sink and put the empty bottle into the garbage container. My mind started activating again, and I realized I should have gone after Cheryl. I went to get my jacket and boots and then I had to look for the house keys. They weren’t in my purse and I couldn’t remember where I had put them. It was stupid to think of such things, but my mind was still in a muddle.
The closest bus stop was at Watt Street, so I walked in that direction. I reached the bus stop, but there was no sign of Cheryl. I went back towards Henderson. I was sure that if Cheryl had intended to take a bus, she would have gotten on one by now. Just in case, I waited at the bus stop for the next Downtown bus and got on. I tried looking out both sides of the window, but with it being dark outside and lit up inside, plus the condensation on the windows, I couldn’t see the sidewalks very well.
I got off in front of City Hall and decided to walk back along the Main Street strip to Higgins Avenue. If Cheryl were among these people, I could spot her. At Higgins, I crossed Main Street and walked back to Logan Avenue and then over to the Disraeli Bridge. I walked all the way home without running into her.
I couldn’t sleep at all that night. The wind had picked up outside, and I was sure there would was a blizzard out there. Mixed in were the noises of the house: all those creaks one doesn’t notice during the day. I listened to them, deciphering what may have made them, and several times, I thought Cheryl had returned. I got up more than once and went upstairs to check her room. The next morning, I got up, tired. I thought perhaps I had made too big a deal the night before when I had worried about never seeing Cheryl again. Nonetheless, I called where she worked and found out that she had quit a few months back. I called the Friendship Centre, but the person who answered didn’t know Cheryl. I made coffee. I spent most of the day waiting and worrying. When my temp agency called, asking if I wanted to start a job Monday, I said no, that I’d be taking some time off again.
At four-thirty, Roger phoned to say he was going to pick me up in an hour. We were supposed to go out for supper, but I had forgotten.
“Oh, Roger, I can’t go. Cheryl left last night. I don’t know where she is. She’s not going to come back.”
“Well, April, Cheryl has been away overnight before. Why are you so worried?”
“We quarrelled. She was drinking heavily. She told me everything, Roger; all the things that have been bothering her. I have to find her.”
“Okay. We’ll have supper, and then we’ll go and look for her; all right?”
“You don’t have to come with me. I don’t even know where to begin.”
“I’ll come with you. Don’t worry, April; we’ll find her.”
While I waited for Roger, I decided we could go down to the Friendship Centre and talk to anyone who might know where Cheryl could be. I tried to remember places Cheryl had mentioned in the past. Was it Carlo’s, or was that the name of a beer? I got my coat and boots on and waited for Roger. I went back to the kitchen and looked in the phone book. There was a place called DeCarlo’s; that was it. I noted the address. Since it was a Friday night, I thought we might even find Nancy. I cursed myself for not taking more interest in Cheryl’s friends. I didn’t even know Nancy’s last name.
After we had a quick supper, we went to the Centre. A few people said they knew Cheryl but that they hadn’t seen her for the past couple of months. From there we drove down Main Street over to DeCarlo’s, which was on Carlton. There was a lineup of people waiting to get in, different types of people, and it reminded me of the Hungry Eye: my crowd once. When Roger and I got in, we looked over the crowd. Already there was a smoky haze hanging over everyone’s heads. Music was blasting from the amplifiers. The way we were dressed, Roger and I were obviously out of place. We ordered a drink, but were barely able to talk because of the noise. I looked for Cheryl or Nancy. I even felt I’d be able to tell who Mark was if I saw him. I wondered if this was where th
ey all still hung out. On the other side of the room, there was a girl who reminded me of Sylvia Gurnan. I couldn’t see clearly because of the dimly lit, smoky atmosphere, and people kept passing between us. Sometimes I was sure it was Sylvia, and then I wasn’t sure. I studied the other people at her table. They were all white. Mark, as far as I knew, was Métis. When the band took a break, Roger asked me if I recognized any of Cheryl’s friends. I said I didn’t, and we might as well leave.
We drove around for a while, up and down the downtown streets, as we searched the faces for Cheryl’s. We were unsuccessful. We returned to my place, and I went upstairs to see if she had returned, but she hadn’t. We took our coffee into the living room, and I turned the television set on.
“You know, Roger, I’m to blame. No, I’m not going into a self-blaming thing. It’s just that I wanted her to have all these good memories of our parents. I always told her only the good things that happened when we lived with them. I knew that they had drinking problems. That’s why we were taken away. I should have told her when I gave her those names. I should have told her then that our parents were alcoholics. But I didn’t. I just gave her the stuff and hoped that her search would come to an end. And she went out and found our father, and found that he was an old drunk. I’m sure she never told me all the things she discovered because she felt she had to protect me from the truth. She carried that around with her all alone, not wanting to share her problems. And I knew about it! Well, not the part about our mother committing suicide. So many lies to protect, and in the end, they destroy anyway. I just can’t understand why all that would have such an adverse effect on her. Unless ...”
“Unless what?”
“Well, maybe she just used these things as an excuse to start drinking. Maybe she was an alcoholic all along and she just needed some real good reason to start into it. Do you think that’s possible?”
“I guess anything is possible, but Cheryl doesn’t sound like the type of person who would use that as an excuse. The reasons for drinking can be very complicated.”
“Sometimes, I think if we really were white, we wouldn’t have all these complications in our lives. I’d just be a wife, maybe a working mother, just an ordinary person. You know what I mean? There probably wouldn’t be any problem with alcoholism. Our lives would be so different. But as it is, I lie to protect her, and she lies to protect me, and we both lose out. I don’t know; if I was more like her, or she was more like me, maybe we wouldn’t have pulled apart.”
“Maybe that’s what’s been wrong. You’ve both pulled in different directions. Cheryl has identified with the Indian people and all the wrongs that have been done to them, and you, having identified with the white people ... well, she’s taken everything she’s felt out on you. Earlier, when you told me the things she used to say when she was drunk, well, she wouldn’t believe them herself when she was sober. Being drunk gives one false courage.”
“Cheryl never needed false courage. She was always spunky enough. She had courage.”
“I think, from what you’ve told me, Cheryl saw you in a superior white role. You supplied her with all her needs; you stayed in Winnipeg to help her, to be by her side. You’ve stressed that she can depend on you, right?”
“Well, I am her big sister.”
“Maybe you could have told her that you needed help from her. Or, at least, not have made it so clear that you were in charge. People need to feel that they are needed and worthwhile. I’d say Cheryl has a very low self-image right now. Drinking helps wipe out that poor image. And she can’t let herself become sober because it hurts when she’s sober, so she drinks again.”
“I kind of figured something like that. I wanted her to go to bed and sleep off the alcohol. I wanted for us to really talk, when she was completely sober.”
The weeks passed, and Roger and I continued to look for Cheryl. She had never come back to the house. Every day when I’d get home, I’d look in her room, and everything was always just as it had been that night she’d left. We returned to DeCarlo’s regularly, but always without any luck. Sometimes, we’d drive around and I’d spot someone who I was sure was Cheryl. I’d get Roger to park the car, and I would jump out and run after that person. But when the woman would turn around, my excitement would turn to disappointment, because it was never Cheryl.
The month of April brought erratic temperatures. Some days were warm enough to tempt impatient women into their shorts. The nights brought back the cold temperatures, though; sometimes even below freezing. April 18, 1973, was a cold, rainy day ... my birthday. I stayed home, hoping Cheryl would remember and come home. But she didn’t. Roger and I celebrated alone.
Ten days later, it was the same kind of dismal day. The winds started early in the afternoon, at first in short bursts, as if gathering momentum for the gales that would follow. It had drizzled off and on for the previous several days. Since it was a Saturday, Roger and I had been out combing the city, more specifically, the hotels. We’d even gone to all the hotels along Main Street. The rain began to fall more and more heavily as the day wore on, and the wind also picked up. Late in the afternoon, we decided to call it quits after I had rushed out into the rain, thinking a stranger had been Cheryl.
When we got to my place, I was soaked to the bone. I felt so discouraged. While I changed, Roger made us coffee. Then we sat silently in the living room, just listening to the steady pelting of the rain against the windows. I wondered what Roger was thinking. Maybe he thought I wasn’t worth all the trouble and aggravation. Maybe he wanted to call it quits with me, but not at this time because of Cheryl. I sighed.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Oh nothing. Just wondering about all the trouble I’ve put you through.”
“Well, it’s still not enough and won’t be until we find Cheryl.”
“You really and truly don’t mind?”
“In spite of her current problems, I think Cheryl is quite a person ... and she is your sister.”
Reassured, I lay down, with my head on his lap. It felt so good to be near Roger. It seemed hard to believe I had held him away for so long. I would have been completely content, except for Cheryl.
Suddenly, the phone rang, exploding into the stillness of the house. I jumped. I got there by the second ring, and picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Is this April?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know if you remember me. It’s Nancy. Cheryl has been staying with me.” Nancy’s voice sounded shaky.
“I remember you. What about Cheryl? Is she okay?” I said anxiously, shooting out the questions.
“She just left here. I didn’t want her to go. She seems okay, but in a funny way. I asked her to stay here, but she said she had to go. She said goodbye to me as if she wasn’t going to see me again.” Nancy sniffled.
“Do you know where she was going?”
“No. And I couldn’t go after her because I’ve been sick the past couple of days and I’m not dressed. My Mom thinks she’s going to do something terrible. My Mom’s the one who told me to call you. Maybe you can do something. I’m so worried.”
“Oh, no.” I leaned against the wall; my voice was barely a whisper. Roger was at my side and then he took the receiver from me.
“What’s going on?” he asked Nancy. He listened to her for a few minutes and then asked for her address. Then he asked some questions about what Cheryl was wearing. When he hung up, he immediately called the police. He explained the situation, and gave them Nancy’s address and told them we’d meet them there.
It was still raining, but not as heavily, as we drove to the address on Henry Avenue. There were a number of look-alike, rundown shacks, and we found Nancy’s house among them. Nancy opened the door before we could knock.
“Anything new?” Roger asked, immediately.
“No. I didn’t know how to stop her. I just didn’t know how to stop her,” Nancy sobbed.
“It’s all right,
Nancy, don’t worry. We called the police and I’m sure everything is going to be okay. Thank you for calling me.” What I really wanted to say to her was that she should have called me a lot earlier. But she looked so sorrowful that I didn’t have the heart to berate her.
“Let’s drive around and see if we can spot her,” Roger suggested.
Just as we pulled away, Roger noticed a police car arrive and stop in front of Nancy’s house. He braked and put the car in reverse. We both got out and walked back to the police car. I was so hopeful they had found her. I looked in the back of the car for Cheryl, but no Cheryl. Roger exchanged some words with the officer, who then turned and asked me if I had even the vaguest idea where she might have gone.
“No, I don’t. We’ve been looking and looking for her, and all this time she was here. If only Nancy had called us before this. Now I just don’t know where she could be.”
Cheryl’s words flashed across my mind: ... you know what happened to our poor, dear Mother? She jumped off the Louise Bridge, is what she did. Committed suicide.
“She jumped off the Louise Bridge,” I said out loud.
“What’s that?” Roger asked.
“Our mother. Our mother killed herself by jumping off the Louise Bridge. Didn’t I tell you that?”
“No, you just said that she did it, you didn’t say .... Never mind, let’s go over there.”
Roger briefly explained the situation to the officer and he agreed to drive over to the bridge to check it out. Roger and I jumped in his car and followed the police cruiser. It was only a few minutes’ ride, but it seemed to take a lifetime.
In Search of April Raintree Page 19