Liar

by Gosse, Joanna

  June 9/97

  What was all that about? He said he put the cheque in the bank. Then he didn’t. Then he said he’d deposit it in Halifax. Then he said the cheque had been cashed by Bear. Why didn’t he just tell me the truth? Either he’s losing his mind or he’s just lying for fun.

  Was Sam trying to perfect some kind of lying strategy? I don’t want to deal with, or make a decision, or commit myself right now, so I’ll put it off for awhile by seeming to agree, or give out information that has a kernel of truth in it but isn’t really the whole truth. Or, I’ll keep control of this information now so that I’ll have more room for manipulation in case the scenario gets a bit dicey down the road.

  Sam must have perfected this ploy very early in life for protection and now he uses it whether he needs to or not. This withholding of information is sometimes appropriate when negotiating a contract or a life threatening situation but he seems to have no judgement as to when it is or is not necessary. Obviously, to Sam, every question, casual or serious, is a threat. A time bomb waiting to explode, loaded with too many possible answers.

  China returned the journal to her pantie drawer and noticed that the contents were in a bit of a mess. She always separated the black underwear from the pastel colours, but they were mixed up. No, she thought as her heart thumped quickly, surely he hasn’t read my journal again. He promised me. China preferred to believe that she’d just been a bit careless. Perhaps her panties had just been disarranged when she quickly grabbed a pair this morning. China took her journal, went to the spare room and hid it between the mattress and box spring in the spare room. Just in case.

  ~ ~

  The next day China shopped for groceries and gathered the mail. She smiled when she opened a letter from Tina and found an unusual book mark she had made. Tina had traced her little foot in construction paper, painted all the toe nails different colours, and had also painted rings and bracelets all over the foot. China kissed the toes and made a mental note to call Tina later and thank her. She opened the bank statement which unfortunately included a bounced cheque and drove home in a fury, her day ruined.

  The phone was ringing when she got home and she rushed to answer it.

  "Hi sweetheart," said Sam. "I forgot the cord to my computer. Could you send it by courier?"

  “How about hanging yourself with it!” said China angrily.

  “Are you angry about something?”

  "Yes I am. Another cheque just bounced.”

  "What do you mean?"

  Sam always said that to gain time.

  "I mean that the rent cheque just bounced," China repeated loudly.

  "There's money in the account now. I transferred some yesterday."

  "Yes," said China patiently, "but obviously there wasn't when the rent cheque was deposited. Would you please stop playing Russian Roulette! Stop writing cheques for money that isn't there!"

  "It's there now. I gotta go. I'll call you later."

  China slammed down the phone.

  “Yeah, well, fuck you too!”

  She careened around the kitchen making a soothing cup of tea as she tried desperately to summon the afterglow she had felt in Sam's arms a couple of days ago. She was always searching for the good and seemed to find it in a pile of mud, pulsing feebly. Once found, she fed it strength and belief until the next ugly mudslide.

  She hollered out loud to her higher self. "And don't patronize me by saying it was a lesson I needed to learn! This is a lesson he needs to learn and I hope he doesn't belittle my collusion with failure. Now fuck off and leave me alone!"

  June 12/97

  Why should I have to lower my standards in order to love Sam? Why can’t he raise his? There’s a big difference between compromise and lying down so Sam can stomp all over me. The pacifists tell me to turn the other cheek. The capitalists tell me to buy, buy, buy and pay the minimum. The result is emotional and wallet bankruptcy. I went bankrupt once, financially, and many times, emotionally. It costs too much either way.

  The doorbell rang and China opened the door to find Carrie standing there.

  “Hi Carrie, would you like to come in?” asked China.

  “No thanks, I’m going for a walk. I thought you’d like to come.”

  “Sure,” said China grabbing her jacket.

  “I thought we’d drive over to the west side of the island. It’s rockier there but there’s also lots more sea urchins. My supplies are getting low.”

  China grinned. Carrie had sold several of the ‘Sea Women’ and now she wanted to send some to her cousin in Halifax who had a craft store.

  They drove in companionable silence for a while until Carrie turned the car onto a narrow dirt road that China had never seen.

  “How come I’ve never seen this road before?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” replied Carrie. “It’s been here for a long time.”

  “Sam’s been too busy to really show me the island.”

  “How’s he doing?” asked Carrie gingerly.

  “He’s fine. He’s gone to Quebec for a couple of weeks.”

  “I felt so sorry at the Thunder Ceremony.”

  “It was pretty awful.”

  China didn’t want to be reminded of how everyone in that room, six hundred of them, had been shamed. Everyone had seemed bewildered by what had happened, shaking their heads and repeating over and over again that this had never happened before. For the rest of her life China would feel frustrated that she’d sensed disaster coming and couldn’t stop it. And she had sensed only a small part of it. She wondered if Carrie had known more. Carrie who was part of life in the village and not just living on the fringes as China was.

  “Don’t worry China,” said Carrie reassuringly. “Being a Chief doesn’t mean very much these days. The title is about as important as mister or missus. Dan Black is no good and he’ll eventually get what’s coming to him.”

  “Well, I know one thing,” said China unhappily. “It had a powerful effect, whatever the eventual outcome.”

  Carrie dropped the subject and they soon pulled in a clearing in the trees.

  “Oh,” exclaimed China. “I haven’t been to this beach. It’s beautiful.”

  “That husband of yours should take you out a bit more,” said Carrie.

  “He hasn’t even taken me fishing yet,” complained China.

  “Grimshaw women don’t like to go out on the boats with their husbands.”

  “Why not?”

  “Sometimes they don’t come back,” grinned Carrie.

  China looked at Carrie with astonished green eyes and Carrie burst out laughing.

  “Honestly, it has happened a few times in the past. Suddenly a big wave comes up out of nowhere and takes the wife, but only if she’s been a terrible nag, or is particularly ugly,” explained Carrie.

  “Sometimes when I hear all these stories, I don’t know whether to believe them or not.”

  “Isn’t there always a bit of truth in every story?” asked Carrie.

  “I suppose,” admitted China.

  Carrie pulled a plastic bag out of her pocket, a standard piece of equipment when walking on Grimshaw Island, and started gathering sea urchins. A plastic bag was also a standard piece of equipment when walking in Toronto, if you were walking your dog. China much preferred the gatherings offered up by the sea.

  ~ ~

  Breathing

  China opened the front door and inhaled deeply. Grimshaw had a delicious damp smell of seaweed, sand and cedar and it was the best thing about living here. She listened and heard nothing. For a moment the world had stopped. No insect moved, no bird called, no tires swished on pavement. Then she heard a car start and her feet moved down the steps, aching for a walk to Chapters Bookstore.

  The miserable little library in Grimace was not inviting and had nothing but smelly old books with old-fashioned covers, books that China had already read or didn’t care to read. The librarian was a plump, corseted, widow with a fussy, precise manner and a
lisp that drove China nuts. The worst thing about the library was that it was open only three days a week for a few hours and those hours never coincided with China’s needs. Besides, it didn’t invite you in. It said, why bother?

  She yearned for the beautiful ‘Chapters’ in downtown Toronto. She could have lived there. Gleaming hardwood floors, acres of books, couches, coffee. An oasis in the middle of an ugly, crowded, city street. If only she could have transported that store to Grimshaw with a view of the sea. Just the inviting look of Chapter’s with all those beautiful books whispering “read me,” would have turned all the residents of Grimshaw into sober scholars.

  China remembered wandering the aisles and gazing with pleasure at the stationary, pens, agendas, and then discovering the leather bound journals. Oh my God, she could write in a leather bound journal with a gold lettered spine, My Journal, for thirty dollars. Thirty dollars! Oh well, maybe they were for very successful writers. She couldn’t presume to jot down her scribbles into such a magnificent receptacle. Besides it would be a sin to burn these beautiful books. What a disappointment it would be, after her death, for her daughter or grand-daughter to see a bookshelf full of these prettily bound journals and discover that they were full of garbage, whining, and misery.

  China selected a dog-eared book by Tom Clancy because it was the only thing fit to read, and walked over to the post office, nodding to a few familiar faces on the way. She bumped into Karen Potter who seemed very pleased to see China.

  “Hi China,” said Karen. “We missed you at the last meeting.”

  “Well, when Sam’s home I tend to hibernate with him.”

  “I don’t blame you,” said Karen with a grin.

  “Do you have time for coffee?” asked China, looking dubiously at the smoke filled café across the street.

  Karen followed her gaze and smiled. “Sure. Let’s go to my place. The coffee is much better, and there’s no smoke.”

  They climbed into Karen’s old and cranky little Honda and drove along the beach road to her house. Most of the white people lived on the west side of the inlet where the seas were a bit rougher.

  “To be honest, Karen, I was getting rather fed up with the nonsense. I thought it was a reading club.”

  “Well, it was until those young hippies got us off track. We circulate better books than you’ll find at the library. It’s an unwritten law that when you go off-island, you must return with at least two new books to pass around.”

  They pulled into Karen’s driveway and China’s eyes widened at the beauty of her garden. Few of the homes on the reserve had gardens. Front yards were generally filled with boats, fishing gear and trucks. Karen’s garden was artfully arranged with driftwood and herbs and flowers. Paths made of crushed shells meandered between neat flower beds.

  “Oh, Karen,” exclaimed China, “this is gorgeous!”

  “Thank you,” said Karen. “I spend much too much time in the garden and not enough time in my studio.”

  China and Karen spent a couple of hours chattering like magpies and then Karen drove China home. China felt happier than she had in a long time. She had sorely needed a companion on the island who spoke her language. She had expected Sam’s family, his numerous cousins, to welcome her and include her as part of the family, to help her become acquainted with village customs and celebrations. Instead she had been included only when Sam was by her side, as though she didn’t exist when he wasn’t there. The only exception was Carrie and she was far too busy to pay much attention to China, who hadn’t yet learned the rules of friendship where aboriginals were concerned.

  China waved goodbye to Karen, closed the door and opened the mail. The lovely morning with her new friend fell to pieces at her feet. She read a letter from Mastercard, canceling her account and went ballistic. Obviously Sam hadn’t been paying the bills. Lying again! Would it ever end, ever change? Sam didn’t record withdrawals and never remembered which bank account he withdrew from. Joint account or business account? He didn’t like to discuss money, didn’t want to tell China what his real income was. Of course it was a control issue, which China didn’t mind, if only he kept control, which he didn’t.

  As always, when Sam was away, China became more and more frustrated when she couldn’t talk to him about all the things that troubled her. When Sam called she usually tried to be pleasant. She knew he was working hard and she tried to spare him her fears and unhappiness. She fretted and fumed and bellyached in her journal, which was somewhat of a release. However, it did nothing to solve the problems that, to China, had become major issues in their marriage.

  June 14/97

  What happened to the intimacy we first felt when we could read each other’s thoughts, when we breathed for each other?

  China remembered the poem and went looking for it. She sometimes extracted her favourite poems from the journals and put them in a file. She and Sarah exchanged poetry and occasionally talked about publishing them. She flipped through the binder of her letters to Sarah but it wasn’t there, so she must have written it in Toronto, in those insane first weeks when she fell so deeply in love with Sam. She felt as though her life depended on finding that poem. Her poetry file wasn’t under the letter P in the filing cabinet. Had she mis-filed it? She searched frantically through all her files and finally found it in under W. I filed it under W for what? Writing? Wanton? Worried? I’m losing it, thought China. She flicked through the pages and found the poem.

  Breathing

  I breathe

  with his breath

  in my lungs

  Feeding me,

  I walk

  with his stride

  in my limbs

  Pacing me,

  I touch

  with his fingers

  curled in mine

  Holding me,

  I see nothing

  but his eyes

  I am blind

  when he watches me

  His blood

  races in my veins

  Exciting me

  I dream

  with his soul

  clutching mine

  He lives in me.

  China closed the file and filed it carefully under P for poetry, and went back to writing sadly in her journal.

  That’s how it was. Now we are out of step, speak different languages. I thought it would take years of mundane living to become intimate strangers.

  ~ ~

  The next day the big cheque they’d been waiting for finally arrived. China was greatly relieved at the stay of execution and promptly deposited the ten thousand dollar cheque in Sam’s business account. She went home, paced the floor for about ten minutes and then made an executive decision. She took one of the signed cheques that Sam always left behind, made it out to herself to the tune of $4000.00, marched back to the bank, paid off the overdraft on their joint account and closed the account. She knew that Sam would be furious but she didn’t care. She prepared her argument carefully for Sam’s call.

  “Hi,” said Sam.

  “Hi, said China. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Did the cheque arrive?”

  “Yes, thank God.”

  “Did you deposit it my business account?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Okay. Take one of the signed cheques and withdraw enough to pay off all the bills. How much do you think you’ll need?” asked Sam generously.

  “I already withdrew $4000.00. I paid off all the bills and I paid off the overdraft on our joint account and closed it,” said China firmly, holding her breath.

  “What?”

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Yes, I heard you, but I can’t believe you did that,” said Sam angrily.

  “And I can’t believe that you haven’t paid the Mastercard bills,” replied China in her best schoolmarm voice.

  “What do you mean?” evaded Sam, using his favourite question for gaining valuable making-up-excuses time.

  “I mean, they cancelled the card due
to non-payment of bills.”

  “Christ! It’s probably because Larry has been running up the Internet account yakking to friends all over the world,” said Sam creatively.

  “What has Larry got to do with my Mastercard?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Right now, I want to know why you canceled our overdraft without telling me,” hollered Sam, using the attack to distract strategy.

  “We discussed it.”

  “Yes, and I told you it was a stupid idea.”

  “Sam, I don’t know why you think getting rid of a debt is a stupid idea. We’ve been carrying that overdraft for too long. You have one on your business account and that’s enough,” said China sensibly.

  “How could you close our joint account without my permission?”

  Oh dear, thought China gleefully, he’s getting hysterical.

  “Hello Sam! It’s a joint account,” she carefully explained to her demented husband. “Since you deemed it unnecessary to tell me when you took money out, or wrote a cheque, therefore embarrassing me several times, I decided it wasn’t necessary to ask your permission to pay the account off and close it. I thought you’d be thrilled to be rid of one of our debts.”

  Sam was silent and China sailed blithely on.

  “And there’s a plus side to this arrangement,” continued China in a chirpy voice. “I no longer have to yell at you when you don’t record a transaction. Now, one of us will be keeping accurate records at all times. I have my savings account, you have your business account, and never the twain shall meet. Don’t you think that’s a much better arrangement? It’ll certainly save us a lot of arguments.”

  Sam was still silent. China knew that he was absolutely furious and she was utterly delighted.