“Oh, I am sorry to hear it,” Suzette said.
“Don't be sorry. My auntie was only given six months to live, but she is still here with us, two years later.” She smiled and said, “There must be a real angel watching over her.” Nodding at the display, she asked, “Do you believe in angels?”
Although her faith had waned, especially in the years since the Beaujoulds had passed, Suzette was still in love with the idea of angels. Perhaps it was because she believed those beautiful powerful beings were as alienated from heaven as they were from earth and therefore, like her, had no sense of belonging. She was fascinated by stories of angels and their dalliance in human lives.
“I most certainly do,” said Suzette, unhooking the angel from the display. “How much is this one?”
She handed it to the woman, who lifted her eyebrows and held it close so she could read the tiny writing on the price tag. “It is $7.99 plus tax.” The woman tapped some keys on the cash register and said, “With the tax, your total is $9.29.”
Suzette paid out the correct amount from her change purse and the woman asked her if she wanted it wrapped or placed in a small bag. She declined both, placing the pendant in her pocket instead, along with the payment receipt.
She was about to peruse the greeting cards when a high-pitched voice cried out, “Suzette!”
Startled, she pivoted awkwardly on one foot and saw Monique standing in the entrance to the tuck shop, with her weight balanced on one leg, her eyes round as saucers.
“There you are.” Monique’s long blonde hair was swept back in a ponytail, making her face seem wider and accentuating a jawline that was square, yet somehow delicate. “Gwen told me I might find you here. She sent me to check on you. See if you needed any assistance.”
“Oh heavens, no. I’m fine,” Suzette said, trying to catch her breath. She took note of the huge banana clip that sat somewhat askew on the back of Monique’s head and thought she might try wearing one her self. It would keep the hair out of her face while she weeded her garden in the spring.
“Well, would you like me to help you back to your room?” Monique’s soft brown eyes revealed a genuine concern that disarmed Suzette, just as Evan Strauss had done three days ago with his look of raw pleasure. And though Monique had startled Suzette, her presence was a relief. Besides, it could have been Irena who showed up and Suzette was in no mood to deal with her.
“Alright,” said Suzette. “That would be nice. I am ready to go back now.” She linked her left arm in the crook of Monique’s right elbow and they strolled slowly towards the elevator. Monique’s skin was smooth and soft and she smelled like soap. Suzette wondered how old she was.
In the casual tone one used for discussing the weather or the price of apples, Suzette asked, “How old are you?”
“Oh? Asking a woman her age? Isn’t that a taboo?” Monique winked and gave Suzette’s arm a gentle pat. They were so close Suzette could feel the warmth of Monique’s body and this was surprisingly pleasant to her.
“For an old woman to ask a much younger woman? I should think not. What would it matter for me to know? I won’t tell anyone.”
“Oh, I know. It’s not you, Suzette.” Monique giggled and set her face in a mock frown. “It’s just that the older nurses, well, I don’t like to say my age around them. I think they already don’t like me.” She leaned in close to Suzette and whispered, “Especially Gwen.” A few stray hairs from Monique’s ponytail tickled Suzette’s cheek.
Suzette sucked in air through her teeth. “Tsk. Tsk. Don’t you worry about them. They’re just jealous because you are young and pretty.”
“No, it isn’t that,” Monique said as they walked into the elevator. She pressed the button for Floor 4. Her voice took on a serious tone. “They are afraid of the younger generation because they think we’ll take away their jobs one day. More of us are getting degrees now.” She shrugged her shoulders and said, “They’re afraid and I don’t blame them.”
Patting Monique’s arm, Suzette said, “They are afraid of the future – of progress. That’s nothing new. But you can’t stop progress.” A wave of guilt washed over her as she remembered her attitude towards Stephanie when Evan had showed up unannounced.
Monique gave Suzette’s arm a gentle squeeze and whispered, “I will be 22 next month.”
Suzette took in a sharp breath and pain stabbed at her lungs. Her knees buckled and Monique reached with her free hand to help steady her just as the elevator door opened. They shuffled out and Monique steered her towards a chair.
“Oh my God! Are you alright?”
Monique jerked her head right and left, looking for another nurse to call over, but before she could alert anyone, “Code Blue!” rang out from the PA system. “Code Blue in S-426! Code Blue! Code Blue in S-426!”
“Oh my God, Suzette! That’s my patient! Are you okay now?”
Suzette nodded.
“Stay here. I’ll come back for you.” And Monique ran off in the direction of S-426.
***
November 29, 1918 (Wolf Point)
The Beaujoulds stopped at the entrance to the house and Claude tugged at Marie’s hand. He looked at her over his shoulder and raised a gloved hand to his mouth. Marie obeyed his gesture, and kept silent. Claude leaned forward and called out in a deep clear voice, “Hello?” No answer from within, only the sound of an infant wailing. “Hello?” he called, louder and switching from Inuktitut to French.
He looked at Marie again and signaled that they would enter. He pushed her firmly behind him, using his body to shield hers, and slowly opened the animal skin flap that covered the entrance.
Claude stepped into the dwelling and gagged. Marie followed, close behind. Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes welled up with tears. The stench was unbearable. Claude grabbed hold of his wife and hugged her close, trying to contain his own sorrow.
***
March 7, 1991
Despite all of the noise and chaos around her, Suzette barely heard a thing, apart from the thoughts racing wildly through her mind. Monique is 22! Anaaya was only 22 when she died. She had been a real person—just as real as Monique. Possibly even Suzette’s blood relative. Suzette opened her hand and stared at the pin she had been clutching in her pocket. Blood relative? Her heart raced. A single thought blazed across her mind: she must catch up with Evan and his team. She had to make sure Anaaya received a proper burial just like Claude and Marie had. Just like family. This was her requirement.
Once in her room, she sat on the side of the bed, trying to calm her breathing. The last thing she needed was a coughing fit. Focusing, channeling all of her strength and mental discipline, she stood up straight. She waited a beat before moving just to make sure she was steady on her feet. The floor did not lurch upwards and her head felt fine. She shuffled over to the clothes cabinet and swung open the door.
As quickly as she could afford to move, she changed out of her hospital gown into the pants, sweater and overcoat she had worn to the hospital. She sat down in a chair and slipped on her boots. Plowing through a mental packing list, she stuffed her hat, scarf, and mittens into the duffle bag; along with her bathrobe, glucometer, test strips and the angel pin, wrapped in a pink Kleenex. Something was missing. Insulin! Could she manage without it? What about her antibiotics? She’d had no time to think this through. “No matter,” she said under her breath. “I’m leaving.”
Even though her pulse was pounding and her chest throbbing, the exhilaration she felt was well worth the discomfort. She tore open the drawer in the nightstand, giggling at the sight of a navy blue book lying inside. “Ah yes. Yes, yes, yessss,” she said and pressed its hard cover to her lips. Nuns originally ran Saint Joseph’s when it opened in the 1960’s and every room still had a bible in it. “Thank-you, St. Jo’s,” she whispered, squeezing the bible into her bag, between her robe and underthings. Anaaya would be reburied with an angel and a bible, just like Claude and Marie.
Now that she was dressed and pa
cked, she plunged her mind into phase two: how to get to the elevator without being noticed. The stairwell would be much better for stealth, but walking down three flights of stairs in her condition while carrying her heavy duffle bag was simply not a viable option. She cracked open the door and poked her head out just enough to see down the hallway. One old man shuffled along the hall, leaning on the arm of a younger man. A rotund lady dressed in several hospital gowns was having a heated conversation with herself, but Suzette saw no nurses. She leaned further out the door and confirmed her hunch: the nurses were not at their station. She offered up a silent prayer of thanksgiving for the Code Blue and one of supplication for the poor soul in S-426.
She hoisted her bag, and scooted the distance between her room and the elevator, passing the empty nurses’ station. She glanced with longing at the door behind the nurses’ station, but snooping around for her insulin and other medication was a risk her nerves wouldn’t allow her to take.
She pressed the elevator call button and held her breath, expecting Monique or one of the other nurses to dart out into the hall and come charging after her. If it was Gwen, of course, there would be no darting or charging, just a slow stomping that might give Suzette time to get away.
The elevator arrived and Suzette stepped inside, shivering from a sensory cocktail of freedom and danger she hadn’t felt since she was a teenager, drinking whisky out behind Mr. Panette’s shed with some boy who must have had eight hands. Her own hands were shaking terribly now and she clenched them into fists. She half-expected the elevator to stop its descent and begin climbing back up to the fourth floor, where Gwen would be waiting with a troop of nurses, ready to put her back into bed. But when the elevator door slid open and Suzette stepped out into the lobby, she knew she would be in the clear as long as she kept moving.
She walked through the sliding glass doors and a brisk wind swooped behind her like a giant wing, urging her forward. She imagined this was how young birds felt when their mothers lured them to the edge of their nests and beyond. She inched forward obediently, squeezing her elbows in tight to her body as icy air rushed down her collar, through her corduroy pants and up under her sweater. Her long overcoat whipped around her and she was afraid she might join the soiled napkins and discarded sandwich wrappers she saw swirling around in the wind.
Snow banks piled on the inner curb of the semi-circular drive glistened with ice crystals, their rough edges buffed smooth by the prior evening’s rain. In a few short weeks the snow and ice would yield themselves to the first vestiges of spring.
Suzette shrugged the duffle bag off of her shoulder onto the pavement. Her meager muscles smarted where the strap had dug into her shoulder and her fingers were so numb she could barely open and close them.
She felt the weight of the bag against her shin and contemplated dragging it to the taxi parked at one end of the drive, but there was no need. The cab eased away from the curb and pulled up in front of her. She looked over her shoulder, back through the glass doors. There was no commotion of nurses scouring the lobby in search of their missing patient. The reasonable part of her wished there was.
The stout cab driver was already out of the taxi and opening the rear passenger door when Suzette turned away from the doors and from the comfort and safety of St. Jo’s.
She slid across the backseat.
The cab driver asked, “Where to?”
“VIA Rail, please.”
Soon they were coasting down streets that Suzette almost didn’t recognize. The day she had been admitted to the hospital, the air was cool and stiff, but the sky clear and bright. Now, the sky was gray and the roads were slick and soupy from tires that churned the sleet and road salt into brown slush.
The town of Belle Rivière sat in the cleft of two hills that stood like sentinels on Gatineau’s northeastern cusp. It was large enough to have its own hospital, police station, and shopping mall. It even had a pretty decent public transit system. Here and there, modern low-rise apartment buildings asserted themselves between clusters of brick factory buildings and rows of century homes.
Perhaps of most worthy note, were the public elementary and secondary schools built just four years ago. People from Gatineau often joked about Belle Rivière, the town where even the weather was Catholic and the squirrels wore rosaries.
Suzette imagined the Floor 4 nurses would be in a panic soon. Gwen or Monique would come to her room to check her vitals and administer her lunchtime doses of insulin and antibiotics. There would be pandemonium. A “Code” of some sort would be announced and every place an elderly patient could go would be searched. She remembered Monique’s concerns about the older nurses and hoped Gwen would not hold her responsible for Suzette’s disappearance. She deeply regretted any distress her actions would cause the young nurse, but it simply couldn’t be helped.
The cab crested a hill and a strip mall came into view. The tiny VIA station was situated between a Desjardins Credit Union and a Fairmount Bagel. Suzette glanced at the meter, pulled out her credit card, and thought through her next steps.
***
After Suzette paid the driver, he opened her door and helped her onto the curb where she hunched against the chilly air. At her age, Suzette had little tolerance for cold, and even though the worst of winter was over, she found the current conditions hard to bear.
The driver snatched her bag from the backseat and gestured for her to walk ahead of him through the station’s main entrance.
The smell of fresh-baked bagels hung in the air. Suzette’s stomach growled and saliva pooled under her tongue.
The driver walked ahead of her and set her bag down on the floor, next to the counter. She started to wheeze and thought of her antibiotics. The driver doubled back and took her elbow until she had reached the counter. Suzette started to pull some loonies from her change purse, but the cab driver refused to take her money and disappeared through the exit.
Suzette wanted to look for a pharmacy, but the departure board showed that the next train to Dorval was scheduled to leave in only twenty-eight minutes and the next train after that wasn’t due to pass through Belle Riviere for five hours. Evan said his team would leave Kuujjuaq first thing tomorrow morning. She had to get on this train or she might not make the last flight out of Dorval to Kuujjuaq. She pictured the small silver angel and the bible she had taken from her room in St. Jo’s. Acquiring insulin and antibiotics would have to wait until she reached her next destination. Suzette used her credit card to purchase a ticket to Dorval.
The station’s crewmembers were organizing the small crowd of travellers into a line. Families with small children were placed at the front, as were the elderly and passengers with disabilities. Suzette angled herself towards the front of the line and winced at a cramp in her lower back. She hadn’t moved like this in days, perhaps even weeks.
She allowed herself to be ushered to the front by a female crewmember dressed in a navy blue skirt suit, white blouse and scarf with a VIA Rail pin. The name embossed on the tag pinned to her lapel was “Jeannie”.
***
A young woman smelling of vanilla and berries sat next to Suzette. She reached down and her elbow grazed Suzette’s calf. “Sorry,” she said, wrangling something out of her backpack. “Excuse me.”
Suzette was too tired to respond. She tried to read a complimentary travel magazine, but fatigue blurred her vision and she looked out the window instead.
Once out of the town’s centre, snow-covered fields whipped by for miles, giving way to hills carpeted in forests of pine, spruce, and fir. She marveled at what lay beyond the brick and steel of Belle Riviere: the placid rivers, winding through meadows and pouring over rocky outcroppings; eddies spilling out into small green lakes, dotted with ice patches that looked like white lily pads; the carcasses of trees that died ages ago rising up out of ice-covered swamps. For many miles a wall of ancient rock that seemed hundreds of feet high lined one side of the track. Suzette’s head drooped and she gave in to the train
’s sweet lullaby.
She was standing on a grave at Wolf Point, naked except for a pair of moccasin slippers. The ground rumbled beneath her. A crevice tore open and she was suspended in the air above it. An invisible force from below tugged at her moccasins. She tried to keep them from coming off, but she needed her hands to cover herself so off they came. Drums beat and there was moaning and ululating. Claude and Marie were there. Marie’s wheelchair was dangerously close to the precipice and Suzette shouted at Claude to move her back, but it seemed that he couldn’t hear. There were others standing around the edge of the crevice, dressed in traditional Inuit parkas, their long dark hair whipping in the air around their faces like tendrils of black ribbon. Then someone was beside her and took hold of her hand. She could not see the face, but she knew it was Anaaya and she was not afraid. Suzette heard drums beating and she descended slowly into the crevice.
A baby’s cries transported Suzette from Wolf Point back to her seat on the train. The child fussed in the seat behind hers. The young woman who had been sitting beside her was gone. It was only four o’clock, but the sky outside her window was already a gray-blue smudge and many other passengers had turned on their overhead lights. There would be no sunset today, just a gradual darkening of the smudge. Within an hour or two, the world would disappear into thick blackness.
***
Standing in the train’s tiny bathroom wasn’t easy—every bump and jerk threw her off balance. Squatting over the toilet bowl, Suzette cracked her elbow on the metal toilet paper holder. She rubbed her aching elbow and winced at the thought of trying to change her bottoms with the floor lurching beneath her. The Depend undergarment she had put on this morning after breakfast was damp and spongy; her bladder just couldn’t stand up to the coughing fits. Rather than risking further injury, she lined her wet undergarment with as much toilet paper as she thought it would hold. She washed her hands, first one and then the other, having to hold onto the sink with one hand at all times to steady herself.
Walking Through and Other Stories Page 25