Reproduction

by Ian Williams

  She patted his hand. He what covered it no comment with his other hand.

  Oliver squirted some sanitizer into his you smell like a house on fire and walked to the door.

  Let me pray with you, Felicia said. Oliver, you want to pray, she called out.

  I’ll meet you at the front, he said.

  You don’t need to pray, Edgar said.

  Nonsense. She rearranged their hands, cupping his in hers, the way she used to with Army like baby powder when she taught him how to pray. Lord in heaven. We come before you this day to thank you for the many blessings that you have poured out upon your saints. We thank you that Edgar can be alive and well in this hospital bed, able to praise you from among the land of the living. Father, you know the condition of his health, you who have given life and breath and strength, you who numbered the hair on our heads, dear Jesus. Now we ask you to intervene in Edgar’s life and grant him full healing, touch him with your mighty hand, that he might rise up to call you blessed and to see you in your kingdom when all the saints will gather and sing Hosanna unto your name. We pray for the woman in the bed next to him, that you may grant her healing mercies as well. Forgive us where we have erred in thought, word, or deed. All these things we pray, in the mighty name of Jesus. Amen.

  Amen, the woman in the next bed moaned.

  Edgar was staring at Felicia when she opened her eyes.

  You should close your eyes, Felicia told him. And say Amen after people pray.

  Amen, he said. If I give you the money, you think you could buy me a pack of cigarettes?

  * * *

  +

  Felicia and Oliver fought in the car.

  I explicitly asked you not to say anything stupid.

  And I didn’t, Oliver said. I never do. He was confused because this man, about whom he had been lied to, by the way, not that he was using that for ammunition, though he had every right to be angry but no, he would take the high road, because this man had been openly hostile without the slightest provocation from Oliver. What did I say?

  Everything you said was stupid.

  Lock and load, baby.

  You used to work for him, eh? This was when you were a stewardess or building orphanages in Africa?

  Busted.

  I used to work for him when I just come to Canada.

  This wouldn’t be the same Edgar Gross who was secretly married to Sophie Fortin and all sorts of women?

  I don’t know anything about that.

  You know exactly what—

  I don’t know. He’s dying of cancer and you trying to dredge up— Sickening, Oliver, just sickening.

  What’s sickening is—

  What’s sickening is, Felicia took over, how you could be sitting at home all day and have no idea the kind of nasty things Riot doing on the internet.

  Oliver realized he had lost again. In retreat, he found himself taking contrary positions spitefully, not logically. I’m not home all day.

  Where you does go?

  A black girl loosened the strap of her bikini. He couldn’t say.

  * * *

  +

  Yet their feud did not devolve into silence. Felicia had dodged the rifle aimed at her blindfolded face. Oliver had avoided the acid in his.

  They began to converge over Riot as they were nearing their exit on the 410.

  Neither of them thought the hearing went well. Felicia was almost certain that it would result in suspension, not because the crime was especially egregious, Oliver thought, but because the parents were so indignant, Felicia thought, and because the university didn’t want this to reach civil court, Oliver thought, and because it was a sensitive cultural moment regarding assault, Felicia thought, and because, of course, the sweatshirt was the sweatshirt, they agreed. The university didn’t want to face their own Duke basketball trial or Dalhousie dentistry publicity nightmare or be hashtagged all over Twitter.

  He’ll have to sit out the semester, Felicia said.

  Or he could transfer out, Oliver said.

  You’re going to pay full tuition? Felicia didn’t mean to accuse Oliver of being cheap but that’s how he took the question.

  I’ve always said that I don’t have a problem paying full tuition as long as they don’t go international. By they, he meant Riot and, to a lesser degree, Army.

  He supported Heather through two degrees, including an MA at Columbia, and Hendrix through one year at CUNY. In American currency. When the Canadian dollar was used as toilet paper by Americans.

  In the meantime he can do some night courses through Continuing Ed, Felicia said.

  He can get a job is what he can do, Oliver said and he should have stopped there, but he added, raping the middle class, which set Felicia off again.

  * * *

  +

  Army calculated. Felicia’s car was parked in the driveway but Oliver’s wasn’t, meaning Riot was home but Felicia and Oliver were still at the hospital. He might yet surprise them there. The four of them would exchange long, soap-operatic stares before cutting to commercial for household cleaner.

  But Felicia was home. Hunched over the stove making soup. He was still getting used to her aggressive undercut. Wasn’t short hair supposed to make you look younger?

  She asked if he wanted some soup.

  How could you not tell me this? he replied.

  She stirred the pot. He could see her deciding which course of action to take, ignorance or confession.

  Mom?

  Because it’s minor. He got dizzy. He fell down. That’s what he tell me.

  Like he broke his hip?

  Something like that. She stirred the pot. I don’t want you going there. You understand me? Let me be very clear. If you think you going to rise up hot and sweaty now and go down to that hospital, you better change your mind. You not leaving this house tonight.

  That Army was thirty-six years old and in possession of his own BMW with three-quarters of a tank of gas made no difference in Felicia’s kitchen. He should have gone straight from the college instead of wasting his fragrance on Faye’s grandmother who was placed in a nursing home, longterm care facility, pardon, when Faye went to university. He shouldn’t say it was a waste of fragrance. He had called Faye from the facility, put her on speakerphone, so she could talk to her grandmother. The woman looked up at Army then back toward the Cantonese voice. She lifted her hand from the arm of her wheelchair tremblingly then lowered it. After that, Army drove to Faye’s dorm and banged her. That’s where his time went.

  Sit down and eat something. Felicia began ladling.

  Army stopped her hands roughly. Some soup splashed on his shirt. Felicia patted the damage with a tea towel. But Army stilled her. He wanted her full attention.

  Mom. He looked Felicia deep in the eye.

  It not going to stain.

  Mom, he said again. He wasn’t interested in his shirt. He released her hands and made the universal sign for money with his fingertips.

  * * *

  The following day, mid-morning, Army made his way to St. Xavier’s Hospital, Health Centre, pardon.

  Discharged, the nurse said.

  With a broken hip? Army asked.

  It’s not uncommon.

  Army drove to Edgar’s house. Through some shrewd detective work when he first got his licence, he had discovered where Edgar lived. He had never stepped on the property. He was forbidden, Felicia had expressed that clearly, to have any contact with Edgar. Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it. The closest he had come to setting foot was pulling into the driveway to reverse direction.

  But he was grown now. Army knocked on Edggr’s door.

  There was no answer for a long time, even beyond Army’s patience as he calculated how long it would take for a man with a hip replacement to rouse himself from a distant upstairs bedroom, make his way down the stairlift—maybe he installed an elevator—and answer the front door. Army peeked around the side of the house.

  He returned to the front door and
knocked again. He read a study that people responded more warmly to knocks than to doorbells. He heard. He didn’t read.

  Army looked in a nearby window. He saw his reflection mostly and dark shapes beyond that. No movement.

  He knocked a third time. Well. As he was walking back to his car he heard the door open. Edgar stood in the frame, against the black interior, holding a sock. He was no Hugh Hefner, to be sure, but he had no cane, no walker. He wasn’t even holding the door for support.

  May I help you with something? Edgar you want to call me something asked. He looked like call me Schatz he was just waking up.

  No, Boss, Army said and smiled. Turn it on, turn it on, turn it up to the highest wattage.

  Well, I’ll be damned, Edgar said. Armistice.

  You said when I turned eighteen, right?

  You’re—

  Twice the legal age, Army said.

  Neither man said I not cussing anything else, it’s not cussing had anything to say. Army was determined to prevent the silence from becoming awkward yet he couldn’t mention illness else it would seem like he was stomping the man into the grave.

  Nice place, Army said.

  Edgar led Army down the long hallway come on to the kitchen. There was a brown bead curtain with some blue glittering strands separating the hallway from the kitchen. He knew without evidence that his mother had been responsible for that. Edgar made no apology Schatz for the odour or odorous fog. He tossed the sock on a radiator. The kitchen smelled deep fried, like Faye’s.

  what does it mean Felicia sent you? Edgar asked.

  She wouldn’t even tell me, Army said.

  There’s not much to tell. Edgah smelled a glass, decided it was okay, then poured Bacardi for Army and himself.

  In the morning? Army asked.

  Edgar gave Army treasure the bottle to hold. I’m cutting back. I usually have it with juice. He beckoned over his shoulder for Army to follow him back into the hallway and then through the garage into the backyard where they sat on two Adirondack chairs that opened toward a view of Edgar’s wooded lot. As I was saying, she visited. She prayed. God, did she pray for me.

  Army plunged into intimacy. Boss, it means my treasure what’s happening to you?

  Some dizziness.

  Boss, Army said again. I wasn’t born yesterday.

  Edgar looked into his glass then back up at Army. Army knew I not calling you that this moment. Ignorance or confession. He opened his eyes a little wider. There was a study about pupils and trust.

  Cancer, Edgar confessed. Stage four.

  Army tried to recall how many stages there were. Four seemed to be the maximum. But six sounded right as well. Stage six cancer. He wanted to check his phone.

  Then both of their mothers were dying in the background. Edgar told Army about the visit from the oncologist that morning before he was discharged, the visit from Felicia the evening before. About a friend with whom he used to play basketball who died of cancer of the balls.

  Prostate cancer, Army said.

  Something like that.

  He told Army about the harassment allegations decades ago, his aversion to nurses ever since a few of them tried to extort him. About Mutter. darling would be the better translation He pointed toward a spot but made no reference to the graves. About I definitely not calling you that the days, the length of days, the mercy of shortening fall days.

  Army told Edrag about starting school again at thirty-six, about his various businesses, his procurement of a truck with a belly, his moving company with Oliver’s stockiest, hairiest, sweatiest nephews that had him travelling all over the GTA, the province, the country, the globe, about his girlfriend whom he suspected wanted to break up with him now that she was back in university, third year, with all the fresh testosterone.

  Forget her, Edgar said.

  I should just forget her?

  Not everyone should reproduce.

  Forget her then?

  Forget her.

  I don’t know.

  Trust me. You’re dead to her.

  I’m not dead.

  To her. And she’s dead to you.

  Even if she was dead to me, I’m not dead to her.

  Bit complicated, Army said. He explained that it used to be his familial duty why not to pick up Riot and his girlfriend, Faye, from high school on the nights it’s totally innocent that they stayed late to work on the tech crew for the musical. Faye was from Hong Kong and her English was inflected with British curls. She’d only been in the country since middle school—she, her mother, and the grandmother, who was confined to a wheelchair. They might have been fleeing the father. Anyway, Riot made Army drive her home. She lived a few streets over in any case, in a triple-garage house.

  I see where this is going, Edgar said.

  Right? To Army it was obvious. You don’t put meat in a cage with a lion and expect it to stay there.

  My philosophy exactly.

  Army paused. I’m the meat in that analogy. She had sex it’s not lover in her eyes. Positively dripping. Like her eyes were watering with sex I leave my biology textbook at school is how bad she wanted it. She was trying to be all I hope nobody don’t take it sophisticated and I’m, to her, like an older distinguished man. That’s my Beamer out front.

  I saw, Edgar said. German.

  Represent. Army continued, She started getting into the car before Riot and sitting in my line of vision. She started I mean looping her fingers in my hair, I understand leaning between the seats so I could see down her shirt and stuff. I mean, the general distrust that your gender has toward mine what teenaged girl wants to watch six-hour movies of the art room, which is what Riot was trying to inflict on her?

  Gracious, Edgar said.

  Believe you me, I tried to hook her up with Riot. I asked her who she was going to formal with. She said all the boys were gay. I said, What about Riot? She said that would be like going with his brother, er, my brother.

  Freudian.

  Yeah, then she asked me who I went with. Went with or slept with? I asked her. Know what I’m sayin’. Then I see Riot coming in the rearview mirror.

  Slouching toward Bethlehem.

  What?

  It’s a poem. The Bard.

  At that point, but I assure you that I am not a teenager trying to put his arm around you Army recovered a sensitivity that you’re not to the situation: he had been talking to his father, quite inappropriately, not his boys, as Felicia liked to remind him. He withheld the rest of the story thank you that ended, more or less, with Army pulling Faye by the hand into an unfurnished condo. On the hardwood. Overlooking Lake Ontario. The occasional roar of a muffler way below. In one of her two-car garages. Her grandmother was hard of hearing. Sneaking around the summer before she started university. Then off and on for a couple of years. They found ways to open the black door.

  But Army had to keep talking so he told Edgar about the investment condos he “and” Oliver bought. He told him about his latest business venture, Canafries. He imagined a commercial that echoed the climax of Life Is Beautiful, only with a series of awkward kisses then a voice-over: We may not kiss like the French. But we sizzle. Canafries. Canada’s French Fry. He predicted expansion in Quebec to a poutine kit like those ready-made salad kits. Army went so far as to confess that he hit a pedestrian in America a decade ago and fled the scene. Edfar went to the bathroom at this point. Army was always afraid that someone would find out it was him one day.

  When Edgar returned, he asked, Who’s this Oliver?

  You want Mom’s explanation or mine?

  Either. Both.

  She’d say he’s not her husband. Not legally, but you can’t command me to call you something I don’t want to call you not even common-law. They sleep in separate bedrooms. But he uses her bathroom. She wouldn’t call him her partner because it sounds gay. He used to be our landlord.

  I remember, Edgar said. Mr. O.

  Right. He’s not her friend. Actually, she doesn’t even like hi
m I’ll leave it on the table then most of the time. But they’ve got an agreement between them. Some kind of commitment. So I’d say that—Army found it difficult—he’s Pop-Pop to her Mutter.

  She calls herself you may call me Schatz if you so choose Mutter?

  Yeah, it’s like almost-mother. That’s what my brother calls her. Riot. I just told you about him.

  He wasn’t your— Edgar began then changed course. How did he become your brother all of a sudden?

  It just happened. Army shrugged. People fall into other people’s arms, you know.

  * * *

  +

  It was mid-afternoon how do you feel by the time Army was ready about dogs to leave. He had missed his class.

  No one stays with you? he asked.

  Fine, fine. The exasperated wave of filthy hand. Are you okay to drive?

  Army nodded if I could stone every last one of them I would and walked down the aggregate path, paused, and turned back.

  You forget something?

  Army shook his head. Why had he turned back? He said, I wanted to say it was nice seeing you.

  Edgar appeared moved. Hurry up and get home. You have a teen drama to work out.

  Army took the path with fresh alacrity I was thinking of getting one and waved don’t ever and smiled several times or an ostrich over his shoulder. But, again, maybe I will get one before he could get to his car, he turned around and took long strides up the path to the door.

  No, Boss, it’s not right, it’s not right, he said. I can’t just leave you here alone.

  Army mentally ran through his house. Oliver and Felicia had steadily upgraded it over the last twenty years but structurally the backsplit was still a two-family home, staggered into six levels, connected by short staircases. The lower half had its own kitchen and dining area in the basement, stairs, a living room that led to the garage, stairs, two bedrooms and a bathroom, black door, then stairs to Oliver’s section which was stacked similarly on Felicia’s.

  I got room at my place, Army continued. I mean, it’s not huge like this but you can have pretty much the whole downstairs. We can talk brand strategy for Canafries. You know anyone on Dragons’ Den? I’m gone on the road a lot when I’m a bit older but I mean, I’ll be around that’s what Mutter used to say if I know you’re there.