Now, so many years later, Augusta wondered how it was ever possible for the unfaithful to keep their secrets. If they did, it was only because their mates wanted to be misled. Rose had told Augusta that her husband had once come home with the smell of another woman in his hair, on his fingers. Rose had thought him stupid. A shower might have kept her from knowing what she had already guessed. She thought that maybe he wanted her to know, that the burden of his secret was weighing on him. Augusta wasn’t so sure. Men weren’t as skilled at picking up scent; they didn’t understand the importance of smell the way women did. Perhaps they weren’t equipped. She had read that women had keener senses of taste and smell, a side effect of childbearing and child-rearing. Just as women knew their children, didn’t they know their lovers as much by scent as by sight?
Augusta bathed herself, either at the hotel or at home, each afternoon after spending time with Joe. At home she dropped her dress and underwear to the floor and stood in the steel laundry tub in the kitchen, and used a washcloth dipped in water and lathered with soap to wash him from her body. One day Karl caught her like that, naked in the kitchen. He and Olaf were supposed to be out in the field or she would have bathed in the bedroom. She heard a scuffing at the door that she thought was Bitch, but when she turned Karl was standing at the doorway, staring at her, scratching the missing thumb. He didn’t say anything at first, then, “Blade on the mower broke.”
Augusta turned her back to him and slipped the dress over her head. “Hot,” she said.
“You looked so pretty, Augusta.” She turned around. It wasn’t a thing he said. “We could go upstairs.”
“We could.”
He took her hand and led her to their bedroom and laid her on the bed with such tenderness that Augusta felt a little hope stirring in her belly. But then he only took off his trousers and underwear, leaving his socks and shirt on, and started to climb onto her.
“No, wait.”
“What? You don’t want to?”
“I want to.”
“We can wait if it’s your period.”
“No. I wanted to touch first. Kiss a little.”
Karl lay on his side beside her and pecked her cheeks: quick, darting kisses that surprised her, made her flinch. “What’s the matter?” he said.
“I’d like to go slower. On the mouth, maybe.” He tried but his mouth smelled of coffee and milk, his underarms of a morning’s work. “You could touch me,” she said. “No, here.”
“What?”
“Here.” But his hands were rough, his calluses sharp, and his fingers too direct. For weeks he wouldn’t even touch her. Now this. She jerked away.
“What’s the matter?” he said.
“It hurt.”
“Why does it have to be so complicated? Why can’t we just do it?”
“Like animals.”
“Yeah.”
Augusta sat up on her elbows and pulled the skirt of her dress down over her knees. “Do you know I feel nothing when we make love? Nothing at all.”
Karl stood and got dressed, and left without looking at her. How could he not know something was up? All the evidence was laid out there in front of him. Even the Reverend had his suspicions. She still met him at Deep Pool each Saturday morning, though she found herself talking less, guarding herself so she didn’t let something about Joe slip out. But she couldn’t hide the flush that swept over her when she thought of Joe, and she couldn’t help thinking of him even as she sat with the Reverend. As she fished she caught herself smiling at the memory of something Joe had said, and once she giggled out loud as she remembered how he’d chased her around the hotel room. “What?” said the Reverend.
“Nothing.”
“You seem different these days. Happier.”
“I don’t know.”
“I think maybe Karl’s finding a little time for you, a little romantic time?”
“No.”
“It’s just you’ve got that shine to you.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Ah.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
There was so much at stake for Augusta. All it would take was someone from Chase, in the city for a day of shopping, wondering who that man was that Augusta Olsen was holding on to. But the unfaithful were careless, and it was their bodies that made them so. Like bees on a mating flight, their bodies told them when to fly, and how high, and never mind the dangers of falling.
• • •
“I saw a man bungee-jumping today,” said Augusta. She poured them all more tea, and offered Karl the plate of sandwiches.
“Fools,” said Rose. “Paying money to jump off a bridge.”
“I don’t know. If my hip wasn’t going on me, I’d give it a try.” She wanted to feel again that thrill of sudden nothingness under her, the quick drop at Deep Pool. The bungee-jumping business she had seen today was a small building on an old train trestle over a deep gorge. It was parallel to the trestle they were travelling over, and the engineer stopped the train so they could get a good look at both the gorge and the bungee-jumper taking a dive. Esther leaned forward and watched with Augusta. “Imagine people jumping off that thing,” said Esther, “with nothing but a rope tied around their foot to keep them from falling off the planet. I’ll never understand why anyone would want to do a thing like that.”
“Pardon me?” said Augusta.
“Bungee-jumping.”
“Ah.”
“They go naked sometimes, those bungee-jumpers. That outfit lets them jump for free if they do it naked. Last year an old lady, must have been seventy-five, jumped off that bridge naked, for some charity.” Augusta’s hand went to her bosom in remembrance of the ache she’d had there last time she’d attempted to run. “If I did that I’d have my boobs around my ears,” said Esther.
Augusta grinned. “We got a letter at the seniors’ centre. They were making a movie about Doukhobors and wanted a bunch of old men and women willing to walk around naked in front of the cameras.”
“No!”
“I couldn’t believe it at first. But my friend Rose and I thought about doing it. You would be in a crowd of people, all naked. When would you ever be able to do a thing like that?”
“Did you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. What if my daughter saw? Or the people at church?”
“What if?”
“I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“It would’ve been a lot less dangerous than jumping off a bridge naked,” said Esther. “You wouldn’t have risked breaking your neck.” The two of them watched as a young man leapt into the air with his arms open wide. Augusta felt the thrill of terror with him.
She and Joe had been nearly as reckless as that jumper, taking few precautions against either the possibility of pregnancy, or the chance of getting caught. One awful time Augusta pushed open the café door, smiled at one of the office workers she recognized, and saw Percy Martin sitting on a stool at the counter. He was gesturing as he talked to the man next to him; his feet just barely grazed the floor. Augusta backed out of the café and marched quickly around the corner, out of view of the café window. She was terrified. She wasn’t sure whether or not Percy Martin had seen her.
She settled her heart down to a manageable flutter and went back around the corner to wait for Joe, with her back to the window. Looking back now, she wondered why she hadn’t simply given up on lunch with Joe that day. Her actions made no sense. When Joe had finally arrived and wanted to go inside for lunch as always, she had come up with some excuse. She couldn’t remember now what she’d said, so much had happened since, but she still remembered the emotions attached to that excuse: guilt because she was lying; fear that Joe would insist they go in; shame because the excuse was so transparent. Why didn’t she tell Joe the truth? Why didn’t she say, There’s somebody in there from my home town, Joe. Somebody who could cause me a lot o
f trouble. Why didn’t she say that? Because she was still so young, and fear made her lie stupidly. Joe didn’t push her, didn’t insist on the truth and didn’t make her go into the café. Likely he knew from the expression on her face what was up, what was at risk. He simply took her by the elbow, as a father might take the arm of a daughter, and they strolled down the street and around the corner before he stopped her dead on the sidewalk and kissed her so hard her lips pushed uncomfortably against her teeth. But that day didn’t start a trend of meeting at some other place, as she had hoped, and for a long time after that she entered the café cautiously, and sometimes waited outside. Percy Martin didn’t come back—not to the café.
At Christmas she and Joe exchanged small gifts—nylons for her, chocolates for him—things that wouldn’t be noticed. His gift to her was accompanied by a card that she was forced to throw away before returning home. For Valentine’s Day she was more inspired. That morning, before driving to Kamloops, she drove out to her home farm to collect honeycomb from the hive in the roof of the honey house. The whole way there, she fretted over what excuse she could come up with, in case Manny was home. But all the worry was for nothing; he’d gone into town, as he often did on Mondays.
There was a small access to the attic of the honey house, a square door at the apex. Armed with a lantern, a knife, and a syrup can, Augusta climbed a ladder to the access and wriggled through. The wild honeycombs hung from the rafters, one after the other, like the folds of a well-pressed party dress. Each comb was nearly heart-shaped, pointed at the bottom, rounded at the top, but without the cleavage. There were no bees on the outside combs; they were huddled in a ball, to keep warm, within the centre combs. It was a simple task to cut the outside comb from the rafters and place it upright in the large syrup can. When she got back to the car she cut a V into the top of the honeycomb, so it was heart-shaped. After wiping her hands on a wet towel she had brought with her, she tied a red ribbon on the handle of the syrup can and attached a note that said, “From your little honeybee.”
Joe was delighted. He took the honeycomb into the hotel room with them and smeared honey all over her, and himself. As he pointed out, they’d have to use it up, as he couldn’t take it home with him that night. They licked honey off each other, and ate honeycomb until they were sick of the stuff. After lovemaking, they took a long, hot bath to scrub the honey off each other, and even after that Augusta found honey in her hair on the drive home.
Shortly after Valentine’s Day, Karl came home saying Olaf had hired Percy Martin for lambing. “Not him,” said Augusta.
“Why not?”
What could she tell him? I don’t want him working in case he saw me with Joe; in case he opens his big mouth. Percy was a good worker, when he was sober. “I don’t trust him.”
“You won’t see anything of him. We won’t see him much. He’ll be working the nights, once the lambs start coming.”
But Karl was wrong. One morning, just as she was getting dressed to meet Joe, Percy Martin mounted the stairs to the second floor, smelling to high heaven of liquor. When she opened her bedroom door, he stopped his progress up the stairs for a moment and stared at her. At first she said nothing and stared right back. He was a tiny man with unnaturally short legs, a hairless bundle of bones, though when he walked he moved with the nervous, frightening speed of a rodent. He chewed something—tobacco? gum?—all the time; a film of saliva was always at the corner of his mouth. Under the stench of booze he stank the same high unwashed bachelor stink of the sheep herders Karl hired in the summers.
“What are you doing here?” she said. “Get out.” She flung out her arm and half expected him to turn tail and run, but Percy Martin took one slow step up the stairs after another.
“Hear you’re trying to get me fired.”
“I have a right to my say. I don’t want a rapist working on this farm.”
“Don’t get high and mighty with me, lady,” he said. “I know you.” Augusta took a step back. “You don’t think I saw. But I saw.”
“What?” said Augusta, but she already knew. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re a fancy woman, ain’t you? I seen you with that man in the city. And with the Reverend. Seems like you got men all over. I figure my money’s as good as theirs.”
“Get out of my house. Now.”
He kept coming. “Is it babies you’re after, then? I remember Karl got mumps when he was grown. He can’t give you babies, can he? All’s you had to do was ask. I can give you babies.” He held out his hands as if to say, Here I am.
Augusta made a grab for the bedroom door, to shut it on him. But he leapt for her and pulled her by the waist towards him. She stumbled down to the first step and they wrestled there for what seemed like an eternity. She pushed one hand away and another was there, grabbing at her clothes, roughing her skin, pulling her hair. She gave one tremendous push and suddenly Percy Martin was falling, arms and legs flung up and over. He hollered as he hit the walls, the steps, and landed on the floor at the foot of the stairs. She thought him dead. She wished him dead. But he got up from the floor and headed off outside. He didn’t look back at her, because she was already laughing from the top of the stairs, laughing hard and high from someplace deep inside her; laughing and laughing though her outsides trembled, though damp fear stained her blouse.
Joe was waiting on her that day. “Where you been? I thought something happened.”
“A man came into the house, while Karl and Olaf were out. A man who saw me here with you. He came right into the house while I was upstairs and offered me money. He thinks I’m a whore.” Augusta started crying and began to stand, to leave. “I can’t do this any more. I’ve got to get out of here.”
Joe grabbed her by the wrist. “Sit down,” he said. “Here.” He handed her a napkin and she blew her nose. “Did this man touch you?”
“He tried. I pushed him down the stairs.”
Joe laughed. “You pushed him?”
“It’s not funny. He scared me. And he knows about you and me.”
“Did you tell the boy about this?”
“No. He won’t be back until this evening. I can’t tell him.”
“You have to. This man is dangerous.”
“He works for Karl and Olaf. He’s one of the herders.”
“Then you’ve got to tell him.”
“What can I tell him? I don’t know what to do.”
Joe took both her hands in his. “We’ll work this out.”
“No. You can’t have anything to do with this. Don’t you see? You’ve got to stop coming here. If I deny things and then someone else sees us, that’s it. Where would I go? What would I do? And what if they found out your name and they phoned and got your wife?”
“Oh, Christ. Who is this Percy guy? I’ll punch him out.”
“That would make things worse.”
Joe released her hands as the waitress came by with menus and coffee. After she was gone, Augusta and Joe sat at the table in silence, staring off in opposite directions. “So you think we should stop seeing each other,” said Joe.
“And neither of us should ever come here again, to this café.”
“Too bad. It was growing on me.”
“Yeah.”
“I love you, you know.”
“Are you ever going to leave your wife?”
“No, probably not.”
“Then what good does it do telling me a thing like that?” They sat in silence for a few moments longer and then Augusta stood and, without even saying goodbye, fled the café.
She tried giving up her Saturday outings with the Reverend, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “Something you’re not telling me?”
“No. Nothing. It’s just, Olaf gives Karl such a hard time about me fishing with you. He thinks the town will talk.”
“I see.”
“It’s silly, I know. I just don’t want you hurt.”
“I think I understand.”
Augusta saw that he
did understand, that he’d guessed everything, or enough of it. Augusta looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“If there’s something you want to talk about—”
“No.”
When she got home from talking to the Reverend that afternoon, Olaf wouldn’t talk to her. As they had little to say to each other at the best of times, she didn’t really notice this until supper time, when she offered him the bowl of peas. “Peas?” she said. She might have been talking to a wall for all the reaction she got. Olaf went on chewing and staring out the window.
“Peas?” she said again, louder, thinking he hadn’t heard. But he had heard; he was ignoring her.
Karl took the bowl. “Father, Augusta asked if you wanted peas.”
“I’ll have peas,” Olaf said.
“Whatever are you angry over now?” said Augusta.
Olaf chewed his peas.
“Father,” said Karl. “Augusta asked what’s the matter.”
“She knows what she done. I’m not going to say any more.”
It was at that point that she realized Percy Martin had got around to talking to Olaf. Olaf never talked to her again, not until their last big argument. Karl became interpreter between them, and it was a fussy business getting anything done that way. Augusta had to talk through Karl if she wanted anything of Olaf, and Olaf simply operated as if she no longer existed, as if she were invisible.
Things got very bad after that. Men who had once tipped their hats to her now took liberties as they would never have dared before. Other women’s husbands rubbed their crotches into her backside as they passed by her in store aisles, or groped her as she stood in line waiting to pay for her groceries. Doing chores in town became a game of dodging; she was aware of each man’s approach, and stepped off the sidewalk, onto the street, to avoid him. She shook her head away from exploring fingers and learned to fold her body into itself, to make it smaller than she thought possible, so a man passing by would have no excuse to touch her. But she found no defence against the women. The women threw hard stares at her. Some even spat at her feet as she passed them on the sidewalk. Their weapons against her were words, whispered to each other in coffee shops, in grocery aisles, in church women’s league meetings.
A Recipe for Bees Page 13