Don't Forget You Love Me

by Rosemary Aubert

  I was appalled. To make matters worse, one of the men at our table began to talk about the Village in the Valley as if he knew all about it. “I’m aware,” he said, “that you are a significant private landowner of property adjoining the floodplain. I’m in a position to give you the opportunity to be in the forefront of the environmentally sound reclamation of valley lands. “If you’ll give me your card,” he said with a slick smile, “I’d be happy to send you some information to show you how you can help the city and gain very high returns for yourself at the same time. There are several kinds of land deals that are possible for a man in your position.”

  “What about a deal that developers get out of the valley and stay out?”

  He chuckled as though I were joking. “Many of the city’s most prominent citizens,” he went on, “—and agencies, as well—are working together to develop the river lands in the most profitable and environmentally sound way possible.”

  I was dumbstruck. Everything this man was telling me ran completely contrary to my devotion to the preservation of the valley, my determination to keep high-rollers from having a stake in Jeffrey’s and my project. I was about to tell him so when I was distracted by a sight I found hard to believe.

  A man that I was sure was Officer Ted Downs, looking very business-like and totally un-cop like, dressed in a tuxedo, was holding an animated conversation with none other than the mayor of Toronto!

  Of course I had no idea of what they were discussing. But one thing was certain. Ted Downs was a complex and somehow bothersome man that I had thus far been totally unable to figure out.

  “Just because a man is a developer,” Aliana whispered, “doesn’t mean he’s a killer.”

  I studied the crowd. “I’m not so sure,” I answered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I had to talk to Jeffrey. I had to know whether he was aware of the things I’d heard at the banquet. I was still leery of opening any sensitive issues with him because of the last argument that we’d had, but I needed to know if my son had noticed any more unusual activity in the valley or the village.

  I found him hard at work leading a workshop for the villagers on personal safety in the city streets. He was perched, sitting with casual ease, on a wooden packing crate that made a serviceable bench. He was talking about how to walk down the street, staying far enough from the buildings to avoid being sprung upon and far enough from the street to avoid being thrown into traffic. The basic implication of his talk was that a person who appeared to be destitute was in danger from all manner of other citizens of the city.

  He interrupted his talk when he saw me standing in the doorway of the main building of the village. “Dad!” he said. “Great to see you. Maybe you can help us out here….”

  I obliged by handling the Q & A. There was lots of discussion about practical matters: when pursued, should you run or is there something else you can do? Is it safe to stow valuables on your person or does that invite a more intimate and physical attack than if somebody just grabs your bag?

  This chat with the villagers went on for half an hour or so, and as I spoke to them, I had the opportunity to observe the audience. I thought most of the people were looking well. Clean and sober and alert.

  So I congratulated Jeffrey on his work.

  “It’s a daily struggle, Dad,” he said, “for me and for them. It seems every time we turn around there’s some new hurtle.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Everything seems to get harder every day. More complicated. There have been some men down here from the city again. Nothing major, just some forms to fill out.”

  “Forms?”

  “Yes. It seems there’s a new city committee that’s looking into land utilization around the river.”

  “Jeffrey, that’s what I came down to talk to you about. I want you to watch out for anybody you think is interested in developing our land.”

  “Developing?”

  “Yes. I think there is a move on to build condos and perhaps private houses down here.”

  “How can that be? Isn’t everything protected? I mean we couldn’t get a permit to build a permanent building, even though this land is ours and it’s not directly situated on the floodplain.”

  “Right. Which is why I want you to let me know the minute you find out that anybody from the city is down here. You got that?”

  He frowned at my treating him as if he were still a boy. “Dad, you have to understand that I have never held anything of importance back from you. I know that you’ve had a lot to deal with lately. The whole point of my running the village is so that you’re left free to handle other things. I don’t want you to ever think that I’m holding out on you or withholding information that you should have.”

  I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder. He touched my fingers for an instant and then we both sat back a little farther apart then we’d been.

  “So, Dad,” he said, “there is something I have to tell you. Not only have things down here become more complicated, they’ve also become more expensive. I know that you’ve wanted us to run solely from the Trust, but lately, I’ve had the offer of some small donations, and I’ve accepted.”

  This was an unwelcome surprise. “Jeffrey, I thought we were definite on that. Nobody has a financial interest in this enterprise but me and you.”

  “But Dad—“

  “It’s not a matter of finances. It’s a matter of control. We don’t want anybody telling us what to do or how to run things down here. Once we get donors, the pressure is going to start. They’ll begin to demand things, like a Board of Directors. They’ll start to ask questions about whether we have a philosophy, even whether we foster any particular religion….”

  “Take it easy, Dad. I’m not talking about millionaires here. I’m talking about people in the neighborhood who’ve learned about us and want to help. It’s no big deal.”

  “So we’re talking about small amounts of money?”

  “For the most part.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Jeffrey looked away as if afraid to meet my eye. It reminded me of how he had acted as a boy—usually an impeccably obedient boy—when something had happened to cause him to disobey. “There have been a couple of large donations in the past three years. I actually talked to you about accepting them, but you were distracted by the situation with Queenie and you were at the stage where you were still working and trying to take care of her at the same time.”

  “So you took money without telling me?”

  “I accepted three grants sponsored by corporations. These donations have been carefully recorded and proper tax receipts have been issued. I can show you the books.”

  I had to avoid confronting him. If I trusted him to run the village on a daily basis, I really had to trust him all the way. “Son, I appreciate what you’re doing down here. I don’t want you ever to think that I don’t. You’re right. You’re in charge and you’re taking a great burden off my shoulders. You just go ahead and do whatever you think is right.”

  Jeffrey smiled more warmly and more widely than usual. “So what brought you down here today in particular?”

  “I was at a banquet last night,” I answered. “One of those awards ceremony things. There were a number of developers and other investors there, and one or two of them seemed awfully interested in our work. A couple of City Councilors were sniffing around, too. So, as I said, I’d like to know if you see any of these people down in the valley again or—most importantly—expressing undue interest in the village or the land on which it sits.”

  Jeffrey nodded.

  “There’s something else I think I better tell you. One day when I was down here, I had the strong impression that somebody was following me—dogging my steps on the way back to the apartment.”

  “Who? Did you get a look at him—or her?”

  There was alarm in Jeffrey’s voice. I didn’t mean to scare him or to cause him concern, but I thought he sho
uld know. Especially since nobody else knew.

  “That’s not all, son. I also received a threatening note. It told me to mind my own business.”

  Jeffrey thought for a minute. “Listen, Dad, you’ve reminded me that I have to keep you posted. You’ve got to do the same thing. And I’m telling you right now that if either of these things happen again: you’re being followed or you’re getting threats, I want you to go to the police immediately. Have you got that?”

  Now I was the one being treated like a child, but to tell the truth, I felt touched at Jeffrey’s clear concern for his old man.

  I decided not to tell him that I suspected I’d also been shot at.

  “You know, Dad, if I had kept track of every visitor and curious person who has visited the village in the years I’ve worked down here, the list would be as long as the river itself. Remember a couple of years ago when that reporter, a man, came down for a few days and then wrote that quite nice article about the village?”

  “To tell the truth, I don’t remember. It may have been published during a time when Queenie was sick and I was in over my head.”

  “That reminds me,” Jeffrey said. “One day recently a young woman showed up, saying she was working on some sort of writing project. She was just a teenager, and I told her it wasn’t safe for her to be down here by herself. I gave her TTC fare and told her to go home, which I hope she did.

  I had to smile. I knew who the young woman was. “I’m sure she made it home safely, Son or I would have heard otherwise.”

  Jeffrey was clearly puzzled by this remark, but I had no intention of explaining it. Telling him that I had been helping a young girl whose family included rival gang leaders was not going to exactly put Jeffrey at ease any more than telling him about the gunshots.

  “What do you mean?”

  “A student. Probably just a student. Don’t worry about it. Anything else?”

  Jeffrey thought for a moment, then he said, “I don’t think this is important, but the other day, a group of people showed up from some community group or other. They asked a lot of questions about ethnic diversity, which I’m always happy to answer because the inhabitants of this village come from everywhere. I told them it’s a global village down here.”

  “Well, it’s certainly a busy one. How do they find their way down here, anyway?”

  “I’m not sure, Dad. I suppose it’s a security issue. Up until a couple of months ago, there were only three paths—the one up to the parking lot behind your building, the one through the play area of the school up on the hill, and the one we built for villagers. Anybody who looks us up on Google now can see how to get down.”

  “Well I think you should consider checking this out. A lot of people who don’t belong down here can only mean one thing: A lot of trouble….Anything else? Anybody else?

  Again Jeffrey seemed to need a few minutes to inwardly check his recollections.

  “The only other thing I can think of to tell you is that there were a couple of cops down here a day or two ago.”

  “Cops? Were they looking for one of the villagers? That can’t be good.”

  “I’m not sure what they wanted. They just looked around. One was an older guy. I’ve seen his type before. They act pretty friendly but then they start doing things like handing out homeless tickets.”

  “They were handling out homeless tickets down here?”

  “No. No, Dad, that was just an example. Our village is classified as a residence. Nobody can ticket the homeless down here—actively or retroactively.”

  “Then what were they after?”

  “I never did find out. I tried talking to them at first, but they were the type who are likely to say that they talk and you listen. So I didn’t bother. That older guy, he gave me the feeling that even if he was nice on the surface, he would be quite frightening if you crossed him.”

  “You say there were two?”

  “Yeah. The other, a much younger cop, looked like he’d be frightening all the time. After they left, a few of the villagers admitted that they’d encountered these two before and that when they see them coming, they get out of the way. When they left, they said something that scared me. They said, ‘Say hello to your father.’ Do you know these guys? Do they sound familiar? It wasn’t friendly—the way they mentioned you.”

  This was startling news, and I didn’t know what to make of it. I didn’t want my son to worry about my safety—or his own. Besides, to be worried about the police harming you when you were a law-abiding citizen was something I didn’t even want to think about.

  I changed the subject. “How’s the food supply holding out?”

  “Great. We’ve got a full supply of canned goods and the City Help Pantry has promised to keep an eye on us when it comes to fresh goods—fruit and meat and bakery products. They say all we have to do is ask.”

  “And everybody’s been briefed about warm clothes and being careful about sleeping on below-freezing nights?”

  “Sure, Dad. It’s all under control.” His voice was starting to show a bit of impatience and I decided our conversation had gone on about long enough.

  “There’s one great thing about winter,” he said with a slight smile.

  “And what’s that?”

  “As soon as it comes, all these nosey visitors to the valley will be gone.”

  I nodded, but I wished I could be as sure of that as he was. In fact, I was growing more and more concerned that that would not be the case.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Back up from the valley, I stepped out onto my magnificent balcony and surveyed the scene spread before me.

  Like so much in Toronto, the valley had changed greatly since I had lived there as a vagrant, though here, beneath my feet, it had changed much less than in other places.

  I felt a stab of deep concern when I thought about the brief conversation I’d just had with Jeffrey. My efforts to preserve my segment of the valley had, it seemed, resulted in the acceleration of its destruction. By drawing attention to its beauty, had I hastened the demise of its pristine wilderness? I thought again about that stupid banquet, about the travesty of “restoration”, which was now, it seemed to me, just one more excuse for so-called environmentalists to self-celebrate. Lately it had seemed that anything anyone did to make the city better just turned out to make it worse.

  As far as my village went, I had wanted to provide safe, simple and comfortable homes for men and women who otherwise might have had to live in dreadful shelters, not to mention doorways, subway grates and back alleys. I had wanted to give such people the chance to live in freedom unmarred by desperation.

  And it had worked—until now. Now there was dissention and dissatisfaction among the residents; there were rich donors who sooner or later would make some claim on the running of the place; there were City Councilors opposed to my project and—most dangerous of all—there were greedy developers just waiting to get their hands on land that I had foolishly thought no one would ever want except me.

  Across the wide expanse of the ravine, the late autumn wind was tormenting the trees, but the sound it made was a song to me, and the pale colors of the few remaining leaves shimmered and danced to it.

  Without warning, I remembered the day I married Queenie. I remembered the ceremony—both Anglican and Cree. And I remembered our honeymoon—three days in a fancy downtown Toronto hotel—then back to work—I as a lawyer and she as a community nurse. I remembered the fun and the love and the plans and the hope.

  But it was all gone now. Gone like the green of summer.

  I glanced around the whole valley. To the west I saw high-rise rental buildings that had been there for a long time. To the east stood old suburban homes, many now being torn down for much grander houses on the streets that neighbored my own street, where my building—a low-rise apartment building from the 60’s that I owned and had completely restored—sat among a few others like itself, though they were not in such pristine condition.

&n
bsp; Toward the north, I saw rising glass towers of sweeping height and glowing transparent walls that reflected back the sun that was now heading relentlessly toward the southern hemisphere.

  These were new buildings, some not even yet finished. Newcomers to the neighborhood that like all newcomers seemed so full of promise. But what were they promising? Their very presence threatened to destroy the wildness that was the main selling point of the buildings.

  I felt anger overwhelm me. Anger at the way that everything I knew and loved— even the bad things in my old life—everything was being replaced by something big and shiny and new and foreign. I felt a dizzying surge of grief. Then anger again. I lifted my fist to pound it on the railing of my balcony.

  But before my hand touched the metal, I heard the doorbell ring.

  I had never seen the man at the door before, but I knew who he was. Al Brownette stood there in full uniform, including a bullet-proof vest, with his police cap in one hand and a sheaf of official-looking papers in the other. The soft light from the hallway played on the skin of his bald head, making it look like a billiard ball.

  His clean-shaven and nearly lineless face bore an expression of non-specific, officious threat. It took only seconds for him to manage to get past me and into the apartment, like a worm gets past the holes of a sieve.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked, hiding the combination of fear and contempt that I had for the man.

  Brownette didn’t answer at first. He glanced around the apartment as though he were about to search it for something. I tried to see whether one of the papers he held was a warrant, but I couldn’t make any of them out even from the short distance I stood from him.

  He turned toward me. “You can lay off Ted Downs. He’s got trouble enough. You can just mind your own business, which, I’m here to tell you, you got plenty of…”