“Let’s go, Benjamin. I’m ready.” That made a grand total of one of us.
I tried to tuck a blanket around her. Not so easy when she skewed out at angles never intended by nature. The cover refused to stay put. It was way too long and kept catching under the wheels every time I wanted to move us forward. So instead I snitched a little fringed shawl-type thing whose usual job was covering her side table, and I draped it around Lena’s back. She took a glimpse of herself in the mirror as we passed it. “I look like a gypsy fortune teller, don’t I?” Good thing the outfit didn’t lend her genuine crystal-ball powers to foresee what we were about to get into. That discovery I wanted to put off as long as I could. I walked us as slowly as humanly possible towards the connecting door. Easy enough if you’re busy kicking yourself for being such a pushover. I mean how many things can your legs be expected to do at once? I was still half-hoping I’d hear snores rising up from the wheelchair before we crossed over into the rest of the house, but no such luck. She was too revved up to conk out now. Unless God pulled a pillar-of-salt move on me in the next few seconds, our expedition was okay’d for takeoff.
Lena didn’t bat an eye when I rolled her into the suctioned out living room and parked the wheelchair smack in the middle. I stayed behind her (yeah, yeah, I’m a coward), bracing myself for the outburst. I’d been wondering before we got going if it would come in the form of tears or shrieking, trying to advance fine-tune my strategy depending. But it turned out to be neither. What I mean to say is that there wasn’t one. All she did was say “the dining room now Benjamin if you please.” In there, ditto. She gave her surroundings a brisk inspection and asked me to move her on to the den. And that’s how we worked our way along, pausing a beat in each room for her to take in the nothingness that was the new decorating scheme till we’d covered the entire first floor.
“Is it the same, the second floor?” she asked me since we both knew I wasn’t about to do moguls with her on the stairs.
“Pretty much, yes.”
“Including Morrie’s fur trade room?”
“Emptied out. Or nearly.”
She took one last glance around, swallowing the whole sorry scene. “Let’s go back please, Benjamin. We’re through out here.”
I rolled her back to her studio and resettled her in bed. We sat quietly for a while. I wish I could say it was our usual easy silence, but it wasn’t. It had some bite to it.
“You knew,” I finally said to her. “You knew all along.”
“I suspected.”
“How?”
“The mail. I hear it drop through the slot in the front door every day and it echoes when it plops onto the floor. It didn’t used to. I just needed your help to confirm that I was right.”
I should have felt played but somehow I didn’t. “Maybe I’m reading this all wrong, but you seem to be okay with it.”
“Okay? Well, in a way I’m relieved to know for sure. The uncertainty was worse. But you’re wrong. I am definitely not okay with it. Not in the least okay.”
“He just didn’t want you to have to worry is all. He was trying to spare you that.”
“I understand exactly what pushed him to do it Benjamin. I just wish he’d opened up to me. That’s too heavy a burden for one person to carry alone.” Then she added, “or almost alone.”
That last little jab was aimed at me, the interloper who’d edged in to help bear what should have been a conjugal burden. But I couldn’t fault Morrie on his decision to cut her out. Her wasted shoulders were hardly up to the job.
“I suppose he thought, well, that you’d be disappointed in him. In how he handled the financial end of things when his business went under. That he should have been shrewder. Avoided this whole mess somehow. Taking care of it this way, well, you wouldn’t have to know.” What was I doing blabbing so much? Morrie hadn’t authorized me to be his mouthpiece but my tongue was going rogue.
“He could have told me. After a whole lifetime together he should have had that much faith that I’d be behind him. That’s what hurts, Benjamin. Not losing the chairs and the lamps and the tables. You think I really care about some sticks of furniture? It’s that he held back from me when there was no godly reason for it. None. Even with me sick. Strange, isn’t it, as much as couples think they know one another, there’s always some little corner of each person that’s unfathomable to the other. The fact is, I wouldn’t have minded living in a smaller place if he’d ever said he couldn’t afford all this. Not one bit. He could have sold everything with my blessing.”
“Why don’t you just tell him now? Let him put the house on the market. It’s only for you that he’s holding onto it.”
“No. Too late. I have to leave him his pride. It’s all he has left.”
12
Mum was smitten. Who’d have thunk?
It was Rossi who tipped me off. “Your mother’s acting strange. All, I don’t know, fluttery.”
Fluttery. This was not Mum. “You ought to get yourself down to Optical and have Hélène do some tests on those eyeballs of yours. It can’t be mama mia you’re talking about.”
“I’m not wrong on this one, Benj. She’s out and out, well, bubbly. You mean to tell me you haven’t noticed?”
“Nope. Because there’s nothing to notice.”
“You’re way wrong there. Because you’re her own kid probably. Kids are blind to that sort of thing. It takes an outsider to see it. And as your inside outsider, I’m willing to put myself out on a limb here and give you a reason why her personality has suddenly shifted like 180 degrees, or however many means just opposite.”
“Theorize away my friend. I could use a laugh this morning.”
“Well, I’m guessing, based on the contents of my evidence bag, that your mother has put herself back in the game. She has the hots, your mum, for Serge.”
“The hots? My mum doesn’t get the hots for anyone. I don’t think she even knows what the term means. She isn’t one to look, let alone partake.”
“Suture self said the doctor to the patient.”
Okay, so he’d piqued my curiosity. “This Serge character, who is he anyway? How come I’ve never heard of him?”
“You’ve got to keep up with the times around here, my man. He’s the brand new guy up in head office, the one they brought in to ease the transition. She’s always hanging off him. How do you account for that?”
Actually, I had a very definite idea of how to account for that, but wasn’t she going a bit overboard? When I’d asked her to serve as my secret agent, I figured she’d use her brain not her bod. I mean this was Mum after all. I expected her to pull in a few markers, put out some discreet feelers, that kind of thing. What was she thinking?
It wasn’t only Rossi who’d picked up on Mum’s libido defrosting. The news had even hopped a bus out to the suburbs. Rena, Zach, everybody knew. Everybody but me that is. I was the self-absorbed asshole who couldn’t see what was going on right in front of his face because my eyes were always tied up playing after-images of Lena surveying the house that her beloved husband had attacked with an enema nozzle. Everything outside of that was a blur to me.
At breakfast, Rena tweaked Mum. “So do you care to tell us who’s this mystery guy you’ve been seeing? Twice already this week I’ve caught you sneaking in late. If this goes on I’ll have to ground you. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“He’s nobody, okay?” Mum said. “Just a guy from work. He’s new to Montreal. I’m showing him around town a bit. Getting him acclimated. Telling him where to buy his bagels.”
“A lot of time you’re investing in a nobody,” Rena said.
“He’s a nice enough guy. I’m happy to help him find his feet.”
“Give us some particulars if you please. Where’s he from for starters?”
“Blanc-Sablon originally.”
“Ooh, a small town boy. That explains it. He really does need you to show him the ropes,” Zach said. “He’s probably more used to eating
moose.”
“He didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, smart guy. He used to work in the Quebec City store before he came here.”
“So he’s smooth then?”
“Smooth enough.”
“What department is he in?” Rena asked. “Furniture? That’s where they usually put the guys with some grey in their hair. Am I right? Or appliances maybe? One of the big-ticket departments?”
“That’s assuming he’s older,” Zach said, “and Mum’s not cougaring around.” Zach’s comment was beneath Mum’s notice. She stuck with Rena’s line of questioning.
“Well, no department exactly.”
“So how does he pull in a paycheque then, if I may ask?”
“He’s in head office actually.” Mum looked a bit embarrassed by this admission to Rena. She usually hung out with the plebes.
“Head office, whoa. Sleeping our way to the top, are we?”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Zach, will you? I thought I raised you better. We’ve just gone out to eat a few times. To Upstairs once for jazz. A movie or two. Tapas. End of story.”
“That adds up to a lot of nights,” I said.
“Point being?”
I backed off. “I’m just saying.”
“If he’s from head office, then maybe you can get him to give Groucho here his job back,” Zach said. “It would be a public service. Stop him from moping and moaning and making our lives even more miserable than before. I didn’t think anything could be worse than Lord Beavertail’s endless yammering about the fur trade, but listening to him count down the days till they shove him out of that place kicking and screaming, that’s a helluva lot harder to take.”
Zach had a knack for knowing where to apply the electrodes. “Lay off,” I said. “When I need assistance from you I’ll ask for it, and you can bet that’ll be never.”
“Fine by me. I was just trying to make a helpful suggestion. Put this Serge dude to good use.”
“Your humanity is duly noted.”
“You can’t accept that I might be on your side.”
“You sure have a strange way of showing it.”
“If you could manage to put that chip on your shoulder away for five minutes running,” Zach said, “I think I can speak for all of us in saying we’d be grateful for the time off.”
“On my shoulder. That’s rich. You never stopped to wonder why you list to one side? That’s no chip you’re carrying, it’s more like a meteorite.”
“You can’t see yourself for what you really are, can you? Maybe it’s time I spelled it out. Gave you the reality check you so richly deserve.”
“So tell us how you two met, Mum.” Rena barged in and hijacked the conversation before it took an ugly slam into the boards. Even through our locked horns Zach and I could make out the wisdom of her move. Things were on the verge of boiling over brother-wise. Between that and all our nosing around into the Serge situation, we were entering the danger zone. We’d seen Mum go ballistic before with half as much provocation. But this time she didn’t. Instead she blushed. Maybe Rossi knew what he was talking about.
“I’m not about to go into that with you bunch of yentas. You’ll never let me hear the end of it. That’s all you’re going to learn about Serge for now. Case closed.” She started stuffing the cereal boxes back into the cupboards. “Don’t you all have somewhere to be? How is it that in most North American families they don’t ever sit down together at the table, and in this family I can never get you to leave it? Where did I go wrong?”
I cornered her after breakfast in the laundry room. “Mum, you haven’t forgotten your mission here have you? You’re just supposed to be finding out when the museum’s closing, that’s all. It’s not exactly industrial espionage what I’m asking. Don’t feel you have to, you know, put out to get the info.” Christ. Did I really just say that? To my own mother?
“Relax, boychik, I’m just doing research. All above board and outside the bedroom, not that it’s any of your business. I remember precisely what it is I’m meant to do. And Serge is perfectly placed to get me the information. I’m just easing in to the whole thing so he won’t suspect. Don’t get yourself all hyper over it. Everything’s on track.”
She left me no choice. I couldn’t pull her off the job now that she was so into it, not when I knew from personal experience what that felt like. So I backed off. I’d done my due diligence. Mum was on her own. I shifted my attention over to the other woman in my life.
Lena was good to her word. That dame was no stoolie. Of course I only found that out later. Meantime I was plenty worried, let me tell you.
On the night of our hush-hush field trip, Lena was dead to the world by the time Morrie came back. I’m saying zonked. Usually she stirred when he gave her a little honey-I’m-home peck on the cheek, but that night he didn’t get a rise out of her. Morrie asked me how the evening had gone and I told him it was uneventful. That was a lie you’re thinking. But I saw it as more of an exaggeration than an out-and-out lie. I figured that by comparison, the serious eventful, the blow-the-shingles-off-the-roof eventful, would wait for later, once Lena woke up and tongue-whipped her hubby to within an inch of his life.
The following Sunday I showed up at their place at the usual time. We’d been keeping to our tea-time schedule even though the weather had turned too frigid to kayak. This was the time of year that fur traders hung up their paddles and caught up on some face time with the missus, treating the beavers and themselves to a little R&R. Before heading off home they’d strop up the old straight razor to give their faces more kissability and chop off the season’s growth of hair, forcing their pet lice to stake out new lodgings. It was family time till the thaw.
For me and the guys, winter saw us go our separate ways. We didn’t replace kayaking with a cold-weather activity of any kind. None of us was into ice fishing or snowshoeing and to be honest, we didn’t mind a bit of space. It was clear to everyone that with Morrie added to the mix I was less dependent on them to scratch my fur trade itch. And they were okay with it. It’s not like they were ever rabid voyageurs like I was. They’d always just been humouring me. So when I made the winter swap, the three of them for the one of him, they saw it as it only logical. We’d start our kayaking Sundays up again come spring.
That meant that the way things shook out amigo-wise, for the time being Morrie was my one and only. If we were still on speaking terms that is. And that was a big if. After that fateful night earlier in the week when Lena’d poached me for her team, odds were that I was now top dog on Morrie’s shit list, my name bolded and asterisked. I was probably wasting my time even going to his house, but I had to find out where I stood.
While I faced Morrie’s front door, my finger poised to ring, the different scenarios I’d imagined up during the week for this moment came flooding back to me. First there was the one where Morrie would let me stand outside and ring and ring and ring till my index finger went numb. In doorbell talk it said get the hell off my property you bum you. Moving up the intensity scale was the one where Morrie did unlock the door to me, but only to have the pleasure of tearing a strip off me face to face before booting me out into the slush. Bad enough that one was, but the worst of them all, and don’t ask me where it came from, was the one that had Morrie punching me out in the entrance hall. Bare-knuckled and merciless, street thug style. Farfetched I grant you, but occasionally your subconscious feels the urge to take some artistic license. Like in the extended overnight version of the punch-out storyline when Lena would leap out of her bed and drag him off me. Sometimes she had wings, or maybe they were antlers. Whichever. That last one was a killer. I could never get back to sleep again after.
I went ahead and rang. Zilch. Rang again. Zilch squared. Looked like I hit it right on the money with scenario number one. He couldn’t even stomach the sight of my two-timing face. I’d been hoping that he would at least open the door a few inches. Give me a chance to wedge my foot in and make my plea. But Morrie’d wiped
his hands of me. He’d set up clear boundaries for our friendship, ones that I’d signed off on, and I’d gone and taken the wire cutters to them. What did I expect after that? That he’d forgive and forget? Maybe Zach was right. Reality and me, we weren’t what you’d call buddy-buddy.
Before I turned to leave, I peeped through the mail slot to grab one final glance at my now ex-refuge, to fix it in my mind. I was just lowering the flap when a flicker of movement caught my eye. I sharpened up the focus. It was Morrie ambling towards the door doing up his fly. What with my nerves going full tilt I’d been too impatient. He was wearing his at-home moccasins and his flannel work-shirt, tucked in to adhere to Lena’s dress code. She was a formalist, Lena. You don’t entertain in shirt-tails, I’d heard her lecture him before. She was anti-flannel too, but he’d managed to get her to back down on that point. Even through my tiny view finder in the front door I could make out that there was no tightness to his posture, no anger backlighting his eyes. Lena hadn’t squealed. Everything between Morrie and me was still chorosho. At that instant the anchor that I’d been lugging around since the Lena tour slipped off my back and crashed onto the stoop. Lucky it didn’t crack the cement in two, I knew Morrie wouldn’t be able to afford the repair. When he opened the door, my host circled his arm around my shoulders father-son style like he always did and led me back to the studio. No sly co-conspirator glances passed between Lena and me. We were both happy to stow our recent adventure six feet under without a marker.
The room was toasty warm even though the electric logs glowing in the fireplace were all show. It had the feel of a campfire at dusk, with everyone joking around and trading stories. Somehow that afternoon the tea tasted mellower and the pastries sweeter. Lena drifted off more quickly than usual though she struggled against it; she hated to be the one to break up the party. In the few days since I’d last seen her, she’d already started slipping, just as she’d predicted. Her skin was drawn even tighter over her bones if that was possible, as if her skeleton was wanting to switch spots and push itself to the outside for a change.
My True and Complete Adventures as a Wannabe Voyageur Page 12