The Stubborn Season

by Lauren B. Davis

  “All right, then,” said one of the cops. “What the hell have we got here?”

  No one answered him.

  “You people gonna move along quiet like, or are we gonna have to move youse?”

  David looked around, at the police, at the people on the ground and finally at Irene. She could see the struggle playing out on his face. His mouth twitched.

  “Go on,” called Lenny, sitting in the front. “It’s all right. Go on.”

  “Shit,” he said. “I better get you out of here.”

  He took her by the hand and started to jog up the street, pulling Irene behind him. She looked back over her shoulder. The police spread out around the tightly seated group. The horses danced and lifted their feet, as though unwilling to step on the humans on the ground. People had their hands up and their signs, protecting themselves from the sharp hooves.

  “Just stay calm,” said David, moving faster but not running.

  The police seemed to pick out certain individuals. Lenny they went for right away, hauling him roughly by the arms, his feet trailing. They tossed him in the back of the van. Two cops picked up the girl with the long black hair and she squirmed, her face red. Irene could see one of them had a hand between her legs. An older man was roughly pushed and he fell to the pavement, losing his glasses. As he went to reach for them, a policeman kicked them under the hooves of a horse. The rest they shoved and pushed to their feet. David and Irene turned a corner and she could see no more.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “We could have been arrested.”

  “It’s just a quick bust,” said David. “They won’t press charges. They don’t want the papers squawking about it.”

  “But we could have been arrested,” said Irene again.

  “Yeah, I guess, but we weren’t.” And he sounded both relieved and slightly disappointed. “Would have been better, though, to get a bunch of us hauled into court. That’s the only way to maybe arouse the public.”

  Irene didn’t know whether to slap him or not. The problem was, she felt more alive than she had in months.

  It was a week and a half since the Sunday Irene had come home flushed and distracted after being, she said, at a church tea. It had become Margaret’s habit since then to sit in the window and watch Irene walk away down the street. She thought if she secretly observed her that Irene might give something away. She searched her daughter’s mannerisms for some gesture that might hold the key. Did she swing her arms with anticipation? Did she touch her hair to make sure she looked pretty? Did she hurry away from the house, anxious to be away from her mother and nearer to David? Margaret wondered if Irene knew she was being watched and was controlling her actions.

  She’s become untrustworthy, murmured Mad Margaret. A liar.

  Every night when Irene came home Margaret grilled her about David. “What do we really know about him? Have you seen the inside of his room? Have you made sure he isn’t stealing? Don’t you think there’s something improper about you being in the store with him alone all day? Has he tried to touch you?”

  But each question was met with a monosyllabic response, a shrug, a simple, slightly exasperated “Of course not, Mum.”

  The mystery remained unsolved. Ever since the night Irene had been out with David Hirsch and come home so late, Margaret was sure there was an omen she was missing. That night she had been sure Irene would not come home. Why was that? Irene always came home. Something evil was tracking her again, and it had to do with the sorrow-bearing Jew. Watch out! It’s near! Can’t you hear it breathing? It was getting more and more difficult to ride rule on Mad Margaret. They’re plotting together. Your daughter and the Jew.

  When Harry disappeared it had been such a victory. Margaret had felt sure Irene would be bound to her forever then, defeated by the loss of love. And then that David Hirsch arrived and contaminated everything. He was poisoning Irene, tainting her. She’s willing. She likes the forbidden fruit.

  Margaret had to know. She could not lose Irene.

  It took three days for her to find the courage. Twice, on the second day, she made it out of the house. The first time only to the porch, the second all the way to the end of the street, propelled by a furious velocity, which failed her as a streetcar rattled past and she thought she saw the face of Mrs. Rhodes laughing at her from one of the windows. On the third day, however, with her nails digging half-moons in her palms, a floral scarf over her hair and a straw hat over that so she would not be recognized, she set out again. She decided she would not walk on Homewood, where the neighbours might gawk at her, but would cut through the alley. She lifted the latch on the back gate and stepped out onto the dirt lane behind the houses. She scanned to the right and left. Careful. Careful! The lane was deserted and dusty. Nothing but blank fences and the green leaves from overhanging backyard trees. She scuttled up to where she knew the lane led to a narrow passage to Sherbourne Street. Her heart thudded. This was her last chance. She knew she would not have the courage to attempt the journey again.

  The path was clear. She slipped into the shaded light. A newspaper, lying on the ground near a garbage can, flapped in the hot breeze and gave her a momentary start. She straightened her back and took a deep breath. Go on! Go and see what they’re up to. No good. No good. She walked through the passage and out onto Sherbourne Street. It was quieter than she’d feared. A woman in a blue dress walked a dog and passed her without staring, without pulling away or making a face, which was a good sign. Carlton was busier. Streetcars rumbled by, and she was careful not to look at the windows. She found it hard to breathe. The air was full of the smell of gasoline and dust. She made herself walk more slowly and pulled the scarf over her mouth and nose. Her palms and the space between her breasts were damp with sweat.

  On Parliament she kept to the west side of the street. She didn’t even remember exactly where the store was. She knew Irene had repainted the window. Would she know it? Then, with a sharp contraction of her stomach, she saw it. It looked so tidy, so neat and friendly with the bright silver lettering on the window.

  You can feel the foggy evil all around it. Crows roost on the roof.

  Shut up.

  Nasty things going on in there.

  Margaret rubbed her temples and tried to figure out the best place to look and not be seen. She was a little surprised at how anonymous she was. No one stopped her. She saw no face she recognized. She wiped her palms on her hips. If she stood by one of the cars and pretended to look in her purse, she could see in perfectly.

  Two girls went in the shop. A man came out carrying a bag. Margaret looked up and down the street, appalled at how quickly the cars rushed by. After several false starts she realized she must coordinate her movement to the traffic light at the corner. She waited for it to turn red and then, as a gap appeared in the flow, she cautiously crossed and took her place by a parked black Ford.

  She opened her purse and pretended to search for something within. She glanced up, half afraid Irene would be standing in the doorway looking at her. She saw David Hirsch behind the soda counter, spooning ice cream into two glass bowls. He set them before the girls at the counter. She couldn’t see Irene. David left the counter and went to the tables with a rag, started polishing the surfaces. He looked out onto the street and Margaret quickly turned away. She felt the skin at the back of her neck prickle. She held her breath.

  Run! He’ll catch you!

  No.

  Nothing happened and she turned back again. David had returned to the soda fountain. Irene was at the other counter, putting a book down. She must have been in the back. She looked hot and wiped her index finger across her top lip. Then David came over to her with a glass of something in his hand. He set it down next to her and said something. Irene looked up at him. The expression on her face seemed guarded, which pleased Margaret.

  Yes, protect yourself, my girl.

  Then David reached out.

  He’s going to put his hands on her!

  He touched Irene’s
forearm and leaned over to say something in her ear. Margaret prayed Irene would recoil—Slap him!—would turn away, but she didn’t, she angled toward his lips. Then she put her hand up to her mouth and smiled, glancing at the girls.

  Get away from her! Get away!

  David stepped away.

  Margaret felt sick to her stomach. It was so obvious what was going on, and it was worse even than she had thought. He was a spider, that one. Where Harry Madison had been a rascal and a peacock, this one was a spider, weaving a silky web. Margaret could see that very clearly. He stood behind the counter, joking with the girls, but his eyes kept snaking back to Irene. Margaret knew what his intentions were; lust was written all over his dark face. Maybe not everyone could see it, but Margaret could.

  We have such sharp perceptions.

  Irene walked over to him and moved behind him. As she did she put her hands up on his shoulders, ever so gently, so that she might pass. The gesture told Margaret everything she needed to know.

  31

  “How about some fish? You feel like seafood?” David said one night as they were closing. “And don’t give me that usual crap about your mother and all.”

  “It’s not crap, as you so politely put it. It’s just like that.”

  “We have to go through this every time, for God’s sake? Call her.”

  “I saw a new bottle of bath salts in the linen closet last week,” said Irene, sweeping up behind the counter. “I’m absolutely sure it was new. It must mean she’s been out on her own, don’t you think? Although when I asked her she got angry and said she hadn’t been anywhere, that it had been there for years. But I’m certain that’s not true.”

  “Geez, you’d think you were negotiating world peace. It’s not that big a deal. Just call her. Tell her you have to work, maybe you had a late stock delivery.”

  David watched Irene make the call. She talked gently, her eyes closed and her bent knuckle softly tapping her bottom lip. She frowned when she listened. Then she put down the phone.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  He steered her toward a little restaurant he’d discovered, run by a Greek who’d come to Canada fifteen years before. The evening was soft and ripe with late summer. The streetlights had not yet come on and children played in the street. A group of girls jumped double dutch.

  Cinderella, dressed in yellow,

  Went upstairs to kiss her fellow.

  Made a mistake and kissed a snake,

  How many doctors did it take …

  The iceman and his ancient horse plodded along toward Cabbagetown, and children ran after the cart, hoping to pick off a hunk of ice.

  They strolled down to the juncture of King and Queen streets near the Don River. It was a working-class neighbourhood, full of families whose men laboured on the nearby docks. Hungarians, Macedonians, Armenians—the music of the languages swirled around them, as did the smells of cloves and cooking onions carried on the dusty breeze with the faint stench from the nearby abattoir.

  The small restaurant was on the ground floor of a converted house and held only twelve tables, each covered with a blue-and-white-check cloth and filled with people. David was looking around for a free spot when an enormous bald man with a bushy moustache came out of the kitchen.

  “David! My friend! You come here. Table for you here. Come, come!”

  “Evening, George,” David called back. The two men met in the middle of the room and slapped each other on the back. Irene was amazed to see this great walrus of a man move through the small room without knocking over everything in his path.

  “Who you bring me here? Always you come in alone and now you bring such a pretty girl! Someone special I’m thinking, yes?” The man winked broadly at David and beamed at Irene.

  “George Elytis, I’d like you to meet a very good friend, Irene MacNeil.”

  The man lifted Irene’s hand to his lips and kissed it loudly.

  “Oh, we gonna make a special meal for you tonight, oh yes sirree, Joe! You come, you sit.”

  He held out a chair for Irene. The big Greek lumbered back into the kitchen, where loud voices and laughter could be heard, their meaning obvious even if the words were foreign.

  “He certainly seems to like you,” said Irene.

  “I think I remind him of Constantine, his son. He left a couple of years back, riding the rails. George gets regular letters, but he misses him.”

  Irene fussed with her napkin. Her eyes travelled this way and that, taking in all the bright noisy life around her. “I’ve never been in a Greek restaurant before.”

  “You’ll love it. I come here a lot. Cheap and homey. George’s a great guy and his wife, Sophia, she’s a terrific lady.”

  Food began to arrive. Flaming cheese triangles, which frightened Irene at first. Phyllo pastry with spinach inside. Olives. Bread. Salad. And then a platter of strange fried things, some round like onion rings, some that looked disturbingly like deep-fried spiders.

  “What is it?” said Irene.

  “Calamari!” George Elytis announced proudly.

  “So, taste it,” urged David, who squeezed lemon over a piece and held it up to her mouth.

  Irene opened her lips reluctantly. It was unlike anything she’d ever tasted before, crisp and rich with the taste of sea and salt.

  “It’s fantastic!” she said. “What is it?”

  “Is squid!” said the big man, and then he and David burst out laughing. “David, he have same look on face first time. But is good, yes? Is very good!”

  For a moment she didn’t know what to do, and then she was laughing too, and it felt good, so good. Everything was light and clean and felt right and it was such a wonderful feeling, to be at a table with a blue-and-white cloth, in a room with white walls and sea-blue plates, among people whom she didn’t have to watch all the time for fear they would change into someone else. But the warm light in the restaurant only made her see how dark and musty and tight her house was, the walls as close as skin, and her mother’s need for her like paper glued over that. She realized she was crying.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m sorry.” And hid her face in a napkin.

  “Oh, I don’t laugh at you,” said George, wringing his hands. “David, you tell her.”

  “It’s okay, George. It’s not that. She’ll be fine.” Although he was stricken too.

  “I’m gonna bring you some ouzo. Ouzo’s good for this thing.” And George returned with a bottle and two small glasses. He filled one up and handed it to Irene.

  “Go on, you drink. Taste like licorice. You gonna like.”

  “Have some, Irene. It’s okay,” said David.

  Irene wiped her eyes and took the glass that looked like a thimble between his fingers. She sipped. The liquor burned her throat, and she coughed, and laughed.

  “Is medicinal,” said George. “You okay now?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “Okay, I gonna leave you with David. You drink the ouzo, eat the calamari.”

  “So, what’s the matter?” David asked.

  “Everything,” she said.

  “Can’t be that bad, can it?” He took her hand. She didn’t pull away. “What do you need to make it better?”

  No one had ever asked her this.

  “I don’t suppose you happen to have a new life lying around somewhere, do you? I could use that.” It was easier to take this tone than to admit how much she would like for him to be able to make it better.

  “No, I don’t suppose I do. But you got a whole life ahead of you if you want.”

  “I just don’t see how.”

  “Any way you want. Just make a start, for chrissake.”

  “I’ve been thinking about something.”

  “Yeah, what?”

  “Maybe going back to school.”

  “So, go back to school.” He chewed a piece of calamari. “What do you want to study?”

  “Pharmacology.”

  “Yeah? Well, hell, why
not? Women can do just about anything these days, I guess.”

  “It’s just a dream, really. I mean, how would I afford the tuition? I don’t have the money right now. But maybe someday.”

  “Why not? Maybe anything could happen, right?”

  “Are you happy here, David?” If David were to leave before things got better, she’d never be able to hire anyone else. She couldn’t close up the store every day to go to classes.

  “I got enough. I live rent free, that’s pretty good. A few dollars. I don’t need more.”

  “Maybe I’m not very fair.”

  “So, let me be the judge of what’s fair, okay? We can talk about other financial arrangements somewhere down the line. Listen. You go back to school if you want. For as long as I can, I’ll be here, right?” He looked down at his plate. “We … I think we make a pretty good team.”

  She frowned. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?

  “Things change fast, though,” he said, filling the uncomfortable gap. “I mean, you know, with what’s goin’ on in Europe. Things are bound to change. If war comes …”

  “And I don’t even know if I could finish school.”

  “’Course you could. Don’t be crazy.”

  She had a funny look on her face.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “I’m not sure how my mother would take it.”

  “So, why wouldn’t she be pleased?”

  “I don’t know. I just … Never mind.” There were shadows in her eyes again.

  “Listen, why not take one thing at a time. And the thing before us is this dinner, right? That’s all. Just a dinner.”

  “Yes. And it’s lovely,” she said.

  Seeing that Irene was smiling again, Mr. Elytis came over to the table.

  “You having a good time yes?” he said.

  “Yes, Mr. Elytis.”

  “You call me George, like David. And you,” he said, thumping David on the shoulder, “you don’t make her cry no more.”