by Lee Stringer
The next day his breathing slows until he lets out one long final exhalation.
That night Levi decides there cannot be a God. And if he is up there he hates him anyways. He has not prayed since.
It takes nearly seven years, but Frank does seem to recover. Unlike Levi, who stops believing, Frank’s faith grows stronger than ever, never missing a Sunday in church, as if to remind God what he has taken. And he is only too glad to talk about David. The house becomes a shrine to the boy, with eight by ten photographs on every wall. Not that Helah notices. Even though she has hung them there.
And so here was Levi again, with his eyes closed, kneeling at the cross. There was neither one in his room so he kneeled in what he assumed was an easterly direction, towards Newfoundland, towards Gadus, where in his mind he pictured the twenty-foot, wooden cross hanging silently in the church. He never believed that prayers spoken in the mind could be heard, so he would have to speak out loud, but sound travelled so freely between the dorm walls that laughter could be heard five dorm rooms away.
“Dear God,” he whispered. “Its been a long time. What can I say? I was pissed off. I might was well be honest about it. I couldnt forgive you for taking David. I suppose I figured that not believing in you was the only way I could hurt you. But what do you care about me? What do you care about anybody? See Im still upset about it. I cant help it. That little boy never hurt anyone. He was the cutest little boy I ever laid eyes on and he whudnt even me son. I knows Frank is a hard case, but he didnt deserve that. I loved David. Yes, I loved him. I got to tell you all this because I needs you to understand why I turned away. And now Im here on bended knee asking for your...”
As Levi was about to say “forgiveness” the image of David standing at the lathe came to his mind. Wasn’t asking for mercy a betrayal of the boy? What did Levi need to be forgiven for anyway? All the pain in the last year. How had any of it been his fault? His wife’s infidelity, the sunken boat, the betrayal by his own brothers.
Levi stood up with his teeth clenched. “No. No, I wont. What have you got to say to that?”
Levi’s room phone rang and he leaped in fright. Having used only his cell phone he forgot he even had a room phone. It had never rung before. It was Anita.
“I just wanted to know how you were doing with the new job.”
“Alright. Hows you getting on?”
“Alright.”
“Just alright?”
“Alright. The lawyers been calling me.”
“Oh, thats why you called.”
“No, Im just telling you.”
“Whats the rush?”
“No rush.”
Silence.
“I was just thinking about God,” Levi said.
“Oh. That all? Why?”
“What happened to David…the boys on the boat.”
“Oh.”
“Did it change you?”
“Change me how?”
“What do you think of it all, God, and all that stuff?”
“I still believes in God I suppose.”
“You suppose? Sinead says shes an atheist, dont she?”
“Yes, but I dont think it had anything to do with David. Shes that type anyway. Shes still young. She might change.”
“You dont have no doubts?”
“Yes, but…I dont know, I just dont think its my nature to be an atheist.”
“We used to talk like this all the time.”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“I think I already told you that a few times.”
They talked a little while longer, and when he hung up he felt a glimmer of hope for the first time since she left him, but he wouldnt even say it in his mind for fear he would jinx it.
During supper the conversation revolved around the accident. His crew poked fun at him, as they poked fun at everyone’s mistakes. The worst weakness any man could have on a construction site was not a lack of strength, but a lack of wit, or over-sensitivity. If he was no good with clever comebacks, he at least better be able to shrug anything off. Because the fun-makers, and every crew had at least one, could smell out this weakness like a predator to its prey. And mild insults were part and parcel in just about every conversation.
Jon was having supper with Sinead six tables down, and at one point Levi and Sinead made eye contact. She gave him a silly smile and he gave her one back. Even though Sinead was with Erbacor safety and not Shale safety she had to have known what happened. Surprisingly, however, when he later sat with them she said nothing about it. Instead she only talked about the other news.
“Alberta Now, Dad. Thats awesome. You guys better not forget me when you get famous.”
“Look whos talking,” Jon said. “Youre the budding Atwood there.”
“I wish.”
Levi had no idea who Atwood was but he passed on embarrassing himself. He had a feeling Jon knew he didn’t know who Atwood was anyway.
“Do you think youll be nervous in the interview?” Sinead asked her father.
“Interview?”
“I didnt tell him about that part,” Jon said.
“Why not?”
“Well...he seemed to be having a bad day, so I left that out. Wasnt sure how he would react.”
Levi looked at Jon.
“Alberta Now wants to conduct an interview with us about the chair and how we came into collaboration on it,” Jon said. “Obviously theyre going to be angling the whole white and native thing, but theres not much we can do about that.”
Levi nodded.
“So what do you think?” Sinead said.
“Yes, why not. Will it be aired all over Canada?”
“I doubt it,” Jon said.
“Who cares,” Sinead said. “Ill put the link to the video on Facebook so everybody back home can watch it. Uncle Frank will be some jealous.”
Levi laughed. She knew what to say. But it was true. It made him glow inside to think of Frank’s inevitable jealousy. This was something Frank could never match. For he had not inherited their father’s creativity, and he always resented Levi for that. Their father Jake had been known as the best boat builder in Gadus. Even if most of those boats were less than two feet long. Levi’s prized possession was a one inch to one foot scale dory his father had built a few months before he died. Dories were rarely used in Gadus, as opposed to punts and skiffs, so Jake had only built a few, just to see if he could.
“I suppose youre right into the computers too,” Levi said to Jon.
“Yeah, but not like some. Mostly just to promote my art.”
“You really should buy a laptop, Dad. Everybody on camp has one in their room. Youd be a lot less bored.”
“The only thing I hears young fellas on my crew talk about when it comes to the computers is porn and Facebook. And that u-too.”
“YouTube.”
“The guy who works in the server room told me half the reason the internet is so slow here,” Jon said, “is because theres so much video porn streaming through the system.”
Canadian Wood
As the three of them drove into the parking lot of the AGA Jon got off the phone with his grandfather, William, in Provider.
“Another funeral,” Jon said. “Another goddamn funeral.”
“For who?” Sinead said.
“Linda Shoresh. Shes a distant cousin but I knew her. A really nice lady. I didnt even know she had cancer.”
“What happened? Was it another rare form?”
“Breast cancer, but what difference does it make? It doesnt have to be rare to be caused by that fuckin lake of poison they live next to.”
“Breast cancer is very common though,” Sinead said.
“I dont care! Everyone knows damn well theres too many people dying in Provider. And nothing is being done about it. Then youve got Janice MacNiel on the news last week saying that theres no definite connection between the cancer and the tar sands. Unbelievable.”
“Lake of poison?” Levi s
aid.
“Yes, Pimatan Lake. Cant even fish from it anymore.”
“Dont bring this negative energy into the interview,” Sinead said. “Just clear your mind. This is a great day for you.”
“How do people like her sleep at night?,” Jon said. “It doesnt even make sense for us to be here. Like I said before, the chair is good but it isnt that good. Not for this gallery. Strings were pulled. I guarantee you that.”
“Strings gets pulled in everything,” Levi said. “Anywhere where theres money theres politics.”
Levi gawked at the gallery through the window. Jon was still brooding.
“Is that it?”
“Thats it.”
“Looks like glass boxes with big sheets of tinfoil slung over it.”
“Its supposed to represent the borealis, the northern lights.”
“I knows what borealis is.”
Once inside the gallery the curator, Seamus Timmons, took them on a tour. There seemed to be no main ceiling, only rooms that were tucked into the folds of the “borealis.” On the second floor they entered a Jackson Pollock exhibit.
“Amazing,” Sinead said, staring up at a piece.
“You got that right,” Levi said. “Someone paid for that.”
Seamus smiled. “Abstract art is ironic in that it appears almost childlike, but in a way its the most complex.”
“Complex?” Levi said. “What was he trying to paint?”
“This kind of art is not about flawlessly reproducing something you can see. The old masters already took that about as far as it could go. So in the late nineteenth century, artists started to go against that. It bored them. They wanted to create something more pure, more connected to emotion, than imitation.” “Sort of like music,” Sinead said.
“Yes. Like music.”
“Ill take your word for it,” Levi said.
Three of them moved on, but Levi stood there, dwarfed by 8 by 13 foot painting hung on the wall. He stared up at it, the wiry splatters of black paint that twisted about the canvas, mixed with yellow and orange and the occasional squiggle of blue. It made him feel anxious.
“Maybe thats what my mind looks like lately,” he mumbled to himself.
Sinead came back to get him.
“You like this one.”
“No. Theres nothing to like. Making me dizzy just looking at it.”
“It doesnt make you feel good, but it grabs your attention. Thats a compliment, even if you dont mean to.”
“Can you pick any sense to it?”
“I dont think youre supposed to look at it that way.”
“I suppose he got rich off slinging paint did he?”
“He died in a car accident in the fifties I think. He was an alcoholic. I dont know if that had anything to do with it.”
“That painting or the car accident?”
Levi moved on to the next room, an exhibit by Francisco Goya called The Black Paintings.
“It is believed he had been deaf when he painted these,” Seamus said.
“Id say he was gone off hes head,” Levi said, but in truth he was transfixed. Faces of torment stared wide-eyed out of the paintings.
“The interesting thing about these in particular,” Seamus said, “is that Goya painted them for an audience of one. Himself.” There was one painting in particular that captured Levi’s attention. It was Yard With Lunatics. A sun was setting behind a prison wall, in front of which filth-ridden men wrestled naked, shouted at invisible tormentors, or sat staring out of the painting, into nothing.
Seamus stood next to him. “The eighteenth century was not a good time to have a mental illness, was it.”
“Not by the looks of this.”
“Although by the time this was painted, reforms in England had begun and mentally ill patients were starting to be treated more humanely. They called them lunatics at the time, hence the title, but it wasnt meant to be as derogatory as it is now.”
“Wheres the washroom?” Levi said.
Passing one of the many security guards Levi went to the washroom and splashed water on his face and took long, deep breaths. He focused intently on his every physical movement as a distraction. He was glad Anita had dealt with anxiety because he had accidentally learned a few things from how she had coped. If those rituals didn’t work she would reach for her Ativan. Levi reached for the old-fashioned anxiety medication, the flask in his pocket.
He felt better already as he stepped out into the hallway.
After a tour of the whole gallery they arrived at their exhibit, Canadian Wood. Chairs of every nature were placed on the floor and on pedestals. Some appeared almost Victorian while others were so abstract one would have to be a contortionist to sit on it. But it was the chairs carved out of a single piece of wood that caught Levi’s eye. He stood in front of one in particular, entranced. It was more of a couch than a chair in that it had three individual seats, as if suspended in air by the front view, hovering over the legs that flowed into a stand that resembled a whale’s tail. The chair did not contain a single seam or straight line. It involved no assembly, only a chisel and sandpaper. If wood could be softened and moulded like clay then that is what it would look like.
“You were lucky,” Seamus said. “The Premier called just as we were setting up our exhibit, and we happened to have room for it. She wouldnt stop talking about this wonderful piece she had found.”
“Is that how it really went?” Jon asked, speaking for the first time since he entered the gallery.
“I dont understand,” Seamus answered.
A middle-aged woman and her cameraman entered the exhibit. Levi had occasionally watched the news show, but did not recognize her until she introduced herself, Maureen Williams. In person she looked at least ten years older and six inches shorter. She gave the basic rundown of how the interview would proceed, along with the kinds of questions she would be asking.
“So this is the first time youve seen the chair?” Jon asked.
“Yes, its gorgeous.”
“Do you think it fits into this exhibit?”
“Lets wait for the camera,” Maureen said.
Sinead stood back as Seamus, Levi, Jon, and Maureen crowded in around the rocking chair. It was going to be a live remote and the reporter made sure everyone was ready. She told Jon she would start with him, and then looked at the camera. Her otherwise serious face immediately turned into a bright smile as she fidgeted with the mike in her ear.
“Good Day, Rory,” she suddenly said to the camera. “Im standing here at The Art Gallery of Alberta, or the AGA as it better known, with the curator, Seamus Timmons, and our collaborating artists, Jon Smith and Levi Conley. Today is the first day of National Arts Week, and our Honourable Premier, Janice MacNeil, has donated this fine work of art to the gallery. It is one of many chairs here at the Canadian Wood Exhibit. And also one of the most beautiful. Im sure you can explain this piece better than I can, Seamus.”
“Sure,” Seamus said. “As you can see it is an exquisitely hand crafted rocking chair made from stained white oak. I dont know how much your camera can see from that distance, but it is also intricately worked with these beautiful carvings from the runner to the crest rail.”
“Wow, isnt that something? How did you find out about Jon and Levis work?”
“As you said, it was donated by the Honourable Janice MacNiel, and coincidentally it fit in perfectly with our Canadian Wood Exhibit. Ive heard of Jons work before, but this is the first piece that I actually saw. I wasnt as familiar with Levi, but if Im not mistaken he was originally an artisan before he worked with Jon.”
“MacNiel is a fan of the arts scene?”
“Absolutely. This is not the first piece shes donated.”
“You must be proud to have it here.”
“Of course. Im proud of all the pieces in this exhibit.”
“So you put this chair together in Alberta?” she said, turning the mike to Levi.
“Yes my dear, but I brought it up
in a hockey bag, right?”
“Really? Oh thats awesome. What a great Canadian story.”
“The only thing was I had to leave half me clothes home.”
“Lets you hope you brought underwear!” Maureen said.
Sinead could be heard laughing off camera.
“How did you and Jon meet each other?”
“He and me daughter is together.”
“Oh really? Interesting.”
“Why?” Jon said, his voice muffled a little from being far away from the mike.
“Excuse me?” she said, turning the mike to him.
“Why is it interesting that I would be seeing his daughter?”
“No reason. I didnt mean it like that. Was it a mutual decision, or did you ask Levi if you could work on his chair only after you had seen it? Whose idea was it?
“I cant remember.”
“Ive seen some of your other work and most of it was much smaller in comparison. No less beautiful, but not to this scale. Is this the largest piece youve worked on?”
“Maybe.”
“Okay...keeping a tight lip on your process eh? I can understand. What about the meaning? Can you, or Levi, tell us what it represents? Its not hard to see that the message involves at least a certain reference to the residential schools. Or is that a church carved in the top?”
“Its no church.”
“So it is a residential school?”
“Can I ask a question?” Jon said.
“You seem upset. I didnt mean —”
“Its not a question for you, Maureen,” Jon said, taking the mike with his hand. “Its a question for the Premier. Why, Janice, would you, a politician who recently publically stated there is no definite connection between the cancer in Provider and Lake Pimitan, care anything about this work of art Levi and myself have created? Do you really get its message? Do you think Im going to let the truth of this rocking chair that we worked so hard on be caught up in your politics? The curator might have been pushed into accepting our chair into his exhibit, after all, he needs his funding, but us, the creators of this chair, will not be pawns in your agenda. And for everyone else out there, just because a white guy and a red guy happened to collaborate on a piece of art that references the residential schools, does not mean all is forgiven here in the Energy Province. So if you come down to visit this fine gallery and want to see this chair, and many other chairs here that are just as beautiful, please do so, but dont be fooled into thinking that Janice MacNeil has any intention of changing her governments ideology of capitalistic greed. In fact, if I thought this chair would in any way help Janice MacNeils next election campaign, I would burn it.”