Myother tells her our names and that we visit every Saturday. The woman says her name is Sarah and her father is Walter. I don’t know which of the two belongs here.
I draw myself loose and Myother drops the leash. I walk to Walter’s side and slide my nose under his hand. I can hear him sing, but Sarah and Myother cannot.
When the red, red robin comes bob, bob, bobbin’ along, along
There’ll be no more sobbin’ when he comes throbbin’ his old sweet song.
He turns his eyes down to me and he is happy.
“Look at that beautiful smile,” Sarah cries, her voice wet.
Walter touches his face to my head. I smell the jelly strands inside his head, softer than the soft mass they grow in. All people in the east wing have them, some more than others. He is the one who belongs here. He does not feel pain. Sarah holds a belly full of pain.
“How he loved his dogs.” Sarah’s voice shakes in a pitch that slides my ears back. I roll my eyes to Myother.
Walter rests his head on my back. “Good old Captain, good boy,” he says. “Where have you been?” Then he shouts, “How I have missed my Captain!”
Sarah rushes to his side, crying, “Daddy,” her voice jabbing sorrow. She bows her body over Walter.
“Get away from me! I don’t know you,” he snarls. His arms fly and catch her under the chin.
Sarah stumbles backward and Myother is quick beside her. “Should I call for a nurse?”
“No, no, leave him to have some comfort in Phoebe. He refuses any from me.” Sarah hangs her head, touches her pink chin.
“May I talk to you, Mary?”
Myother says she is not qualified and there are others here who —
Sarah stops her. “I don’t want comfort, I want to testify.”
Walter runs his palm along my back. “Where’s Belle, where is your mum?” He strokes my back and looks about the room. “This isn’t my house. I want to go home.”
“I want to take him home. I want to take care of him, but he doesn’t even know me anymore.” Sarah’s voice grows soft as they enter the hall. I can still hear her. “Daddy was a furniture maker, finest in the province. I’ve taken good care of him for years. I could still take care of him, but my brother …”
I hear Myother take a tissue from her pocket. Sarah blows into the tissue. Walter tightens the muscles that will make him stand. “Let’s go home, boy.”
The jelly strands shift in his head and he falls sideways in the chair. I put one paw on his knee. He shuffles his feet square beneath him and sighs. He holds his hands open, palms up, and looks at them as if reading a book.
“He and Daddy never got along.” Sarah’s voice in the hall. “Shawn moved to Halifax right out of high school. Hadn’t seen him in years when he showed up at the house one day. I let him in and Daddy said to call the police, that a strange man had broken in to rob him.”
Walter rubs his palms together and I smell sawdust. I lick the crescent scar on the back of his hand.
“Remember that …” the jelly strands hold the words back from his lips. He cups my ear and speaks with the memory he exhales in each breath. Sideboard for Doctor MacKay, walnut — wood with character … Upper left panel carved stag, upper right carved fox …
“The next week there was a notice in the mail of a competency hearing for Daddy at City Hall. Shawn was there with a lawyer, a doctor, and a priest. Daddy didn’t speak a word while Shawn spilled out all our secrets.”
Lower left a hare and lower right … Walter pauses as his bladder empties into the cloth beneath his trousers. He smiles and touches the scar. That pheasant head got me … My best work, didn’t the Doc say …
“The lawyer asked Daddy if he was the father of this man, Shawn. Daddy answered, ‘You say I am.’ He asked Daddy if he was the father of this woman, Sarah. Daddy just stared at the table. Shawn whispered to me, ‘Start packing, sister, that grand house is all mine.’”
Walter coughs twice, forcing the words to his lips, “By Jesus, Walt, you are a true artist.”
I snort, the softest sound of appreciation I can make. Walter nods his head in thanks. We sit quiet while Sarah’s voice whines from the hallway and Myother’s murmurs.
“I don’t believe Daddy could have heard what Shawn said. Maybe it was the illness talking. Daddy stood and shouted, ‘I can tear that house down with my hands in three days!’ Shawn laughed and Daddy slapped him hard.”
I hear their feet moving. I don’t want Sarah to come inside the room. Walter will draw in her sadness and guilt like the green plants gathered Pansy’s fog.
Hunting dogs live down the road from Myother and me. Their shed is clean, warm, and their beds are soft. They are well fed. One dog is old and can no longer hunt. He has lost sights and sounds but not his sense of presence. If another dog approaches his food with aggression, the old dog will growl and snap. If a child approaches with fear, the old dog backs away. His owner brings only honour and affection. The old dog feels that honour and affection with every stroke of his master’s hand, as I feel them when Walter strokes my back.
I move to the doorway and stop before Sarah. She moves to the side and I move to block her. Her hands are too heavy with guilt and sorrow to touch her father. She moves again and so do I. I do not growl or raise my hackles. She has been cowered for weeks. Myother picks up my leash and places it in Sarah’s hand. I wag my tail and pull the corners of my mouth tight.
“Go to your father as Phoebe does,” Myother says. She takes a sweet from her pocket and gives it to Sarah.
We walk together to Walter. Sarah kneels before him and holds out the sweet in her open hand. Walter looks at her face, looks at me, and looks at the sweet. He reaches out and touches the sweet before closing his hand around his daughter’s.
JUDGED AND CROWNED WITH THORNS
APRIL
We move as one, Myother and me, twelve steps from car to door, cross the threshold with four steps more, right to the west wing, left to the east. Today we turn left.
Coral sits in a chair outside Julia’s room. Myother slows her step for a moment. Even from this far away I smell the salon room in Coral’s hair. Coral can turn up anywhere.
“Bring Phoebe over for my hands,” she says.
Coral’s hands are always hot. She says Nurse Donna is in Julia’s room and that is why the door is closed. Myother sits in the chair beside Coral.
Coral places her hands on both sides of my ribs. Her hands are like the kelp I eat off rocks on the shore. Her fingers twist and turn and have tiny balls of liquid at the joints. Her feet are the same. She wears socks and slippers. She wears a dozen rings on a chain around her neck.
“Do you know she has lumps on her chest, Mary?” Myother nods and Coral keeps talking. “But you still feel like a silk purse. Like the ones I sold in my shop.”
Myother says she did not know Coral had a shop and was it in Safe Harbour? Coral says yes, “Ladies First” was the name, everything to dress a lady.
“Oh, Mary, I wish you could have seen Safe Harbour in the ’50s. On Saturday nights everyone came into town. People would come on boats, on buses, whole families shopping. Hundreds of people dined at our restaurants, went to the movie theatre, and talked on the sidewalks. It was grand.”
Coral clicks her tongue. “Ladies dressed sharply when they came to town, not like girls these days with bare bellies exposed.”
Julia moans, “No, no, no,” loud enough to hear through the closed door. Coral stops moving her hands. Her blood runs stronger and her fingers grow hotter. She says Nurse has restrained Julia in a wheelchair and is searching her room.
“Julia stole my ruby wristwatch, the one my late husband gave me for our fiftieth wedding anniversary. I saw her leaving my room last Monday. Didn’t think much of it until I discovered my watch was missing.”
She is not telling the truth.
She removes one hand and places it in her jacket pocket. I hear her nails click on metal. Coral often lies to draw attention. She is not mean; she can be generous with goodwill and good intentions.
Coral says she went to school with Julia. “Dressed like a rag doll, family lived up on Carter’s Hill, dirt poor, pack of children, head lice on every child. Once she grew, boys were crazy for Julia, she was some pretty.” Coral puts one crooked finger in her hair and scratches.
“Julia wouldn’t have a bit of it. She was prickly and quiet. None of the girls cared much for her. Julia left school in grade eight and Angus MacFee took up courting her. Married him when she was sixteen, and I’ll tell you, Mary, you have never seen such a transformation. She floated on air down the street with a smile for everyone. She positively glowed with happiness. If she hadn’t had the boy, she would have died of grief when Angus drowned.”
Nurse opens the door and says we can come inside. Julia screeches, “No, no, no!” like she did the first time she saw me. Myother pulled me back then, thinking Julia was afraid. She was not afraid. She was excited. She wanted to pet me, and I raced to her, tugging Myother behind.
Myother now walks me to Julia’s wheelchair. Julia’s “No, no, no” grows soft. She tries to stand but a belt and straps hold her in the chair. I place my front paws on the footrest and stretch until I reach her face. I nuzzle her neck beneath her chin.
“Donna, you can take those off.” Coral has stuck her head through the open door. “I found the watch this morning.” Coral’s hand trembles as she takes the watch from her pocket. The watch bobs from two crooked fingers. “I feel a fool. I am sorry, Julia.”
Nurse leans against the bureau. She runs her hand over her forehead. She tells Coral to put the watch back in her pocket.
“Four people came to me and reported that Julia had stolen items from their rooms. I suppose you told everyone about your watch? Until the stolen items turn up, Julia will be restrained.” Nurse walks to the sink and washes her hands. “I don’t believe Julia has taken anything. She does not deserve these accusations. I’ve searched the entire room.”
Coral walks near, I hear bones pop in her feet. She holds the dangling watch before Julia’s face. “I want you to have this, Julia,” she says.
Julia raises her fearful eyes and screeches, “No, no, no!”
I keep my nose tucked under Julia’s chin, nuzzling her neck until she closes her eyes.
Red, red, red, Julia thinks in my ear. The watch sparks red until Coral puts it in her pocket and walks away. Nurse says to Myother, “Stay a bit longer with Julia, will you please?” Myother nods and Nurse leaves the room.
Julia’s head is full of jelly strands. Myother sits on the edge of the bed and is quiet.
Red on my head, Julia thinks. I touch my nose to the place on her neck where her heart beats and hold it there. I see red hands, cracked from work and weather, hands that hold a jug.
No, no, no, Julia thinks as hands tip the jug on Julia’s small head. The liquid smells sharp like the gas station. Julia squeezes her eyes tight. I feel bugs running for the safe liquid of her eyes.
‘Red,’ the girls say. ‘Red is the only dress you have.’ The woman with red hands holds a needle and thread. Julia watches the red hands place a square of cloth on a red dress. She watches the needle and thread go in and out. Julia feels the dress fall over her head and she twirls with joy. Julia’s body twitches against the straps. I lick her neck, a laugh in her throat.
Red, red, red is the colour of my true love’s hair. His lips are something wondrous fair.
I place my nose on her heart. A man lives there. Julia thinks of kissing his lips.
Kisses he gave me, and red roses when we married.
Julia’s body softens and the muscles in her neck relax. Blood pulses stronger to where her memories are tangled in jelly strands. The man in her heart comes through a door and she turns from the stove. He fills the doorframe. Smiling, he removes his hat and a yellow slick jacket. She runs to him and he encloses her and Julia’s body smiles. He runs his hand over her belly.
Arms full of red new baby smell of the sea. The sea … No, no, no … Not my Angus! Julia’s eyes fly open and her fingers spread wide.
I lift my chin and croon. I lick Julia’s upturned hand and all her fingers. I taste old molasses and yeast, sweet and sour.
Julia wiggles her fingers, watches them move.
Red hands, beet cane, no air, red face, red faces that don’t speak. My red-haired boy waits at home, a laurel of daisies. He loves me with Angus’s eyes.
Her eyes close and her chin drops to her chest. Myother whispers for me to come down now. I put my paws on the floor and touch Julia’s wrist where blue pulses.
He’ll come again tonight. He will come and crown me with kisses.
BEARS THE CROSS
MAY
We move as one, Myother and me, twelve steps from car to door, cross the threshold with four steps more, right to the west wing, left to the east. Today we turn right. Something is different in the hallway. On each door is a small white flag with a red leaf.
Outside Father’s door I hear him whispering to Myother. Hail Mary, full of grace. He has lived here longest. He is the oldest person here.
We walk into the room where it is quiet. There is no radio or television. The drapes are closed and a tall candle burns inside a glass. Father is seated in a wheelchair, lips moving, fingers moving over beads in his hand.
I walk to him and touch the hand not holding beads. His head is covered in white hair. His ears hang like two slippers on his head and they are full of hair, rabbits in a burrow. He cannot hear well. He doesn’t wear plastic in his ears. He turns his head and he smiles. When he speaks, he sneaks up on words. “Hello, joyful mysteries,” he says to me.
“Yes, it’s Saturday again, Father MacLeod. How has your week been?” Myother says loud.
I sit and wait for my treat. Father MacLeod keeps treats for me in a bag in the bureau drawer. The treats are bone shaped and taste of meat.
“Very good.” He reaches for the drawer, gets a treat, and places it flat on his open hand. I take the treat with my mouth, soft. His hands have no flavour, waxy as the leaves of beach roses.
Myother sits in a chair opposite Father. She is not as easy in this room as I am. She has to do all the talking. Father has talked and listened enough in his lifetime; he is tired. He glories in blissful quiet.
As Myother talks, Father’s fingers creep along the beads, his lips moving with words Myother cannot hear.
“The weather has been fine out at the Head,” she says. Father nods and I rest my chin on his upper leg. I never touch his knees. They are like urchin shells dried on the rocky shore, ridged and brittle.
I like to rest on Rose’s stump because she holds no secrets and is full of happiness. I rest my head on Father’s leg and hear a multitude of secrets as he struggles for peace. He holds so many secrets that any spoken word may hook one and bring it thrashing to the surface.
“I saw a doe with two fawns yesterday, Father. They walked right across the lawn,” Myother says. “There was a buck as well, but he stayed hidden in the currant bushes. I knew he was there because his spikes were showing.”
Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost. Father’s lips move as his fingers glide to another bead. No glory for Timmy’s father.
I see a boy weeping before Father MacLeod. My father hurts me — he burns me with cigarettes. He kicks me when he’s been drinking. He says he’ll kill me if I tell anyone. Will you ask God to stop him, Father?
Father places his free hand on my head. Myother asks if he is eating well. Father nods and Myother purses her lips. She asks what he ate for breakfast. Father pauses in his thoughts. His jaw moves up and down, warming up to the words.
“Eggs and bread,” he says.
Myother asks if he has
eaten porridge bread. “It’s my favourite. I bake it every Sunday,” she says.
Give us this day our daily bread … Evelyn Parker, faithful Catholic woman, seven children, all baptized. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I stole two loaves of bread from Becker’s store. My children were so hungry.
“And Father, last Sunday I was out of molasses. I borrowed a cup from my neighbour, Karen MacGary. She speaks of you fondly and sends her regards. As I was walking to her house, I could hear my mother’s voice saying, neither a lender nor a borrower be. I could have driven to town but …”
Father is not listening. Forgive us our debts …
I’ve lost everything, Father, in those video slot machines. I won so many times I could have bought Karen nice things. And when I started losing, I just had to get that money back, I was sure I could win it back. All our savings are gone. I’m in debt to my ears. Karen will never forgive me.
Father is thinking that Karen would have forgiven him. He is remembering that Luke MacGary ran away and never returned. The corners of Father’s mouth pull down. I wish I could have stopped him, could have saved him.
An aide walks into the room holding a basket. The basket is covered with yellow that crackles and I can see through it. I can smell through it and the scent is wonderful. She tilts a piece of paper attached to the basket. “Happy Victoria Day from Saint Simon Parish.”
The beads slip from Father’s hand as the aide sets the basket on his lap. I step away. Father’s fingers pick and pull at the crackling yellow. Myother squeezes her hands into fists so she won’t reach out to help. Father pulls hard and the yellow falls away, releasing scents that make my mouth water.
I move closer, sniffing, twitching my nose side to side to catch the sugar-drenched scents. Father picks up a brown square and bites it in half, rolls it around inside his mouth. My ears perk and Father leans forward with the other half.
Myother catches his hand. “I’m sorry Father, Phoebe can’t eat chocolate. I know it’s a temptation, but it’s bad for her.”
Phoebe's Way Page 2