by André Alexis
Ah, but there were enough nuances here to give you a headache! To begin with, Tancred knew very well that what he was doing was wrong. For ages he refused to show Daniel how to pick a pocket. Daniel pestered him until he acquiesced. But Tan gave in only on condition that if Daniel ever picked a pocket ‘for real’ he would have to repay Tan by working with him. Daniel was diligent and learned the art extremely well. He was eventually able to steal a wallet from Tan’s pocket but, as Tan must have known, he was too circumspect to steal anything for real. That is to say, Tancred was perfectly able to be considerate of those he knew. It was mystifying that he had so little consideration for those he did not know.
Another nuance: before he died, Baruch knew that Tan was a thief. He did not approve but neither did he ever say anything to Tan directly. At some point, Daniel asked his father about this silence. Baruch had never been the type to keep his feelings hidden.
– Tancred’s misguided, Baruch had said, but he’s honourable.
– So, you think he’s a good man?
– Not good, said Baruch, honourable.
That was all he would say about it. Which was annoying, because when Daniel decided to join the police force, his father was vocal, indeed. He would not condone Daniel’s decision, arguing against it as passionately as he could. Baruch – Winnipeg anarchist from Winnipeg socialist parents – refused to accept that the police worked for any but the wealthy. Nor did he believe that his son, much as he loved him, could affect the good while working for one of the thorniest branches of an oppressive system of government: the police department.
– Whose interests will you be serving, Danny? Think about that while you’re bullying the homeless or breaking up a strike.
– At least I’m not going to be a thief, Daniel had said bitterly.
– I’d prefer it if you were, his father had answered.
It had been a slap to the face. It was a testament to Daniel’s love that he forgave his father. He understood Baruch’s feelings. It took him a little longer to forgive Tancred because – and no getting around it – Tancred was one of those from whom he’d sworn to protect his fellow citizens. Forgive him he did, though, because he knew the good in Tancred and, in the end, accepted that it was his duty to protect that as well.
3 In Retrospect: A Theft and a Concussion
The task Willow had set him was going to take resolve to see through. Tancred had suspected as much the moment she asked him to steal from her siblings. He knew it for certain, however, after the debacle of Fallingwater.
He stole the model of Fallingwater with Ollie’s help. He and Ollie worked well together, in part because they were close, in part because although Ollie was not a thief, he was good at it: conscientious, knowledgeable, nerveless as if born without them.
It had been difficult to persuade him to help. Not for moral reasons – Ollie had no problem with theft – but for practical ones. The bakery where he sometimes worked – and where they paid him next to nothing – needed him to cover for one of the owners who’d gone to the Ukraine to visit family. As Ollie had agreed to it, nothing could persuade him to change his mind. So, Tancred had had to wait for him.
That aside, the task appealed to Ollie.
– You mean we’re stealing things so you can give them back? he asked. That’s wonderful.
– Yes, said Tancred, we’ll be stealing some things and giving them back. But we’ll be stealing other things, too, so no one knows exactly what we’re after.
– You had me at ‘give them back,’ said Ollie. This is how all thieves should work.
– At least for the first one, we’re trying to make it look like it could have been stolen at random. If the others know we’re after their mementos, they’ll hide them or make them harder to get at. And I’ve got to do this. I gave my word.
– Then it’s got to be done, said Ollie. What do you want me to do? Willow’s siblings all lived in wealthy neighbourhoods. They’d have alarm systems or dogs or whatever peacocks the wealthy used these days. He and Ollie would have to reconnoitre. Also, it being important that the Azarians not know what he and Ollie were after, it would be good to agree on what else to take before entering the homes to steal.
– Nothing of value, said Ollie.
– It’s not so simple, said Tancred. If we take worthless things, it’ll be suspicious. So, things with some value.
– What, like a toaster?
– Depends on the toaster, said Tancred.
On top of that, they had to decide which place to hit first. To do this, they tried to worm their way into each of the four homes. They were successful in two of them. Ollie got into the house of Gretchen Azarian-Grau by pretending to be a member of a local group committed to the restoration of churches in the Annex. Tancred got into the home of her sister – Simone Azarian-Thomson – in similar fashion. He asked Simone to sign a petition. This she would not do. Instead, she tried to contribute a single hundred-dollar bill. Tancred would not take it because (as he said) he’d come with no receipts. He promised to return for it.
Neither of them could gain admittance to the homes of Willow’s brothers. One, Michael, lived in the Hidden Castle. Too much trouble. The other, Alton, lived in Moore Park, not far from Simone. But his manservant would not hear of allowing Tancred in while ‘Mr. Alton’ was not home.
– And Mr. Alton is never home for vagrants or parasites, I’m afraid.
As Gretchen’s house was convenient – her alarm system providing little difficulty – they agreed to steal the model of Fallingwater before they took Simone’s painting. That is, Ollie would handle the model while Tancred stole a few other things.
There ought not to have been any difficulty. For hours during the days beforehand, Tancred and Ollie sat in a car with tinted windows, noting the comings and goings of the women who lived there: Gretchen and her daughter, Adele. The house seemed never to be empty. There was always someone within. But the women held to a schedule that was obvious. At ten o’clock, night after night, the downstairs lights would go off and the lights on the top floors would come on. After ten o’clock, there was variation. On some nights, all the lights in the house were off by eleven. On others, the lights on the upper floors would stay on until midnight or one in the morning.
There were other unknowns. For instance, there was no way of telling if, after ten, any of the women descended in darkness to get water or food from the kitchen. Then, too, the house was not far from Avenue Road, a street that was busy until late. Lowther, the Azarian-Graus’ street, often had pedestrians walking west from Avenue at all hours: drunken students, conversing couples, people who had parked their cars nearby. So, even if they avoided Gretchen and her daughter, Tancred and Olivier might still run into nosy citizens or drunken frat boys looking for trouble.
On the other hand, there were things very much in their favour. Ollie had drawn a plan of the house’s first floor from memory. So, they knew, more or less, which rooms were where. And then – praise be to whomever – the model of Fallingwater was out in the open: on a mantelpiece beside a photograph. Finally, the alarm system was in the same room as Fallingwater – the living room – and could be disarmed in seconds. So, on balance, they could count themselves fortunate.
Their chosen night – a Tuesday at three in the morning – came and, early on, things went smoothly. Getting into the house unobserved was no problem. The front door’s two locks – a deadbolt and a standard key lock – were dealt with in moments. Before you could say word one, Ollie was in, the alarm was disarmed and they stood in front of the thing they were looking for, their eyes adjusting to the dark.
Minutes. It would take them minutes, Tancred thought. But then there came a dull sound, halfway between a church bell in the distance and a nearby clang. At virtually the same moment, Ollie, who was not three feet away from him, collapsed with a floor-shivering thud. He was unconscious, his body a limp encumbrance.
As always in moments of distress, a calm came over Tancred. Having
made certain his friend was alive, he left him on the living room floor and, rising, tried to figure out what had happened. Something had hit Ollie hard, but what? It was a while before he discovered the thing: an urn of some sort – elegant and squat, ten inches in diameter at its widest, cast iron with a pebbled metal surface, and surprisingly heavy. It had been dislodged from somewhere above – a shelf or niche, most likely – and struck Ollie on the head and then, rather than falling to the floor, it had bounced onto a sofa, scattering ashes, its small, round cover falling soundlessly onto the carpet.
Two thoughts occurred to Tancred at once. First: that it was unfortunate he hadn’t been the one knocked out. Ollie had seen the house in daylight. He had not. He was in the dark in a place he did not know. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but you wouldn’t have called the meagre light that came in from the street illuminating, exactly. Second: he wondered if Ollie was badly hurt. He was not dead, but he was not moving. Cradling his friend’s head, Tancred gently slapped his face before leaving him behind the sofa and moving toward what he thought was the kitchen, looking for water.
He made it to what was indeed the kitchen, carefully pushing a swinging door, gratified to see silvery taps and a spigot glimmering in light that came through the pale curtains of a window above the sink. His gratification did not last long. He had opened a cupboard in search of a cup when a light went on outside the kitchen – it came beneath the swinging door and lit part of the kitchen. The light was followed by the sound of someone descending stairs. Tancred had moments to decide where to hide or how to hide or if he should hide at all.
There were two other doors in the kitchen. One was narrow and led to what Tancred assumed was a closet of some sort. The other led – again, he assumed – to the basement. This second door had a deadbolt on it: brass or some alloy that was yellow-ochre, an oval knob and a button beside the knob to keep the bolt either locked or unlocked. Tancred opened the door quietly, pushing the button up, and went out of the kitchen, holding the door closed as he listened with his ear against its cold wood.
It occurred to him, as he stood on a step down to the basement, that should Ollie come to, he might not know where he was. He would be confused and stand up and show himself. The longer whoever it was stayed downstairs, the more likely it was that Ollie would reveal himself – that is, if he wasn’t already visible. The thought that Ollie had been seen was not alarming per se, but if it were true it would mean intervening. He would have to walk through the kitchen, help Ollie up and walk out of the house with him. Perhaps he should do that now, regardless? He listened for voices but heard none.
He decided to wait.
It was the right decision. Whoever it was in the kitchen – he assumed, for no good reason, that it was the daughter – shuffled about, drew water from the tap, shuffled about some more, then turned off the lights and left, the swinging door’s rhythmic crepitations quickly fading until there was again only silence. The interruption must have lasted two minutes at most. Nor was there any commotion or noise – no voices raised – to suggest Ollie had been discovered.
Tancred pushed the door to the basement open, went into the kitchen, got a cup of water for Ollie, took up the antique-looking toaster on the counter beside the sink and went out to look after his friend.
It was testament to the steeliness of Ollie’s nerves that though he was conscious he kept still until he was certain it was Tancred leaning over him. Then he sat up slowly, took the cup of water and drank it.
– Can you stand? Tancred whispered.
Rather than answer, Ollie rose, first getting onto all fours, then to his knees and then onto his feet. He was not steady. Tancred helped him to sit down on the sofa. In the backpack he’d brought, Tancred put two computers he found in the living room. Along with the toaster and the model of Fallingwater, that made four moderately expensive things. Not much camouflage for their intentions, but it would have to do. He was not sure how far Ollie would get on his own, let alone what he might be able to carry.
When time enough had passed for Ollie to orient himself, Tancred helped him up from the sofa. He took the model of Fallingwater himself. He put the toaster beneath Olivier’s arm, as if it were a football. They left by the front door, unmindful of the noise they made, though Tancred closed the door quietly behind them.
As if the click of the closing door were a release, Olivier stumbled down the front steps, fell to his knees and vomited on the dark patch of lawn. He had to be taken to the nearest emergency ward. Encumbered though he was, Tancred helped Olivier to his feet, holding Fallingwater beneath one arm, pulling his friend – whose face rested on the lawn as if it were a pillow – up with his free hand. He did not forget the toaster. He left it where it had fallen.
– Someday, he thought, this will all be funny.
It was not funny. They stumbled like drunks, conspicuous until they got to the car Tancred had stolen. Mount Sinai was the closest hospital. In any case, it was the first one that came to mind.
Was this the end of their misfortune?
No, it was not.
Tancred decided to keep the model of Fallingwater with him when they went to Emergency. Ollie had brought an oversized and awkward travel bag that they’d left in the car, a bag like an old lady’s accessory or something for Felix the Cat – houndstooth fabric, black-leather handles, two feet by two feet by two feet when wide open. Tancred put Fallingwater in it and kept it by his side. This was fortunate. Eight hours later, Ollie looking deranged with his head bandaged, they came out to find that ‘their’ car had been towed or stolen. So, there were the laptops gone. In fact, the only things they had to show for their work was a concussion (Ollie) and a model of some supposed architectural marvel, Fallingwater (Tancred).
Despite his concussion, Ollie seemed pleased with how things had gone.
– I can go to work tomorrow, he said.
Which is not what the doctor had suggested. The doctor had, in fact, cautioned him about going to work, warned him about headaches, nausea and the damage that could come from further trauma. Ollie was meant to take care of himself.
– Work should be the least of your worries, said Tancred.
– Tan, said Ollie, all my worries are the same.
Yes, true: in Ollie’s mind, crossing the street carried the same weight as playing Russian roulette or waiting for a soufflé to rise. Was this a good thing or a bad one? At that moment, Tancred could not have said.
It was a few days later that Tancred and Daniel were drinking at An Béal Bocht, the Irish bar off East Liberty. They’d walked together through Liberty Village, only moments after Daniel had run into Colby and Freud. (Not that Daniel had alluded to the encounter.)
The neighbourhood, which had once been factory-filled and ominous at night, was now like a bad dream of condos and young people with dogs. It was unpleasant in a new way, having been turned into a kind of warren: no place for parking, no open spaces, no view of the lake, no capacity to accommodate the numbers rushing in to buy shoddy condominiums.
They had left the bar when Tancred, looking out at Liberty Village, said
– This is what you get when you have dishonourable people in office.
– No, said Daniel, this is what you get when you live in a capitalist society. These condominiums are badly built. They’ll be rundown and undesirable in no time. The alpha professionals who’ve moved in will move out after making a profit, then the beta professionals will move in and lose money when they sell, and that’ll mean the gamma crowd comes in and all the things that aren’t a problem now – like no open spaces and no wide roads in – will make it harder and harder to police. In twenty years, it’ll be like Jane and Finch and someone who wants money will vote to improve Liberty Village and the whole process will start again.
– How is that not the fault of dishonourable people? asked Tancred. Isn’t this all about business over honour?
– You mean, said Daniel, if the city hadn’t elected a hoodlum, things wou
ld be different? But, Tan, this neighbourhood was betrayed by previous administrations. And none of them were run by hoods. Okay, Rob Ford’s an idiot, but he didn’t plan this or make this and he’s not going to be in office to see people afraid to walk here after dark.
– I didn’t mention the mayor, said Tancred. He’s not the only dishonourable one in the world, but the city’s already starting to feel like his and it’s only been a year.
– Meh, said Daniel. It’ll pass.
– Well, I’m glad the city has at least one caring policeman, Tancred said.
– I’m supposed to be protecting you from people like you, said Daniel. Look, there’s the bus. You sure you don’t want to come with me? I don’t know what we’re having for supper, but I’ve got the dessert: pains aux raisins.
– No, no thanks, Dan. I’m dead tired. I’d be bad company.
– You’re never bad company, said Daniel. Fiona likes it when you steal her watch. She thinks it’s magic. It’s not the same when I do it. By the way, how’s Ollie doing? I haven’t seen him in months.
– He’s doing okay. He’s got a concussion but he’s still going to work.
– Because he told those people paying him minimum wage that he would, right?
– There you go, said Tancred. Ollie’s Ollie from the moment he wakes up to the moment he falls asleep.
– I’ve been thinking about him a lot these days, said Daniel. Maybe because Fiona’s pregnant. I mean, I love Ollie, but I can’t imagine him as a dad, because I can’t imagine him making the choices you have to make. You know what I mean? He’s never even voted! He doesn’t choose democracy or civilization, left or right, good or evil.
– I think, said Tancred, he’d be a great father, if he chose to be.