The Kissing Fence

by B. A. Thomas-Peter

  “Look,” he said, lifting the cup toward the nurse.

  The nurse looked into the cup and then at William. “How are you feeling right now?”

  “I have a bad headache.”

  “Where’s the headache?”

  “Forehead … and the back’s throbbing.” He reached behind his head and rubbed his neck.

  The nurse asked, “Are you stiff?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, I’m sure everything is fine, but let me get the surgeon to see you.”

  William said, “Can you just pass me my phone? I have to let my daughter know I’m okay.”

  * * *

  “William. William. Wake up please.” The nurse was gentle and insistent.

  Inside, William struggled for words, and a grunting noise emerged.

  “There you are. Good. How are you feeling?” William groaned and blinked. “Can you hear me?” He nodded. The nurse’s hand lay on his shoulder and she tilted her head to look directly into his face before speaking again. “You had the little repair we talked about and we borrowed some fat from your tummy to make a plug, so you’ve had a stitch there. It can come out in a few days. The operation went well.” She smiled. “We’re going to keep an eye on you for a few days, but we might get you home before Christmas.”

  Christmas, thought William. There’s something I’m supposed to do before Christmas. It was something to do with visiting.

  * * *

  William’s head throbbed, his eyes barely open, and his bloody ears hissed as if cruising in a jet. The pieces of the plan with Uri began assembling through random thoughts. By now the special dispatch of bicycles would be over. Dennis would have done his work too. William just had to get to the office and turn the security cameras on. Why was it important to turn the cameras on? What part of the plan was it? It came to him: without CCTV he was not insured. Christmas was a dangerous time to go without insurance. The thieving bastards from the valley came into town to have their way when everyone was celebrating. He would not get into work now until Boxing Day or maybe the twenty-seventh. His mind stumbled forward and a fix came to him.

  Cathy—he could text her and ask her to drop in to the office. She could do it.

  Christmas Eve 2017

  Cathy wandered, killing time, in the stores, weighed down and hot with people picking at all they encountered. She thought it was crazy to shop on the day before Christmas but it was a welcome distraction. The text from the boss had given her reason to spend the day away from Christmas in her apartment. Finally, her meandering put her at the corner of the street where the office waited for her and she turned, walking quickly to complete the chore. A man watched her from a car parked across the street and twenty metres past the entrance. He tapped his phone and put it to his ear.

  Cathy opened the front door and went to the alarm panel. It was already switched off. Odd, she thought, and cursed Dennis, who had promised to turn it on before leaving after their last encounter. There was sudden anticipation of Dennis being there. Maybe William had asked him to come to work and he would be waiting. She picked her feet up on the stairs and burst into the office.

  One man sat at her desk; another knelt at the cabinet holding the CCTV equipment. Neither took an interest in her arrival. The door to William’s office was open and a small man with dark hair walked out.

  “You are Cathy?” he said, smiling. “We have not met.” She was unable to speak and stared at him. “Don’t be alarmed. We are friends of William. It will be okay.”

  Speech returned to her. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  “Please,” said the little man, “sit down. You may help us before we go. It won’t take long.” He took her arm and led her to the office chair. The large man moved off to accommodate her.

  She sat, trembling, waiting. The man at the recording cabinet was pushing all of the security tapes into a bag.

  “Why are you here today?” asked the little man.

  “William asked me to come and switch on the security tapes.”

  “How is William? I am concerned that he gets well. Have you spoken to him?”

  “No. He sent me a text yesterday asking me to come and switch the tapes on.”

  “May I see it?” Uri waited for Cathy to search her bag and hand him her phone. He read the text and handed the phone to the large silent man now perched on the end of the desk. “Thank you, Cathy. It is just as you say. Why would he ask you to do this?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps he forgot to turn them on. He has a lot on his mind right now.”

  “What do you mean? Has he too much stress? It is never good for business.”

  “Well,” began Cathy, “he’s been in hospital for some surgery, but there has been a complication and he needed a second operation quite quickly. He hasn’t come out yet. I really don’t know how he is.” Fear washed over her and tears were not far away.

  “Oh, I am sorry to hear that. I expect you are fond of him. These things are upsetting. You mustn’t worry.” He laid a gentle hand on her forearm and smiled. She watched him, appealing in hope through red eyes that it would be all right, that she would be fine.

  “Cathy, tell me, when did you last come to work?”

  “About three days ago.”

  “Was that the twenty-first?”

  “Yes, I think so. I’m not sure.”

  “But was the office not closed on that day? Why were you in?”

  “I sometimes come in when I’m asked to if there’s a big order or something important going on, like today. William asked me if I would.”

  “It is important that you tell me, Cathy. Who asked you to come to work three days ago?”

  She hesitated, flustered and reddening. The name jumped from her. “Dennis.” Cathy doubted she had done the right thing in saying his name.

  “Ah, Dennis. The warehouseman, yes?”

  “Yes. Please don’t tell William.” Her eyes appealed to him. It was what she always did. “I’ll lose my job. Please don’t tell him. Please.”

  Uri spoke to the room. “Dennis is special to you. I understand this. It happens.”

  “He’s married,” she said, as if a further confession would convince him she was being co-operative and oblige the little man in a confidence between them.

  “So are you, Cathy.” He fixed her wedding ring in his gaze and smiled. “So are you.”

  It was hopeless. Cathy was naked before them. Nothing that happened now was in her control. The little man knew things about her, could take away her job and her lover. What pleasure would she have in her life without—her thoughts faltered—something for her?

  “Don’t worry, Cathy. This can be between us.” He smiled again. Her loyalty grew with the hope he offered. “We can help each other. A partnership. You must tell me things, and William will not know. Your family will not know. Dennis will be our secret.”

  Cathy nodded, grateful. The relief spread over her like cool air from a window.

  “You must say it, Cathy. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I understand.”

  “Good. But Cathy …” Uri leaned over her shoulder and put his face close to hers. His breath smelled of something, vegetables. “Everything about our partnership is secret. Like it did not exist. Do you agree with this?”

  “Yes.” She nodded again.

  “You must answer the phone when I call you, and do just what I ask you to do. Do you understand, Cathy?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “This is good, Cathy.” Uri stood behind her and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Thank you. If your phone rings and you don’t know who is calling, it could be me, and you must answer it. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Good.” He patted her shoulder gently. “We are in partnership now. So,” he continued, “what’s my name?”
/>   She craned her neck to see him and tried to think of a name. “I don’t know your name.”

  Uri’s hand slipped from her shoulder and gripped her right breast, bundling and twisting clothes and flesh together as if turning a door handle. The pain lifted her upright in the chair and against him, still standing behind her.

  “Cathy, you have not understood our partnership. How can you know the name of someone who does not exist?” He smiled. “Let’s try again. How many men are in the room?”

  “Well,” Cathy started, the pain rising in her, “three.”

  “You have forgotten our partnership, Cathy.” The smile had gone. “Less than a minute, and the partnership is gone. What am I to think?” He squeezed harder, until she threw her head back and yelped, before releasing some pressure. “Now, Cathy, another time. How many men are in the room?”

  Through layers of pain and confusion her voice emerged in a low growl. “No one. There’s no one in the room.”

  “Good, Cathy.” He allowed the breast to unwind but held his grip tight. “That’s what is true, because I want it to be true. You understand?” She nodded. “Now, what do I want to be true when I ask, ‘What do I look like?’ What will you say, Cathy?”

  Cathy tried to gather herself and concentrate, knowing what would happen should she get it wrong. “I haven’t seen you.” He squeezed. Her voice became louder. “You were never here.” The twist began and she was lifted from the desk. Her voice rose in crescendo. “No one was here.” The pain left her and her voice returned to near normal. “I was here. Only me.”

  “Very good, Cathy. I think we do have a partnership. Thank you.” He released the breast and pulled away from the desk. “I’m sorry about this,” he said, gesturing at her breast now held tight by her hand. “So hard to be sure if we understand each other without it.” He smiled again. “Would you like one of the men, who were never here, to bring you some video tapes to put in your machine?”

  Cathy nursed her breast in her hands and watched him take her phone from the quiet man and place it on the desk in front of her. She had begun to understand how far down the rabbit hole she had fallen. All she could do to keep some control of it, and keep away from these men, she must do.

  “No. I can do that.”

  “Okay. I will leave it to you. Will you remember to switch the machines on after we are gone, before you leave?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I am glad I can rely on you.” The three men moved toward the door, before the little man stopped. “One more thing, Cathy. The machines were on when we came today. Why would William ask you to turn them on if they were already on?”

  “It must have been Dennis,” said Cathy. “Last time we were here, he said he would wipe the tapes so no one would know we were both here. He would have started them again.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled again. “Merry Christmas, Cathy.”

  She listened to them walk down the stairs and out onto the street, before moving. The pain in her breast had not fully ebbed away. She understood the brutish calculation of men and knew this pain was there to ensure she understood there was nothing arbitrary about the little man’s intent. She was supposed to feel the visceral terror of helplessness. There would be no mercy with him. She could not rely on a change of heart or his better nature. Neither could she open her legs for him. Men like that only wanted what they wanted. She drew a long breath. Somewhere, she thought, someone will be cooking that fucking little man Christmas dinner. I hope he chokes. I hope they all choke.

  4

  New Denver, February 10, 1957

  White clouds dragged across the mountains on the far side of the lake, leaving snow on high ground. Silver frost tipped the trees to water’s edge. It was winter in New Denver and no mistake. Pavel and Paul stood together, watching from inside the chain-link fence, the wire thickened by frost. They waited in silence for the arrival. The two boys had always been tight friends. They could have been brothers had they not shared the same Russian name. One chose to remain Pavel, and the other had the English version, Paul, ensuring their separate identities were never lost or confused.

  This visiting day felt awkward, as both knew it would end differently. Neither had the words to speak of it. There was joy for Paul having reached the age of sixteen, and no longer obliged to remain at New Denver Dormitory, and sadness for Pavel at his friend’s departure.

  “I bet you can’t wait for lunch today,” said Pavel. “Your mama will make you something special.”

  “I’m gonna eat so much, I’ll need new pants!” They laughed like boys. Paul continued, “It won’t be long before you’re out too.”

  “A year and some,” said Pavel.

  Younger children huddled for warmth in dormitory doorways, waiting for the arrival.

  “Are they coming?” asked a boy of six years, shouting from the dormitory step.

  “They’ll be here soon,” said Pavel, loud enough to encourage the little ones.

  Cold wind carried the sound of singing and the children rustled. They came off the step, bundled in coats, scarves and hats, to join the line of children at the fence, like soldiers at the firing line. The singing was louder and some of the children pushed forward.

  “I have to get my stuff,” said Paul.

  “You better go,” said Pavel, as Paul turned away toward his dorm room.

  Pavel shouted after him, “Eat some for me, will ya!”

  “I’ll eat for all of you!”

  “You’ll get fat.”

  “I will.” Laughter stretched out between them, and he was gone.

  Pavel reached for the shoulders of two little ones, gently pulling them back. “Careful, you boys. Don’t put your face on the fence.” They stared at him without understanding. He knelt and removed a glove. “I’ll show you what will happen.” Pavel brought his hand to his face, licked a finger and touched the bare metal wire. The children watched his finger stick, frozen to the fence. Pavel pretended to pull and yank until the children laughed. “Look!” he said, showing the back of his hand with four fingers extended and the index finger bent at the knuckle and hidden. The children were transfixed and horrified at the missing digit, and then searched the fence to see if it was still hanging. “Here it is. I found it.” Everyone laughed. “You don’t want your lips or tongue to stay on the fence, so be careful. Look!”

  The children looked up to see the pink faces and sturdy frames of their parents walking toward them, men on one side and women on the other. The sound of their singing was upon them and brought familiar warmth and comfort of home, but they could not wait for the singing to end. Older children standing in their usual spot waved at parents and parents waved back, while newcomers frantically searched to find their own at the fence. One of the small boys stood motionless. Pavel knelt to him. The boy was crying.

  “Don’t worry. Your mother is coming.” It did not help. “What are you crying about? Your mother doesn’t want to see her boy crying.”

  “How will she kiss me?” His cheeks were already wet and frost gathered on each eyelash. “I don’t want my lips to hang on the fence.”

  Pavel regretted his warning to the children and his mind raced to soothe the boy before his mother found him at the fence. “You can do it like this,” he said, bringing the tips of his thumbs together and touching forefingers to make a diamond. He placed the flat of his hands against the fence, covering a single diamond shape of the chain link, and put his lips into the shape. “You see?” he said, turning to the boy. “It’s a kissing fence. You just have to have your hands together like this.” The boy stopped crying and Pavel gently wiped the tiny icicles from his face as best he could.

  A young matron swooped in from behind them. “What’s the matter?” she asked, as if the cause of a child crying on visiting day could be a surprise.

  Pavel said, “He can’t find his mother. It’s his
first visit.”

  “Oh dear,” she said. “Shall I help you find her?” The young matron put her arm around the child and held him close. “She’ll be here somewhere. Let’s try this way first.” Standing up, she grasped the boy’s hand, smiled at Pavel and began walking along the fenceline.

  Pavel expected the boy’s mother and father would come and pass food for him over the fence, dropping it to one of the taller children or RCMP officers overseeing the meeting of innocents. The smell and taste would comfort the boy for a few hours after his parents had gone. Pavel knew well how this would go and reminded himself to find the boy when his mother had gone.

  He began walking the line to find his father at the usual place. Some of the parents draped blankets over the fence to provide shelter for the children. A police officer tucked the corners of a blanket into the chain link around two young girls so they could shelter from the cold wind while facing their parents through the fence. It was another small act of kindness, and Pavel hoped that none of the children were fooled. The parents would not be. At least it allowed them to speak their own language. Russian words overheard by matrons could mean punishment on a bad day, and yet some of the parents and children, especially the newer ones, spoke nothing else. Huddled under the blanket, they could whisper without fear.

  Pavel scanned up and down the fence. He turned at the bottom of the line and walked back toward the other end. On the top step of the dormitory Matron MacDonald stood, glasses like butterfly wings, hair set, certain in manner. She scanned the scene like a border guard. Pavel watched her without looking, as did all the children who knew the danger. Some of the matrons and teachers with smiling faces seemed to enjoy the children, but they were not all smiling.

  “Pavel Korenov! Pavel!” The shout came from beyond the fence. His father’s closest friend waved and walked quickly toward him. “It’s good to see you, Pavel. How are you?”