22. THE ANTS
THAT SATURDAY NIGHT I WAS SITTING under my tree reading a newspaper when I saw Lenny and the gang moving across the fields like a cancer. I watched them file around the corner of the old library and vanish.
I could not help but envy them a party. I was bored. Later, when I locked myself in my room, I wished I had a sofa and a television set at the very least, but I didn’t, so I paged through Imran’s folder for evangelical entertainment instead and thought that I should have bought more books from the second-hand store.
Allah has CURSED the woman who does tattoos and the one who has them done, the woman who plucks eyebrows and the one who has it done, and the one who files her teeth for the purpose of beauty, altering the creation of Allah.
Imran didn’t have to worry about me filing my teeth and I had completely forgotten about my eyebrows, and I would bet the farm I needed several hours of threading. And as for tats, well, I was going to hell for sure. I had an ornate Celtic cross on my lower left calf, a beautiful tiny sparrow on the inside of my wrist in memory of Gran, a maple leaf on my ankle to celebrate my Canadian residency, and a butterfly on my right shoulder blade.
Imran was still seeing the prostitute — the same girl he had lost his virginity to — and he was trying to convert her to Islam. From what I could gather, his pocket money wasn’t enough to keep her off the streets, and she was resisting salvation.
Mandy from Scarborough said she needed a husband and an apartment and no way was she ever wearing a scarf on her head and a tent for a dress, but Imran was hopeful and much happier than he had been since the whole incident with Ayesha.
I put Imran’s book aside and fell asleep, but I was woken in the early hours of Sunday morning by a tap, tap, tapping. I lay in the dark, trying to hear where the noise was coming from, but it was hard to tell. I tried to convince myself that it was an animal outside, a raccoon maybe, but the tapping was too rhythmical and steady. I eased out of my sleeping bag as quietly as I could, and I crept close to my locked door, clutching my knife and pepper spray to my chest. I was certain the noise wasn’t coming from inside the building, and besides my booby-trap alarm had not sounded. The noise had to be coming from the outside wall. I looked at the time, it was three a.m.
It was Lenny, I was sure of it.
Tap, tap, tap.
I sat with my back against the wall, staring blindly into the darkness, waiting for something to happen, waiting to defend myself.
Tap, tap, tap.
I didn’t get any more sleep that night.
23. KINGDOM HALL
IN THE MORNING, I WAS TERRIFIED to leave my room. I turned the key ever so quietly and eased the door open, peering out cautiously, my knife at the ready in one hand and pepper spray in the other.
I was relieved to see that my stack of chairs and paint cans were still intact.
I locked my door and edged past my booby-trap, pausing before leaving the building, once again terrified that Lenny would be outside, waiting for me.
I rushed out, braced for an attack and ready to fight, but there was nothing outside except the beauty of the early morning dawn and the promise of another hot day to come.
I stashed my knife in my body belt and the pepper spray in my purse, and when I heard unusual sounds coming from the library — aka, Lenny’s party-central hidey-hole — I crept around to see what was going on. A man with a huge belly and a baseball cap tugged down low was nailing a large piece of chipboard over a small side door that I had not noticed was there.
What happened here? I asked, and the man jumped, startled. He eyed me with suspicion.
I’m here in Canada for the holidays, I lied to put him at ease. I’m staying with my cousins in town and I felt like a nice early morning walk.
The man relaxed slightly. Kids, he said. Them fucking drug-taking kids. They broke in again. Took this door right off this time.
He had a thick East European accent and I found it hard to understand what he was saying.
Did the police catch them? I was hoping they had, because of course it was Lenny who had done the damage.
Nah. But we all knows who they is. Led by a kid by the name of Leonard, nasty piece of work. He’s going to end up in real trouble one day.
I silently agreed. So they took the door down? I asked. What’s inside? I peered over his shoulder but the new chipboard was already in place.
I dunno. I never looked. Couldn’t care. I got a call from the guy who looks in on this place on Sunday mornings. There’s always trouble here on Saturday nights. Last time it was the caf over there, and I had to fix that door up again. Before that, they burnt down the main classroom building. You shoulda seen the mess I had to clean up then. This time I just had to clean up the door.
I looked over at the large pile of rubble the man had collected. I was sorry I hadn’t come out earlier. I could have made it into the library before it was boarded up.
At least they didn’t break any windas, the man said. Although they probably did, just not where’s I can see them. They musta been using this door for a while now, but I never noticed. Wouldn’t have this time either, but they near as took it off the hinges. It’s a basement door, leads down.
Hmmm, I said, having run out of things to say. Well, ta for now. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.
The man grunted and carried on banging in nails.
I sauntered away from him until I was hidden under a thick copse of trees. Lenny and the crew must have partied harder than usual. I hadn’t heard a thing, but that didn’t surprise me. I thought again about the strange tapping that had scared me witless; I was still certain it was Lenny.
I walked through the forest and it started to rain and everything smelled so clean and fresh, the fragrant sodden earth and the wet leaves.
The rain soon stopped and a big cotton-candy cloud filled the sky with a half-moon strung high above it. I walked along a path lined with wild yellow lilies, and the air smelled like a summer that would last forever, and I believed in its truth.
I went to the Second Cup, having decided their muffins were better than Tim’s although their coffee wasn’t as good. I took my breakfast to go.
Then I made my way back to the Jehovah’s Witness church, hoping that the pale boy would be there again.
I sat under a tree and tried to remember what time Lenny and I had walked past the church. It must have been afternoon, and I was hungover that day. That day that saw so much trouble.
That I had a long wait ahead of me didn’t trouble me in the least. Time and I had become good friends, in a way we had never been when I was rushing to work, rushing at work, rushing home and wishing the evenings stretched out for as long as the days did.
Time was peaceful now, and never wretched, never going fast when you wanted it to slow down or too slow when you wanted it fast. It was like being a kid again and enjoying a summer holiday without limits. I felt as if I was on a Mr. Alright-sponsored seaside holiday, floating on an inflated pool chair, sipping a drink with a piece of pineapple in it, and the drink, and the day, would last forever.
I was rereading The Satanic Verses. I was increasingly convinced that the book held some kind of omen for me, a personal message, and I had yet to unlock the key.
Soon, cars began to stream into the parking lot and I sat up in anticipation. The boy would come; I knew he would.
The parking lot filled up and the mass or sermon or whatever it was, began. I had been wrong about the boy. He was not coming. It had started to rain again, lightly, and I stood up and dusted off my shorts, planning to tiptoe into the church to see if they were serving a nice hot tea.
You walked right past the last time I saw you, I heard a deep voice say, and I jumped and made an embarrassing squeak of fright.
It was him, the young man. He had come, after all. He was ethereal and delicate with bleached blond hair and huge brown
eyes, and he was tall and solemn.
Yes, I did, I said, and he nodded slightly and as he did, the sky turned black. The rain started to fall harder, and I was about to say something else to the boy when a crack of lightning shook its white fist in the sky and without pause, a heavy rain dashed to the earth.
I quickly moved closer to where the boy was standing. He was protected under a thick canopy of trees, but I was drenched before I could even get there. The boy was staring at the church as if he was waiting for something to happen or someone to appear, and I wanted to speak but it didn’t feel right to break the silence. So I just stood next to him, waiting.
24. THE HIPPOCRITES
EVENTUALLY I RAN OUT OF PATIENCE. It seemed like the boy/man was never going to speak and I was getting cold.
You come here often to watch parked cars in the rain? I offered, and the boy laughed. I was surprised by his laugh. It was deep and throaty, a man’s laugh, knowing and worldly.
He didn’t answer my question.
I’m Joss, nice to meet you. I stuck out my hand.
The boy/man looked at my hand for a moment and then took it. I had the oddest sensation of falling, and I thought there was something very magical or evil about this boy.
He let go and I had a quick rush of feeling, like a balloon released of its air and I took a deep breath to get my balance back.
And your name would be?
My name is Ashley, he said in slow measured tones. My mother was a fan of Gone with the Wind. Although why she couldn’t have called me Rhett or Wilkes instead I have no idea. And then she was surprised that I ended up this way. You don’t name a boy Ashley in today’s world without consequences, don’t you know?
Ended up what way?
Ashley waved his hand at the church. Standing outside. I’m gay as you obviously gathered.
I hadn’t. Ah, I see, I said. So, they disenfranchised you the Witnesses did. One would have thought they would be more forgiving, being religious and all that.
Disfellowshipped is what’s it’s called. The elders met with me and disfellowshipped me. None of my brothers or sisters have spoken to me in the two years since it happened, not even my twin. Ashley looked close to tears as he spoke. I have lost so much, he said.
But you can’t live a lie, I said. What about your Mum and Dad? Surely they still talk to you?
Oh, they talk to me from time to time because they’re waiting for me to repent and they want to know if it’s happened yet. If I don’t repent, I won’t be resurrected when the world ends.
And is that scheduled to happen anytime soon? I asked. The world ending, I mean?
The boy laughed again. Well, you never know, he said. We are supposed to be ready all the time and I am clearly not.
There was an old-fashioned elegance to him; he was like a dancer, economical with his moves.
Resurrected? Like reincarnated?
No, resurrected as in you come back, the you you are now. And my family will all come back without me.
His eyes filled with tears. I wanted to hug him, but his body radar told me this was not a good idea.
I am sorry, I said. Losing your world is not an easy thing, I know.
And they just changed their own rules, he said. Just like that. The Great Tribulation apparently started in 1914, and it was supposed to last a hundred years, and since that’s come and gone, they had to change their tune. Now we’re allowed to have blood transfusions. But what happened to all those people, not to mention their kids, who died for their faith? Maybe one day they’ll realize they were wrong about homosexuals too, but it will be too late for me. As if I could go back. I couldn’t. What religion are you?
Roman Catholic. Reared by nuns. Expelled by nuns. I laughed.
Expelled?
Yep. Much to my Mum’s fury.
What happened?
We all had to go monthly confession, and one day, after I had finished telling the priest all my sins, he asked me if I was done, and I said yes. Then he asked me if I had gone to Mass that past Sunday, and I said no, Father, I did not. To which he said, That’s a sin, confess it. To which I replied, I don’t think you should be telling me what to confess, Father. He kicked me out the confession box and the nuns sent me home. Mum was in such a rage, I can’t tell you.
Ashley was laughing. They expelled you for that?
They did. Which was fine by me. I haven’t been back to church on a Sunday since. I am fond of churches, and I even like the idea of God, but I’ve got no idea how God feels about me or even who I think the God fellow really is. But anyway, enough about religion, I said, realizing I seemed quite obsessed with it lately. Do you have a boyfriend?
Ashley’s face brightened. Yes, he’s wonderful. He’s a bit older than me and he takes very good care of me. Wait, that sounds bad. What I mean is, he makes this world a safer place for me to be in. I do have issues. He looked away, and he sounded like he was joking but trying to warn me at the same time.
We all do, I told him. That’s what makes us interesting. Tell me, do they have tea and things in there after the mass? I would kill for a nice hot cuppa.
You wouldn’t have to go to those lengths, the boy smiled, and his teeth were white and even. They are very, very nice people, you’d love them. And it’s called a meeting by the way, not mass.
I’ve always thought there’s something a bit cultish about them. Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, just telling you the truth. And actually, as much as I want a good cup of tea, I don’t want to go in and be swallowed up by some weird religious circus.
The boy laughed. You’re very funny, he said. You’re not from Canada are you? Most Canadians would never say such forthright things. Especially when they have only just met a person.
I blushed. I apologize, I said, but he interrupted me.
No, no, don’t. That’s not what I meant at all. Please, never stop being honest. It’s lovely.
Do you come here every Sunday? Does your boyfriend know?
Rob hates me coming here. He hates them. He is away in Montreal for the weekend on business and stayed over with some friends. He’ll be back late tonight. Listen, would you like to come home with me and have a nice hot cuppa, as you call it?
I thought quickly. My room was all safely locked up, so I could see no harm in it.
Okay, I said, and turned to walk out the gates but he caught me.
Car, he said pointing. I never walk anywhere.
He led me to a brand new Mini Cooper and opened the passenger door. The new car smell hit me with a wave of leathered luxury, and I suddenly wondered what I smelled like. It couldn’t be good, considering the heat, and the fact that my most recent swim had been three days ago. All I’d managed since then was my powder bath and my wet-wipes washdown. I was glad I was wearing my hat, but I still felt awkward and shy about my personal hygiene in such closed quarters.
As if sensing my thoughts, Ashley remarked, Nice smell, a new car, isn’t it? You smell nice too, if you don’t mind my saying so. Nice and soapy.
I stared at him, startled. Weird, I thought. How did he know what I was thinking? I decided to test him, and concentrated hard on hoping that my wet clothes were not doing any kind of permanent damage to the seats. When Ashley turned on the heat, telling me the car seat warmers would dry me out in no time, I just stared at him and tried to empty my mind entirely. He really was uncanny. I wondered if I had been foolish in accepting his invitation, but it was too late to back out now.
25. THE ROMAN EMPIRE
ASHLEY DROVE US THROUGH the wet streets to a new and moneyed row of suburban mansions on the outskirts of the town. He pulled into the driveway of a large detached home modelled on an English Tudor style, with black ornamental trim and grey-and-brown decorative siding, and there were Roman pillars on the porch and even a small, gabled turret.
Good heavens, these places a
re massive, I remarked but I was mostly distracted by how long the walk back to my room would take. I felt a bit panicked and trapped.
They are mansions indeed, Ashley agreed, and pointed a remote control at the garage door that rose smoothly. We drove in, and I looked around at the pristine garage and thought I had a good idea what Rob the boyfriend was all about. A canoe was neatly shelved, two bicycles were suspended from the ceiling by shiny hoists, and a lawnmower and gardening tools were carefully arranged, all sparkling and clean, as if they had never been used.
These houses are meant for families, I guess, Ashley said. Rob and I are thinking of adopting, but we’ll see. He wants us to get married in the fall, but I don’t know.
How old are you? I asked, and how long have you been with Rob?
I am twenty-six, Ashley said. And we have been together for seven months.
That’s not a very long time. I’d wait before leaping into marriage and kids. A lot can change very quickly. You want to be careful, I said. I was thinking about my two years and nine months with Shayne and how it had counted for nothing in the end.
I know. But Rob can be very insistent, and it’s hard for me to say no, particularly when he is so kind and takes such good care of me. And I do love him. He’s a lot older than me, so that’s why he’s in more of a hurry.
And how old is he? I asked, following Ashley through the garage door to the basement and into a vast playroom filled with wall-to-wall TV screens, sound systems, deep chocolate sofas with oversized cushions, and plush cream carpets. Everything gleamed and shone.
Hang on a sec there, Ash. I bent down and took off my socks and shoes. There’s that’s better.
It’s all very ship-shape, isn’t it? Ashley agreed. Rob’s got a weekly cleaning service, they take care of everything. I can make as much of a mess as I like, although the only time I really do is when I cook.
His face lit up. Hey, Joss, let me make supper for you, okay? I cook really well. Please, let me make us a feast.
Between the Cracks She Fell Page 11