Murder in the Family

by Jeff Blackstock

  * * *

  —

  AFTER THE EASTER holiday, we went back to school. The routine felt good. I was doing better and better in my studies at St. John’s and even got first place on some Spanish-language math exercises. Thanks to my increasing fluency, I now had no trouble handling the classes conducted in Spanish.

  I found new ways of escaping into my own world—drawing my own comic books, riding my bicycle, helping build an “addition” to Freddy Brander’s pool house by laying down bricks in the dirt, attending to my collection of marbles, organized by colour, type, and size. Boys have their own non-verbal ways of dealing with their feelings.

  I didn’t want to go to the places we used to go with Mom. Dad wanted to take us to the Club Hípico, where Ingrid was supposed to meet us. I told him I didn’t want to go, but he insisted. He didn’t take us to the church where Mom had taken us, or to any other church for that matter, and I didn’t mind. I didn’t like going to church anyway.

  María was busy getting us and the house organized for our move back to Canada. Dad had told us we’d be leaving for Toronto at the end of the Argentine winter and would be staying there until December, when we’d move to our new posting in New Orleans.

  “Are we going to have snow in Canada?” I asked María in Spanish.

  “I don’t think so,” she said uncertainly.

  I was bewitched by the idea of seeing snow again after such a long time.

  * * *

  —

  GEORGE’S SISTER, AUNT Kay, didn’t feel at all the same as Bibi Fischer did about his forthcoming marriage. On July 22, 1960, Kay wrote George a long, anxious letter—the first paragraph ran on compulsively for four tightly spaced pages—revealing deep disquiet in the family about his plans. She was speaking for herself, of course, but her frequent references to their mother and her “nerves” showed also that Granny was upset about George’s wedding in general and the demands it would make on her in particular.

  After a brief nod to George’s good fortune in “finding such a nice girl as she sounds to be,” as advertised in Bibi’s letter, Kay described their mother’s emotional state.

  Mother spills out with emotionalism all over the place with every letter you write and then forgets to transmit it to you, I gather…. She forgets a lot these days and perhaps doesn’t give you a true picture of her feelings in her letters.

  Kay aimed to remedy that. She saw difficulties ahead resulting from George’s not being able to serve out his full term in Buenos Aires, as he’d wanted. The posting was supposed to last for three years, and when George had taken Carol to Montreal, he had stressed to the ambassador that he wanted to complete it. But now the department had cut it short.

  This meant that George and Ingrid would marry between postings. We’d all be moving to Toronto on the way to New Orleans, his new assignment, and would require temporary accommodation while George and Ingrid were away getting married. They’d decided to hold their wedding in the ancestral hometown of Ingrid’s family in West Germany, followed by a six-week European honeymoon—leaving us kids behind in Toronto.

  George wanted us to stay at Granny’s house, something Aunt Kay foresaw as difficult and disruptive. There was a “desperate” shortage of maids in Toronto to look after us, she explained, and, as George ought to know, “kids get on Mother’s nerves.”

  Somewhat plaintively, Kay urged her brother to ask the department to reconsider its decision.

  I don’t suppose you could persuade the department to leave you there till the end of your term. This would probably be best for the children and for [Ingrid]. You must remember she is totally unprepared for the life of the North American housewife & the care (physically every day – not kindergarten) of 3 children.

  In fact, Aunt Kay wanted George to reconsider his wedding plans altogether.

  Let me just say that you & she have seen each other under ideal conditions so far. Also it is not recommended to marry someone with such a different background. You think you know her but do you talk together seriously about important matters such as religion, politics, the upbringing & education of children – aims and ends of life?…Everybody is “nice” on casual acquaintance – to meet socially. Remember how you liked the Grays at first (granted you were younger). [Ingrid] is…more set in her ways of thinking and acting [than Carol], not so likely to adopt your ways…. Mother feels…that if [Ingrid] sees the household…with Mother & 3 children & inadequate help – if any – it might put her off altogether.

  Aunt Kay must have known she wasn’t going to persuade her brother to change his mind. She turned to offering him sisterly (and no doubt unwanted) advice on how to make the best of his situation.

  Be prepared now to make allowances…if you want your marriage to be a success because with your a) difference in nationality & background b) the children & c) moving around you are putting a great strain on marriage which can be a difficult situation even under the most ideal circumstances.

  Aunt Kay was probably speaking for the family when she suggested that she wasn’t thrilled with the “nationality and background” of George’s choice of bride. She then moved on to a more promising subject for counselling her younger sibling, a subject she cared about sincerely: his children and their emotional needs. “I am most worried that [the marriage] should be a success on account of the children,” she wrote. Even though Carol had once referred to her differences with Kay in a letter to her mother, she would have been heartened that someone in the Blackstock family was standing up for her kids.

  Mother thinks sending a maid would be good although she feels María would be best of course. Mother feels, and I agree, that separation from her at this stage (even a year later would be better) will be an awful blow to them – more than you realize. No matter how much they love you & like [Ingrid] it is the person who looks after their everyday needs as Carol did here & as María does now that they really depend upon emotionally.

  Granny and Aunt Kay understood how important María was to us. But the idea of María travelling with us to Toronto was completely unrealistic. Neither George nor Ingrid would have wanted it. And María herself, no matter how much she cared about us, wouldn’t have wanted to leave her own family and move to a strange country.

  Kay pulled out all the stops trying to persuade George at least to consider altering his wedding plans: “How about marrying [Ingrid] down there, getting on the boat with your goods & chattels & the kids and all coming up here together for a visit?”

  That wasn’t going to happen either. George and Ingrid marrying in Buenos Aires? Where so many people remembered Carol on the heels of her mysterious death, with her three children hanging around as reminders to everyone? Nevertheless, Kay persisted: “The more I think of it the more I wish you would just marry [Ingrid] down there quietly with the children all present. They would have a pleasant memory of it all their lives.”

  Of course, we were never going to be included in the wedding. Someone had to make the suggestion, however, and Kay stepped up. But she still had to contend with the big European honeymoon that George and Ingrid had planned, entailing the problem of looking after us kids in Toronto.

  Give up your idea of a European honeymoon till later…. You have all your lives for this six weeks trip in Europe and in your job a good chance of getting it. You might consider it a sacrifice but one under the circumstances you might make for your children.

  Anyone familiar with George knew he wasn’t going to give up his chance for a romantic six-week jaunt in Europe. I’m sure Kay knew it too, but she tried to persuade him anyway, for our sake. She knew better than even to hint at Toronto as a venue for the wedding, given our parents’ ties to their hometown. A fresh start with Ingrid was more attainable in Germany, with the added benefit that they could tap into her family fortune to finance the whole extravaganza.

  Finally, Aunt Kay urged Ge
orge and Ingrid to send thank-you notes to Grandma and Grandpa Gray for sending them their best wishes on their engagement. Grandma and Grandpa knew that however distasteful it might be, they had little choice but to ingratiate themselves with their grandchildren’s new stepmother. George and Ingrid, for their part, apparently saw no urgency to reply and acknowledge the Grays’ gesture.

  * * *

  —

  BEFORE OUR RETURN to Canada, Dad told us “Mum” would take us on the plane while he stayed behind in Buenos Aires to tie up loose ends. I asked if María was going to come with us, and Dad said, no, she needed to stay in Buenos Aires.

  “Why can’t you come with us, María?” I asked in Spanish.

  “I need to stay here to look after Martín and Cristina,” she replied.

  So attached were we to María that I’d almost forgotten she had her own family to look after.

  Dad said we were going to have a new maid. Her name was Irma, and she’d be going with us on the plane.

  I felt sad about losing María, Martín, and Cristina. At the same time, I was excited about the trip. I loved flying and the adventure of travel, and still do. And we’d get to see Grandma and Grandpa again in Toronto.

  María told Doug and me to go say goodbye to our friends Michael and his brother Danny, and Freddy Brander. I knew we’d never see them again. Mrs. McKenney took a snapshot of me with my arm around Michael and gave me a hug.

  I walked over to the St. John’s boarding house, even though I didn’t have fond memories of the place, because María had said I should see Mr. Legge, the headmaster. He was feeling sad himself, because his wife had just died of cancer. I told him I was sorry about Mrs. Legge, as María had reminded me to. She had been kind to me. Mr. Legge crouched down to give me a handshake, and I could see the sorrow in that tough British headmaster’s face.

  On the morning of our departure, María got us all dressed up, Julie in a pretty dress, Doug and me in bow ties. We needed to look smart when we saw our grandparents, María said. We said goodbye to Martín. We said goodbye to Lassie. She would join us later, Dad told us.

  We all got in our car, with Dad at the wheel. Doug and I sat in the back seat on either side of María, who had Julie on her lap. Cristina also squeezed in beside us. The new maid, Irma, rode in front with Dad.

  María and Cristina cried all the way to Ezeiza Airport. We were María’s babies, and we wouldn’t be coming back. Doug and I consoled her by snuggling up close. Ingrid’s parents drove her to the airport separately in their own car.

  For us, the posting in Argentina was over.

  10

  UPROOTING

  INGRID—“MUM” TO US—didn’t like flying. But I loved it, so on the first leg of our trip from Buenos Aires to Toronto, I got the window seat on the port side, next to Doug. Julie and Ingrid sat across the aisle from us, and Irma was behind them. It would be a four-hour flight to São Paulo, Brazil.

  Irma was a thirty-something Argentine morena (a woman with dark hair and tan complexion) and had a kind disposition. She and Ingrid would spell each other off looking after Julie. It was understood that Irma would be on call twenty-four hours a day, to ensure that Granny wouldn’t be overburdened when we stayed with her in Toronto. Ingrid would have insisted on having someone like Irma in any case. One thing Ingrid always required was a live-in maid. Another was her afternoon beauty sleep. There were other needs, but these were requirements.

  As the plane climbed away from Buenos Aires, I looked down wistfully at the Rio de la Plata. Two and a half years earlier, the great river had welcomed us to Argentina. Now it looked small from twenty thousand feet. In that moment, a deeper realization sank in: our life in Argentina as over. Mom was dead. María was left behind. I’d never see my friends again. We had a new mother. So much had happened that it was hard to take it all in.

  The flood of memories passed as we left the river behind and flew over the cattle country of Uruguay and southern Brazil. Dusk descended, and we settled in for the long journey to Toronto.

  After refuelling in São Paulo, we took off again into the night. Our next stopover would be Caracas, Venezuela. I settled into airplane reverie and fell asleep to the drone of the four DC-6 engines.

  I awoke with the morning sun. Ingrid, who was unusually quiet throughout the flight, was staring straight ahead. It was nothing like travelling with Mom, who had always pointed out landmarks to us in her animated way. I noticed that the number-two propeller on the port side wasn’t moving. When I mentioned this to Ingrid, she replied, without looking for herself, that it couldn’t be true—the propeller was probably just going so fast that I couldn’t see it. Then the pilot announced that one of the engines on the left side had been shut down. We shouldn’t be alarmed, he said; there was no danger. At midday, we landed without incident in Caracas.

  * * *

  —

  WHEN WE ARRIVED at New York’s Idlewild Airport (now Kennedy International), it was the second evening of our journey. As pre-arranged by Dad, airline ground staff met us at the arrival gate and led us to the Trans-Canada Air Lines terminal. The summer evening was so warm that the gates to the tarmac were left open, filling the air with the smell of aircraft fuel. While we waited for our flight to be called, Ingrid took a break to smoke a cigarette, leaving Irma to mind us.

  By the time we were airborne again and on the final leg to Toronto, we kids were already well frayed. Doug and Julie slumped over asleep in their seats, but I was too tired to sleep. My attention wandered to Ingrid, seated across the aisle from a young, athletic-looking black man. He turned out to be a Triple-A baseball player, and I heard him offering her tickets to a game in Toronto. “No, thank you,” she said, with a stiff, uncomfortable smile, and stuck her head in an airline magazine for the rest of the flight. Afterwards, she told me it was unthinkable that she would have accepted the tickets. It went without saying that this was because the man was black.

  We touched down at Toronto’s Malton Airport at 10 P.M. and staggered into the terminal building. When we reached the arrivals area, I saw Grandma and Grandpa waiting anxiously in the crowd. I waved to them, and they waved back. Now, I imagine how they must have felt—their stomachs hollowed out as they watched a pretty blond stranger carrying Julie in her arms, with Doug and me alongside.

  Excited to see them again, Doug and I ran toward their open arms. They crouched down and gave us big warm hugs. “My goodness, boys, it’s so good to see you!” Grandma exclaimed. “Welcome home!”

  Grandpa reminded us to say hello to Aunt Katherine and Uncle Grant, who were standing by patiently, letting our grandparents be the first to greet us. Then Ingrid walked up, still holding Julie.

  “Hello, Mrs. Gray. I’m Ingrid.”

  Grandma managed to smile and say hello. But before Ingrid could reply, Julie called “Grandma!” and practically leaped out of Ingrid’s grasp.

  Grandma took her in her arms and hugged her tight. “Why, Julie, how much you’ve grown!” She passed Julie to Grandpa and shook Ingrid’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ingrid.”

  Turning to Grandpa, Ingrid said, “Mr. Gray, it is nice to meet you also.”

  Grandpa very formally shook Ingrid’s hand while Aunt Kay and Uncle Grant looked on. They, at least, would have understood how difficult this moment was for our grandparents.

  Granny would see us when we arrived to stay at her house.

  * * *

  —

  INGRID’S STAY IN Toronto would be short. For Grandma and Grandpa, this was probably just as well. It was going to be an awkward relationship on both sides. My grandparents’ natural inclination was to keep their interactions with Ingrid polite and to the minimum. But since this woman was going to be our stepmother, friendly relations would be essential—whatever it took for our sake.

  As for Ingrid, she knew her place, and it wasn’t at the bottom of the pile. Coming from a family of
wealth and prominence in Germany, and more recently from a highly stratified Latin society, she was accustomed to being catered to. She let it be known that she was inclined to be toured around Toronto, and Grandma and Grandpa knew better than not to oblige. During a round of sightseeing, they took Ingrid and us kids to a baseball game—so she saw the black player on the Triple-A Toronto Maple Leafs after all. Included in the party were Grandma’s aging aunt and uncle. All this must have seemed strange to Ingrid, who had no interest in baseball and even less in the Grays’ family.

  Grandma and Grandpa invited Ingrid and some of the Blackstock clan for a buffet dinner at their apartment. I played translator between Irma and Aunt Kay, who aspired to learn Spanish and was thrilled to hear me speaking it. “Mi tía dice que le agradece mucho a usted por venir al Canadá con sus sobrinos y su sobrina” (“My aunt says she is grateful to you for coming to Canada with her nephews and niece”), I told Irma, who nodded and smiled graciously at my aunt.

  Grandma even took Ingrid to tea at the upscale Royal York Hotel, a cavernous fixture of Old Toronto, so the two of them could get better acquainted. She gave Ingrid a five-year diary for keeping a record of this new chapter in her life. In a letter to Dad, Ingrid said what a nice gift the diary was. I wonder if she understood that Grandma’s hope was to encourage her to share news of us when we were far away. Ingrid talked to Grandma about her and George’s wedding plans. Later, Grandma told me she declined Ingrid’s request to be taken on a shopping expedition to pick out her trousseau. She felt it wasn’t appropriate for her to help her daughter’s successor with that particular task—in fact, she found the request in very poor taste.