At the hour mark there was a water break. Beads of sweat were running down Bernadette’s back.
“How are you doing?” Senpai Sarah asked.
“Wow, fine, I guess…” Bernadette said, blowing out her breath. “Oops, I mean, fine, senpai.”
Sarah laughed. “The moves seem so small yet so hard?”
Bernadette nodded and smiled as she wiped sweat from her brow with her towel and gulped water.
“Many of the karate moves seem minor, but they require balance and form, therefore bringing many muscle groups into play. You’ll learn to develop these muscles over time, and the moves will become easier.”
The next part of the class involved breathing. “You lose your power if you don’t breath properly,” Sarah directed. She had them breathe in through their nose and out through their mouths with their tongues pressed on the roof of their mouths.
Bernadette saw the sense in this. Her last two sessions with Susie had left her breathless. She’d need more than just her fists to defend herself against that girl.
The class seemed to go on forever. Sensei commanded them to stop and line up. They needed to bow out. They bowed deeply to sensei and then sat on the floor for meditation.
When the class was over, Bernadette felt exhilarated. What she’d learned in karate and seen in other students doing drills brought her a new understanding of martial arts.
Sensei approached her and as she headed for the change room.
“May I have a moment with you?” he asked.
“Was I okay in practice, sensei? Bernadette asked. “I didn’t mean to hold up your class. I promise I’ll be much better next time—”
Sensei put up his hand and smiled. “No, Bernadette, you were fine. For someone with a leg injury you’re doing as well or even better than some of my introductory white belts. I just wanted to talk to you about how you got your injury.
Sensei dropped his voice lower, to an almost conspiratorial whisper. “I too was picked on and bullied in school. You think a name like Krapinski didn’t get me a lot of beatings?” He looked around to see if the other students were listening. “I was a little Polish Jew off the boat from Krakow. I hardly spoke English when we arrived here. And the name Krapinski, oy vey, the kids beat the crap out of little Krapinski whenever they had the chance.”
“So then, you learned karate and beat them all up?” Bernadette asked.
Sensei shook his head and smiled. “First I learned the proper stances of karate, and I scared them into thinking I would beat them all up.”
“You bluffed, sensei?”
“Yes, I did. I don’t recommend it. Someone can call your bluff,” sensei said. He smiled at the memory.
He put his hand on Bernadette’s shoulder. “You need to practice what you are taught so it becomes second nature to you. Show yourself as confident—then you can defend yourself. And remember, there is no first strike in karate.”
Bernadette bowed deeply again, “Thank you, sensei.” She walked to the change room, got out of her soaking wet gi, toweled off, and put on her street clothes.
She felt good about her first lesson. There was a lot to learn, but she was getting it quickly. Now, with practice, she would pick up the katas and move on to more defensive moves.
The girls were waiting anxiously for her. They were brimming with excitement for what they’d just seen. “When can we take karate lessons?” Abigail asked.
“I don’t know.” She turned to sensei. “Can they start karate if they want? Is there any age restriction?”
“We’ve started them as young as four years old. If they want, I’ll set up a introductory class for them when you come,” sensei said.
“Yeah,” Amber said. “Karate chop, karate chop!”
Bernadette realized she’d have to pass this by her aunt, but she didn’t see a problem. This would make it easier to get the kids to the sessions. “Okay, kids, next week, you’re both in karate.”
The kids jumped up and down with excitement. Bernadette realized all she needed to do was win more money at poker, convince her aunt this was a good idea, and find time to learn all of these new moves she’s just learned while allowing her leg to heal.
14
The next month went by in a blur. Bernadette trained in karate with her little cousins beside her. They loved the moves and the exercise. For Bernadette, the martial arts dojo gave her mind focus.
She learned how to find balance and how the arms and legs worked in punches and kicks. There was never any excess movement. When her left arm was in a block, her right arm was tight by her side in what was called the “chamber.”
It sounded to her like loading a rifle with a bullet. When the arm came out of the chamber for a strike, the fist corkscrewed and snapped at the target. When she used a punching bag, the effect was exhilarating. She felt like her arms and fists were weapons. She loved to spar with the other students. Each session taught her more and pushed her harder.
She was also doing well at school and in her poker games. Her winnings were paying for both her cousins and her karate classes and helping out with food with her aunt.
Aunt Mary came home one day, looked around their grungy apartment, and said to Bernadette, “You know, maybe we should move to something better, with more space.”
“How about with a quieter neighbourhood, less street noise and newer,” Bernadette said. “I saw a place on my way to school that looked nice, it’s on a side street. There was a two bedroom for rent. You want me to check it out?”
Her aunt agreed, and Bernadette set out to find them a new apartment. She had no idea she’d run into a stumbling block in trying to rent the place.
The apartment building she’d seen was two blocks off the main road. It looked onto a small park. There was a balcony and a play area in the back. The superintendent’s wife was name Betty Goodhue. She opened the front door and welcomed Bernadette. She was a big lady with a bouncy blonde perm and a warm smile.
“You’ll have to excuse my appearance,” Betty said. She brushed some flour from her blouse. “I’ve been baking cookies all morning for our church.”
Bernadette smiled at her as they walked along the new hallways with fresh paint, spotless clean carpets, and sparkling light fixtures. A chandelier in the foyer bounced light off the walls, and bright brass mailboxes that no one had dared to try to pry open at night because the front door had a security lock. There was a special keypad for resident entry.
Betty Goodhue smelled of vanilla and cinnamon. Bernadette breathed in her aroma and the ultra clean apartment. The suite Betty showed her was spacious with new appliances and freshly cleaned rugs. The bedrooms were large with a big bathroom, and, to her surprise, a second half bath with a toilet and sink. Bernadette thought the prayers of four girls had been answered.
“I’m sorry, I’ve been rattling away my dear. I haven’t asked who would be renting this?” Betty asked when she took a breath from mentioning all the features of the place.
“It’s for my aunt and her two girls, they’re seven and nine, and for me.” Bernadette explained. She gave her aunt’s job as a waitress, not barmaid, and herself as high school student.
Betty looked Bernadette up and down. “I see,” was all she said. Her chattiness had dropped down an octave.
“Well, we need some more space. I’ll be going to university next year, and my aunt is starting courses to be a dental hygienist.”
“How wonderful,” Betty said. Her eyebrows went up as she said it, and her large curls bounced a bit.
Bernadette could see she had an opening. She needed to bridge the gap. “We were also hoping to get an apartment in this area as it’s also close to our church. We don’t have a car, and as you know, winters can be a bit harsh when standing waiting for the bus on Sundays.”
Betty’s eyes took on a new light. “You’re church people?”
“Yes, ma’am, we attend St. John the Evangelist,” Bernadette said. It wasn’t too big a lie. Her aunt had said she’
d been there on occasion, and Bernadette intended to go there as soon as her sins had piled up enough that she’d need confession. At this rate, it could be soon.
“That’s wonderful,” Betty said. She was beaming now. “My husband, his name is Albert, and you’ll meet him later, and me, we’re Lutherans. Now, we have no problem with Catholics, like them fine; there are many roads to Jesus.”
Bernadette smiled and nodded her head. “Yes, ma’am, there certainly are many ways to our Lord.”
“Why don’t you bring your aunt and little cousins tomorrow. My husband will be here. He makes all the final decisions, but don’t worry, you’re a lovely young lady, and good Christian folks are often hard to find.”
“Why thank you, ma’am—”
“Now, you just call me Betty. You’re so polite and nice and such a respectful girl for your age, I wish there were more like you.”
“Why thank you ma—Betty,” Bernadette said with a shy grin.
Betty gave her a warm handshake and touched her arm as she left. Bernadette felt exhilarated as she crunched through the snow on her return to the rundown apartment. It seemed even worse now after seeing the place. She told her aunt about the place. The rent was three hundred dollars more a month than they were paying, but with her aunt’s tips and Bernadette’s poker winnings it was doable.
The next day was Saturday. Aunt Mary dressed the kids in their best clothes, put on a nice pantsuit with a new winter jacket, and they headed over to the apartment. It was the last week of November; there was fresh snow on the ground with clear blue skies and a light wind.
Bernadette had to explain a few things to her aunt Mary as they walked. She filled her in as they crunched through the snow.
“I’m studying to be a what?” Aunt Mary asked with dismay in her voice.
“A dental hygienist.”
“Why not a brain surgeon?”
“I thought that’d be a bit of a stretch.”
“A hygienist isn’t? You could have said manicurist or hair stylist. Neither of those came to you?”
“Nope. I‘ve always seen you as much smarter, Aunt Mary. I have more faith in you than you do,” Bernadette said.
Aunt Mary laughed. “And you have us attending church every Sunday as well?” She looked down at the girls walking in front of them. “You know, there’s at least one thing we can do.”
“What’s that?” Bernadette asked.
“Go to church on Sunday,” Aunt Mary said with a wink.
They came up to the apartment, and Betty buzzed them inside. She came downstairs. This time she was in an apron with mustard stains. “Oh, you’ll have to excuse me, I’m making sandwiches for the homeless shelter. Our church always takes over once a month,” she said as she fussed over Abigail and Amber. “What pretty girls you are. I’ll have to get you some cookies when we’ve finished the paperwork for the rental.”
“Thank you,” the girls said in unison.
“Ah, here’s Albert; you’ll have to excuse his looks, he’s been cleaning the boiler room all morning,” Betty said as Albert approached.
Albert was thin and wiry in his fifties with thick glasses and thick arms. He wore blue jeans and grease-stained t-shirt. A well-worn baseball cap rose high up on his head as if to give him more height. It didn’t help much; he was just shy of five foot six with the hat.
“Hey, Albert, wipe your hands and come meet these fine people I was telling you about,” Betty said. She had her arms around the two girls as if she’d decided they’d be her personal charges.
Bernadette could see Albert’s face cloud over as he approached. His eyes glanced back and forth from Aunt Mary to Abigail and Amber. His gait became stilted as he walked. He slowed and stopped two metres away. No hand was offered, no greeting.
“The place is gone,” Albert said. He looked down at the carpet, as if he’d just spied some offensive stain. “I forgot to tell you, Betty. A couple came by this morning and said they’d rent it.”
“But, I didn’t see no couple—”
“It’s gone. Sorry,” Albert said. He turned on his heels and walked back up the stairs. His short legs pumping as he escaped from them as fast as he could.
“I…I’m so sorry…” Betty said.
Bernadette could see the sadness and the confusion in Betty. Something was wrong. Had Albert acted out of character? Was this the first time he’d been faced with renting to native Indians?
“We have no luck,” Aunt Mary said as they walked back to their own grungy digs. Bernadette looked over her shoulder as they walked away. Albert and his wife were in a heated discussion. She began to understand. The sign wasn’t down. She didn’t want to say anything to her Aunt Mary. An idea was already forming in her head.
The next day was Sunday. She begged off church with Aunt Mary and the girls. Aunt Mary decided the idea of going to church on regular basis was a good one. Maybe it might also change their luck. The girls had to put on their Sunday best, no tracksuits, no torn cloths. No, not for Aunt Mary. “The Lord sees what you’re wearing in there,” she said.
Bernadette walked to the apartment building they’d wanted to rent. The For Rent sign was still in the front. She took a place behind a tree in the park and waited.
Albert and his wife left their apartment building at 9:30 am. Albert wore black dress pants, shirt and tie with a heavy leather jacket. Betty wore a faux fur coat with those silly fake sealskin boots they made fun of on the reservation.
Bernadette followed behind. She made sure they didn’t see her. As they entered the church, she took her place in the back row. The place was Lutheran, similar to Catholic, or so she’d been told, without the pope and the Latin. Not a bad thing, she thought.
The Lutheran pastor gave a nice sermon, with the usual goodness to all men and avoiding sin. Bernadette wondered if they all weren’t reading the same playbook. At the end of service Bernadette fell in line to leave the church. She inched her way toward the pastor, and with smiles and nods cut her way in just in front of Albert and his wife.
The pastor brightened when he saw Bernadette. “Ah, a new and young face to our church. Have you just moved to our city?” He was an older man with a shock of grey hair the same colour as his full grey beard. At Christmas he doubled as Santa Claus.
“Yes, I have, pastor, I’ve moved here from a First Nations reservation near Fort Vermillion…do you welcome First Nations people to your congregation?” Bernadette asked with a coy smile and downcast eyes.
“My child, of course we do. Lutheran churches were one of the first to welcome Canada’s native people,” the pastor said. He took Bernadette’s hand firmly in his, pressing it as if he’d made it his goal to undo whatever wrong he felt had been done to native people.
“Thank you, pastor. How nice. I’ll tell my aunt. She’ll be so pleased. Now, perhaps if you can help us with one more thing.”
“Of course, my child. What is it?” the pastor asked. Now he was beaming brightly as if he’d just become God’s conduit from heaven.
“We’re having a hard time finding a larger apartment in this neighbourhood…perhaps, if you know anyone who could assist us?”
“Why, my dear, right here is Albert and Betty Goodhue. They manage an apartment very near here. Don’t you have something for this young lady and her aunt, Albert?” the pastor asked.
Albert looked like he’d been shot. His face turned pale. He gulped several times to try and catch his breath, “Well…I…I’m not sure…”
Betty pushed in front of Albert. “Why yes we do young lady. Someone told us just today they didn’t want the two-bedroom suite we have. Why not come over for tea later this afternoon, and you and your aunt can take a look.”
Bernadette shook Betty’s hand. “Thank you so much, and thank you, pastor. You’ve been so wonderful and welcoming.”
Bernadette smiled as she said goodbye to the pastor and the Goodhues, she looked forward to telling her aunt they were moving, and they might have to show up at a Lutheran Ch
urch once in a while.
15
Susie grabbed the pack of matches off the table. Firing up her cigarette she expelled a stream of blue smoke into the air. She looked at the hole in the wall where Stavros’s, the pizza restaurant owner, stared at her.
She wanted to give him the finger. She hated this place. They’d been barred from all the other places for fowl language, loitering, or not spending enough money for the time they spent hanging out.
Stavros was different. Susie had him figured out. When she walked to the ladies’ room, she’d give him a long look, as if she wanted him to follow her. He never did. She figured him for a fantasy man. All imagination and no balls to get anything done, just like Leo and David who sat across from her.
Leo was the lone black kid she could recruit to her gang. He was a plus in a far north city like Canada, where there weren’t many blacks. She wanted a whole bunch of black kids in her gang, so she could live out her fantasy of being this gangland queen of the north. It played well in her head. Once she turned legal age—it was either eighteen or nineteen, she needed to look it up—she’d get a name change. Something cool like Shabina; someone told her it was Arabic for eye of the storm. She’d needed a piece though, a shiny handgun. You couldn’t buy one in Canada, because it was strict and uptight she thought. Boring.
Susie had wanted to lead a gang ever since she’d returned from Los Angeles with her parents. They’d gone to Disney Land. The vacation had been wonderful, a dream for an impressionable ten-year-old steeped in fantasy. Her parents used the trip to tell her they were getting a divorce.
She trusted no one after that. Being good gave no results. Being a bad ass was where it was at. She blew another stream of smoke and smiled at Stavros at the pizza window. She winked at him. He ducked back inside his kitchen.
“What we going to do about the bitch, Bernadette?” Leo asked. He was doodling on the back of a napkin. One dreadlock hung down his face. Susie told him he looked cool with dreadlocks. It made his hat sit funny on his head, and he didn’t like it, but Susie wasn’t to be ignored.
Black Wolf Rising (Prequel to the Bernadette Callahan Mystery Series) Page 7