I was happier when Mom was the same as every other mom.
Jack’s mom wore an apron, baked pies, and made you feel at home, even if you weren’t in anybody’s home. She had fat hands and fat cheeks.
Annie’s mom was almost Annie. Same eyes, same nose, same lips. But not my Annie. Mrs. Barker was Granny Annie. Hair grey. Teeth grey. Somebody who drank tea and ate Peek Freans Digestive Biscuits. She was the oldest of all the moms.
Mrs. Dahl-Packer was College Mom, Pharmacist Mom, Ominous Mom, and Pecker’s Mom. Her face was soap in my eyes.
My mom could have passed for my big sister. The big sister in an orphan movie. The sister with Hollywood ambitions. The sister who gave up her dreams to raise her younger brother. That sure as hell should have taken the pretty out of her.
I didn’t ask Iris anything. Who would I be asking, anyhow, that reticent slip of a woman we now saw increasingly about town, Photoplay her fashion bible, or the working witch she molted into, who saw not, heard not, spoke not?
Last thing Jack and I expected was Iris to come to us. In her way, of course. And not that I can point to any good it did us. Her warnings would be too cryptic and Jack and me too thick.
Eleven
Toward the fulfillment
of my academic and societal potential
My mother had said she’d walk home with me after her meeting with Mr. Malbasic, if the timing was right and they didn’t need her to rush back to work. When she didn’t show up after class, I was relieved for all the usual reasons walking anywhere near school with a parent entails. Until I got home and found the police car out front.
The last police car to come by our house had delivered Dad’s belongings. The one before had brought the news of his death.
“My mother’s dead,” I said to Jack, and went inside.
Mom wasn’t dead. She was in the armchair by the television set. She was smoking, the Du Maurier pack open on the coffee table.
Two men sat across from her on the sofa. A policeman in uniform, his cap in lap. A detective in brown jacket and grey pants. He had an M Squad hat propped on a knee, but he wasn’t Lee Marvin.
“Who’s dead?” I asked.
“Get your snack,” Mom said, “and take it to your bedroom.”
“But you don’t like me to eat in my bedroom.”
“Today’s an exception.” Her smile was fake. Her smiles were never fake. She tapped ash into the ashtray. I counted four butts, lipstick stains on the filters. The police had been talking to Mom for a while.
“Tall for his age,” I heard one of the cops say as I poured my milk. “Soon be taller than you, Emily.”
“Gets it from his father’s side,” Mom said.
I wrapped some Arrowroots in a napkin.
“Close the door behind you, sweetheart,” Mom said, as I tramped up the stairs.
I kicked the door shut so they’d hear, set my snack on my desk, and dropped to the floor. I pressed an ear to the hardwood. The living room was below. Some nights I fell asleep on the floor, listening to Playhouse 90, Bat Masterson, Alfred Hitchcock, The Untouchables, Jack Paar. The nights my mother couldn’t sleep were the best TV-listening nights for me.
“I’m not accusing you, Emily. As I said, it’s something you need to be aware of. First, your husband dies from a blow to the temple and now Harvey Malbasic suffers the same. We’ve got a pattern here.”
“What pattern? I was a hundred miles away when Alex had his accident.”
“I’m just saying, these are coincidences the Court will look at should Harvey succumb.”
“He assaulted me, Ken. He assaulted me.” She must have known the policeman to have called him by name. I did not know how she knew him.
“It’s your word against his. He is the school principal, don’t forget. Well respected. Unblemished record. Military service. And it’s not as if you didn’t have motive.”
“Motive? I didn’t have a motive. I went to see him because of the letter he—”
“Revenge, Mrs. Berry.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He did strap your son, after all.”
“What? When? Leo never said—”
“Leo, it would appear, has earned himself a reputation in recent weeks. And hardly desirable. Seems it’s not only his height he gets from his father’s side. From what I hear, your husband was quite the hothead in his day.”
“No, he wasn’t. That’s ridiculous.”
“According to some . . .”
“They told you wrong.”
“We’re not here to accuse.”
“Then why are you here?”
“All we want is to set the record straight. One more time, from the beginning, tell me exactly what happened.”
There was a long pause. Long enough to eat my cookies and drink my milk. My mother might have been lighting up another cigarette, too, ruminating on her strategy.
“I gave you the letter he sent home with Leo. You read it.”
“You realize it’s dated the same day Leo received the strap?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You tell me.”
“How? The first I heard about the strap was five minutes ago.”
“Okay. Fine. You didn’t know your son was strapped. Mr. Malbasic wanted to see you. Go on.”
“Because he wanted to help Leo.”
“Right. The letter.”
“Like I told you, he put his hand on my shoulder and as he ushered me into his office, he asked if anyone had ever told me how much I look like Gene Tierney.”
“The actress.”
“Yes.”
“I can see that. You do a little. Well, in her heyday, I imagine. And had anyone?”
“Anyone what?”
“Told you this before?”
“Yes. He had. Mr. Malbasic had. Several times. I reminded him and we laughed.”
“So you liked it?”
“Yes and no. It was very flattering. But it also made me uneasy. Like he was flirting with me.”
“But you didn’t discourage him. . . .”
“It was just his way, I thought. You know, being complimentary. But this afternoon was different, Ken. The moment he shut his office door he grabbed me—grabbed me right here.”
“On your behind? Would that be accurate?”
“Yes.”
“A grab or a squeeze? Two times ago . . . let me see . . . ah, yes . . . here it is . . . you called it a squeeze.”
“Either way, he did it intentionally. It was firm. His whole hand. I could feel his fingers.”
“A grab then. Not a squeeze.”
“It was both. It started out as a grab but ended up as a squeeze.”
“Uh-uh. I see. And then?”
“I jumped, of course.”
“That’s all? Earlier, you said you spoke out.”
“I cried out. From surprise. He’d never been so forward before.”
“You’re saying this wasn’t the first time you’d been intimate with him, then?”
“No. I am not saying that at all. It was the first time he’d ever touched me.”
“Surely, the two of you had shaken hands.”
“Yes, other than that, I mean.”
“And then?”
“He could see I was flustered. He laughed, winked at me like he’d meant no harm. I laughed, too. Perhaps he hadn’t.”
“You stated earlier that you also winked at him?”
“Only to put him at ease. In case I’d misunderstood. You know, overreacted? He wanted to help Leo. I was afraid I’d jeopardize that. It’s easy to read people the wrong way. I didn’t want to make a mountain out of a molehill.”
“How do you think he interpreted your wink?”
“He didn’t see it. His back was turned. He was taking his seat. And I took mine. He opened a file folder and started talking about Leo.”
“He had a lot to say about your son.”
“Yes.”
“Good th
ings?”
Mom made a clicking noise with her tongue and lips. Far as I could tell, she lit up another. “I can’t remember. I was too distraught to listen.”
“So you were angry at him, then?”
“Not angry. Ashamed. I couldn’t stop thinking how he’d touched me. It wasn’t an accident. It was a blatant pass. He’s a married man. I was embarrassed. For myself. For him. For his family. For my son.”
“Your son wasn’t present.”
“Of course not. But I was there because of Leo. And Mr. Malbasic had suddenly made it about me.”
“And this is when you picked up the paperweight and struck him in the head.”
“I never hit him with anything.”
“There was blood on the owl.”
“I didn’t hit him.”
“But you shoved him, did you not?”
“I didn’t realize he’d stopped talking. It felt like hours. But when I looked at the clock on his desk, it was no more than ten minutes. He was calling my name. ‘Emily? Emily?’”
“Are you sure it wasn’t ‘Mrs. Berry, Mrs. Berry,’ Mrs. Berry?”
“Were you there, Officer? Were you? Because it seems to me you’re far more interested in your version of events than mine.”
“Continue. Please.”
More silence. And then: “He wanted to know what I thought of his plan. ‘So, what do you think?’ he said. ‘Does it sound reasonable for young Mr. Leo? Something we could work on together? Bi-weekly sit-downs, perhaps, you and me, to monitor his progress—work out the kinks?’ I thanked him. Told him I would need to think about it. I stood to leave and next I knew he had his arms around me and was sticking his tongue in my mouth. I tried to get away and he fell. I screamed. His secretary came running in. The ambulance came. I went home. And now you’re here, as if the entire fiasco was my fault.”
I watched the policemen leave from my window. Jack was still outside, on the sidewalk, in the same spot I’d left him almost an hour earlier. I shouted down to him. “She’s not dead.”
“You didn’t tell me Mr. Malbasic strapped you,” my mother said.
“Are you going to jail?” I said.
Twelve
The Justice League of Angels
Mrs. Crawford put Susan Burgess, Annie Barker, and Charles Dahl-Packer in charge of our class’s get-well card for Mr. Malbasic. They were given a large sheet of white Bristol board, which they folded in half. The card was almost done when Pecker coughed glue onto it.
“Were you eating glue?” Mrs. Crawford asked him.
“It was an accident,” he said.
Pecker was relieved of his duties and sent to the bathroom to wash his mouth and chin. Susan and Annie started over with a sheet of yellow Bristol board. They were not happy, but it was the only colour Mrs. Crawford had to offer.
Susan was the best artist in our class. On the front of the card, she drew a picture of the cannon on Mount Pelion, with flowers and GET WELL SOON!!! shooting from the cannon. Each word was a different colour and each succeeding line was larger than the line that came before it. Inside, she drew more flowers and used green pipe cleaners for stems. Annie came up with the poem.
We’re sad you fell.
We hope you get well.
Come back to school soon
And please visit our room.
Yours truly,
Mrs. Crawford’s 4th Grade Class
I thought it was pretty good and told Susan and Annie so. I liked how the pipe cleaners intertwined with the poem. “Pecker thought of that,” Susan said. “Too bad he had to go and eat the glue.”
Mrs. Crawford instructed Annie to bring the card from desk to desk, so everyone could sign their name. “Neatly, children,” she said. “Principal Malbasic frowns upon poor penmanship. He’ll see your name and know who was careless.”
As Annie began her rounds, Mrs. Crawford whispered in my ear. “It’s best for all concerned if you don’t sign the card. You can pretend to write, so you don’t feel singled out, but don’t actually, okay?”
I didn’t want to sign it, anyhow. And I didn’t pretend to, either. Annie couldn’t believe it when I handed the card right back to her. “But—but—”
“Keep moving, Annie, honey,” Mrs. Crawford said.
At recess, Annie asked me why I didn’t sign the card.
“Do you ever wish you had a different mother?”
“How can you think such a thing?”
“You’re lucky your mom is old.”
“And you’re lucky your mom is young. You’ll have her a lot longer than I’ll have mine.”
“Old mothers are better. You don’t have to watch out for them so much.”
“You watch out for her?”
“People have been telling me I’m the man of the house since I was five.”
“If my father died I’d never stop crying.”
“Do you think my mother’s pretty?”
“What?”
“My mother. Do you think she’s pretty?”
“You’re acting really weird, Gus. What’s going on?”
“I wish she wasn’t.”
“Can’t you be happy about anything? Anything at all?”
“Nothing bad ever happens to you.”
“You sound as if you wish something would.”
“Mr. Malbasic thinks my mother is pretty. That’s why he’s in the hospital.”
“You’re making even less sense than usual.”
“Never mind.”
“You don’t know anything. You really don’t.”
“Oh, yeah? Really, Annie? I know stuff you wouldn’t want to know.”
“Think so, do you? You think you’ve got it so hard. Poor, poor Gloomy Gus. I’ve got news for you, Mister, you’re not the only one. My mother had nine babies before she had me. And every single one of them died. You think nothing bad ever happens to me? Nine dead babies happened to me. Do you know what it’s like to be the only one who didn’t die? Do you know how hard it is? Do you know the first thing I remind myself every single morning? ‘Don’t die, today, Annie. You’ll kill your parents if you do.’ I told my dad once. And do you know what he said? He said he was disappointed in me. He said I should feel privileged, because God had chosen me to live my brothers’ and sisters’ lives for them. And I shouldn’t ever worry, because I had nine little guardian angels watching out for me.”
“But that’s good. They’ll keep you safe.”
“No. It makes it worse. It’s not only Mommy and Daddy I can’t let down, it’s my nine angels, too. Do you know what my mother calls me? Her ‘sweet gift from God.’ She says the others were meant to die so I could be born—that everything they were, and ever would be, is wrapped up in me. It’s my job to live a long, long life in their honour. And it’s their job to protect me so that I do.”
“Do you know what they’re protecting you from? Did your mom say?”
“Of course not. She doesn’t know. Do you know what you’re protecting your mother from?”
“Sort of. Well, not exactly.”
“If having a pretty mom is the worst thing in your life, Gus, you don’t know how lucky you are.”
“I didn’t sign the card because of my mother. Mr. Malbasic tried to kiss her and when she tried to get away he fell down and banged his head. My mother might go to jail.”
“Oh, Gus . . .” Annie touched my arm same way she’d stroke a kitten. Her eyes glistened. “I think you and your mom need my angels more than I do, right now. I’ll pray for her, okay? I’ll pray Mr. Malbasic gets better and I’ll pray your mother doesn’t go to jail.”
“Maybe you could pray for her to be less pretty, too.”
She groaned. “I pray for only good things, Gus. Not bad.”
“It’d be a good thing for me.”
“Your angels, Annie. The nine of them. You think they’re like the Justice League of America?”
“Are there girls in the Justice League?”
“Wonder Woman.”
“They could be, then.”
“The Justice League of Angels.”
It may not sound like it from what I’ve told you so far, but I think of Annie as often as I do Jack.
How can I not?
Thirteen
God save our gracious Gus
I got the mumps and missed two weeks of school. I’d planned on a leisurely binge of comic books and game shows, until Mrs. Crawford and Mom conspired for Jack to bring my homework to the Marquee, where my mother picked it up after work. A couple of days in, Jack slipped a note into my speller.
Gus, I found something really neat in Hanna Park.
How are your mumps?
Are you eating Jell-O?
See ya!
—Jack
The Monday I returned to school, I saw Mr. Malbasic in the parking lot. It was his first day back, too. Annie’s prayers had worked. For him, at least. The jury was still out for Mom and me.
I scurried ahead, made sure he didn’t see me. I had prayed plenty, too: Please make the bump on Mr. Malbasic’s head give him Trenton amnesia. Please make Mr. Malbasic forget about Mom and me. Please make my mother look like other mothers, just not like Pecker’s mother. I would have prayed for Mr. Malbasic to die, but then Mom would have been up on murder charges.
An assembly was held in the school basement to celebrate the principal’s return. Dufferin didn’t have a gym or an auditorium, so Mr. Pennington, the caretaker, would set up folding chairs. For the stage, he’d drag together eight plywood platforms to create one big platform.
Jack, Annie, and a bunch of dorks—that somehow included Mickey Mental in his Scout uniform (are you kidding me!) and Pecker (what the hell!)—went on stage to present Mr. Malbasic with a wolverine for the taxidermy collection. The wolverine was poised on all fours on a base of sparkly fake snow. A fleshy, bony, bloody thing was clamped between its jaws. Ranger Clegg, the taxidermist, gave a brief lecture on wolverines and showed us a National Film Board of Canada documentary about the Edmonton Eskimos of the Canadian Football League, after which he apologized for bringing the wrong movie, but hoped we enjoyed it, regardless. Janet Barstool, a brainy first-grade girl with glasses and two yards of pigtails, read the inscription that accompanied the wolverine:
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