Dinner Along the Amazon (12 page)

And then I fell down. I fell down beside my dad and pushed him over on his back because he’d fallen on his stomach. It was like he was asleep.

They came up then and I don’t remember much of that. Somebody picked me up, and there was the smell of perfume and my eyes hurt and I got something in my throat and nearly choked to death and I could hear a lot of talking. And somebody was whispering, too. And then I felt myself being carried down and there was the smell of oil and gasoline and some chickens had to be got out of the way again and then there was sunlight.

Then my mother just sat with me, and I guess I cried for a long time. In the cherry and plum-tree orchard—and she seemed to understand because she said that he would tell me all about it and that he hadn’t written me because he didn’t want to scare me when I was all alone at Arthur Robertson’s.

And then Bud came.

My mother said that he should go away for a while. But he said: “I brought something” and she said: “What is it, then?” and now I remember where I got that worm in my handkerchief that I told you about.

It was from Bud.

He said to me that if I wanted to, he’d take me fishing on the lake just before the sun went down. He said that was a good time. And he gave me that worm because he’d found it.

So my mother took it and put it in my hankie and Bud looked at me for a minute and then went away.

The worst part was when I saw my dad again.

My mother took me to the place where he was sitting in the sun and we just watched each other for a long time.

Then he said: “Neil, your mother wants to take our picture because I’m going away tomorrow to Ottawa for a couple of weeks, and she thought I’d like a picture to take with me.”

He lit a cigarette and then he said: “I would, too, you know, like that picture.”

And I sort of said: “All right.”

So they called to Bud, and my mother went to get her camera.

But before Bud came and before my mother got back, we were alone for about ten hours. It was awful.

I couldn’t think of anything and I guess he couldn’t, either. I had a good look at him, though.

He looked just like he does right there in that picture. You can see where the stone hit him on his right cheek—and the one that knocked him out is the one over the eye.

Right then the thing never got settled. Not in words, anyway. I was still thinking about that rink and everything—and my dad hadn’t said anything about the army yet.

I wish I hadn’t done it. Thrown those stones and everything. It wasn’t his fault he had to go.

For another thing, I was sorry about the stones because I knew I wouldn’t find any more like them—but I did throw them, and that’s that.

They both got those little boxes, though—I made sure of that. And in one there was a string of red beads from Orillia and in the other there was a photograph.

There still is.

About Effie

I don’t know how to begin about Effie, but I’ve got to because I think you ought to know about her. Maybe you’ll meet her one day, and then you’ll be glad I told you all this. If I didn’t, then maybe you wouldn’t know what to do.

I don’t remember her last name, but that isn’t important. The main thing is to watch out for her. Not many people have the name Effie, so if you meet one, take a good look, because it might be her. She hasn’t got red hair or anything, or a spot on her face or a bent nose or any of those things, but the way you’ll know her is this: she’ll look at you as if she thought you were someone she was waiting for, and it will probably scare you. It did me. And then if she lets on that her name is Effie, it’s her.

The first time I saw her, she saw me first. I’ll tell you.

I came home from school one day, and it was springtime, so I had to put my coat in the cellar stairway because it was all wet. There was a terrific thunderstorm going on and I was on my way upstairs to look at it. But after I put my coat away I thought I’d go into the kitchen, which was right there, and get a glass of milk and a piece of bread. Then I could have them while I was watching.

I went in, and there was a shout.

Maybe it was a scream, I don’t know. But somebody sure made a noise and it scared the daylights out of me.

Right then I didn’t know what it was. It looked like a ghost, you know, and then it looked like a great big gray overcoat, and it sort of fell at me.

But it was Effie.

Of course, I didn’t know her name then, or who she was or anything, but I figured out that she must be the new maid that my mother told me to watch out for because she was coming that day. And it was.

It was then that she gave me that look I told you about—the look that said ‘Are you the one I’m waiting for’—and then she sat down and started to cry.

It wasn’t very flattering to have someone look at you and then burst into tears, exactly. I mean it doesn’t make you want to go up and ask them what’s the matter with them or anything. But I thought right then that I had to anyway, because I felt as though maybe I’d really let her down by turning out to just be me and everything. You know, I thought maybe she thought it was Lochinvar or someone. I’d seen maids break up like that before, when they didn’t like Toronto and wanted to go home. They just sat around just waiting all the time for some guy on a horse.

I soon found out that I was wrong, though.

Effie was waiting all right, but not the way most women do. She knew all about him, this man she wanted—just when he’d come and what it would be like, all that stuff. But the man she was waiting for certainly didn’t sound like any man I’d ever heard of.

She just called him ‘him,’ and sometimes it was even ‘they,’ as if there were a thousand of them or something.

That first afternoon, for instance, when I went up to her and asked her what was wrong, she sort of blew her nose and said: “I’m sorry, I thought you were him.” Then she looked out of the window beside her and shook her head. “But you weren’t. I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t figure out whether she meant ‘I’m sorry I scared you’ or ‘I’m sorry you weren’t this man I was expecting.’ But I guess it didn’t matter because she really meant it, whichever way it was. I liked that. I didn’t know anybody who went around saying they were sorry as though they meant it, and it made a big change. So I got my glass of milk and my piece of bread and sat down with her.

“Would you like some tea? I’ll make some,” she said.

“I’m not allowed to drink tea, but I could have some in my milk. I’m allowed that. My mother calls it Cambridge tea.”

“Cambric—” She stood up.

“I thought it was Cambridge. I thought my mother said Cambridge tea.”

“No, cambric. Cambridge is a school,” she said.

Then she smiled. Boy, that was certainly some smile. And it was then she told me her name and where she came from. Howardstown.

I’d seen it once—it was all rocks and chimney stacks and smoke. I saw it from the train and it didn’t exactly make you want to go out and live there. Howardstown had that sort of feeling that seems to say T wish everyone would go away and leave me alone for a change.’ So you can see what I mean. And that’s where Effie came from. So knowing that, you could tell why she preferred to come to Toronto to wait for this man she was expecting.

About that. I had to ask her but I didn’t know how. I mean when somebody flings themself at you like that, how do you go about asking them why? You can’t say ‘Gee, you sure did behave sort of peculiar just then.’ You can see what I mean. It would just be rude.

So I sat there drinking my milk; and while she waited for the kettle to boil, she came over and sat down beside me at the table.

“Do you like the rain?” she asked me.

“Sometimes.”

“Like today? Like now?”

“Sometimes.”

She gave up on that and said: “When does your brother come in?” instead.

“Bud? Oh, he doesn’t come in till it’s time to eat. He plays football.”

“In the rain?”

“No, I guess not. I don’t know, then. Maybe he’s over at Teddy Hartley’s. He goes over there sometimes.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know about Teddy Hartley and Bud being such great friends.

I began to wonder if when Bud came in she’d leap at him too. I had a picture of Bud’s face when she scared him. The trouble was that he’d probably start right out with his fists. He was like that. If you surprised him or anything, he just started swinging. With his eyes closed—he didn’t care who you were. Sometimes you can really get hurt that way. Surprising Bud.

When I thought of that, I thought maybe I should warn her. But I couldn’t figure out how to say that, either. It was the same sort of thing. I thought of saying ‘By the way, if my brother comes in, don’t go leaping out at him—or else.’ But before I could, the kettle boiled.

Effie got up and put some of the hot water into the teapot.

“Always warm the pot,” she said, “first. Then pour it out and put in the tea leaves. Like this. Then you pour the boiling water over them—see? Or else you don’t get any flavour. Remember that.”

I do. My first lesson in how to make tea.

She came back and sat down.

“Now it has to steep.” I remember that, too.

She folded her hands.

Her hair was black and it was tied in a big knot at the back. She had brown eyes that sort of squinted and she had a smell like marmalade. Orange marmalade. And she looked out of the window.

Then she said that the tea had steeped itself for long enough and was ready. She filled my glass because I’d drunk all my milk. I hoped my mother wouldn’t come in and see me.

Effie said: “Your mother told me I could have a cup of tea every afternoon at four o’clock. It’s four-fifteen now.” And she poured her own cup.

I got back to what I wanted to know.

“That sure is some thunderstorm out there,” I said.

“Yes.” She went very dreamy. “That’s why I thought you were him.”

“Who?” I certainly would have made a terrific spy. Why, you wouldn’t have known I really cared at all, the way I asked that.

“Him.”

“Who’s that?”

“There has to be thunder, or he won’t come.”

“Why is that? Is he afraid you’ll hear him or something?” I let myself get sarcastic like that because I thought it was time I got to the bottom of things.

“On a cloud,” she whispered. “A big black cloud. That’s a rule.”

All those other men always come on horses—white horses. Not Effie’s. A big black cloud. I felt pretty strange when she came out with that one. It sort of scared me.

“Will he take you away?”

“Of course he will. That’s why he’s coming. That’s why I’m waiting.”

“Do you wait for him all the time?”

“Oh no. Not always. Only when it rains. Then I get prepared.”

I looked around, but there weren’t any suitcases or anything. I wondered what she meant by ‘prepared.’

“That’s why I thought you were him. There had just been a pretty big thunder and there was lightning and then you were there. I even thought I heard music.”

“Maybe my mother has the radio on.”

I listened, but she didn’t.

“Did you hear anything?” she asked.

“You mean like music?”

“Yes.”

“No, I didn’t think so. I can’t remember, maybe I did—”

“You did!” She leapt up. I got scared again. “Did you, did you? Tell me if you did. Tell me. Did you hear it? The music? Did you hear it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, but you said…”

Then she sat down and it looked like she might cry again.

“Do you want Howardstown?” I asked. I had to say something.

But she said: “No, thank you.”

“Wouldn’t you like to go back?”

“No, thank you.”

“I was there once. It was pretty.”

I lied again, but I thought maybe I had to for her sake. Then I lied again.

“I was there in the summertime. We spent our whole summer holiday there because we liked it so much. Don’t you want to go back?”

“No thank you.”

That long line there is where she blew her nose.

“Don’t you want to see those nice rocks and everything? I liked those.”

Then I thought of something. I thought I had it.

“Effie?”

“Yes?”

“Doesn’t it rain there?”

“In Howardstown?”

“Yes.”

“Of course it does.”

“But does it thunder?”

“Of course it does.”

“And lightning?”

“Certainly.”

“Oh.”

I guess it wasn’t such a brilliant idea after all. So I thought again.

“Did he say he’d meet you here—I mean in Toronto?”

That at least made her laugh, which was something. It was nice when she laughed.

“Of course not. Don’t be silly. Why, if I went to Timbuctoo he’d just as soon find me there. Or in Madagascar even. I don’t have to wait around in any old Toronto.”

“Oh.”

I was trying to think where that was. Madagascar.

“Besides, it’s not just me he’s after.”

That really got me. I thought he was after Effie.

Then she looked at me and all of a sudden I felt it. That it wasn’t just some knight in shining armour she had in mind. Or some crazy man on a black cloud, either. No, sir. Whoever he was, he surely was coming. You could tell that just from the way she looked.

Then she said: “Some day when I know you better, I’ll tell you. Right now it’s four-thirty.”

And she put her cup into the sink and washed it. And my glass and the plate from my bread and butter. She ran the water over them and she sang a song.

And it rained and it rained and it rained.

But there was no more thunder.

That was over.

The next time it was the middle of the night. About two weeks later.

There was another of those storms. I didn’t wake up at first, but then there was a crash of thunder that really did shake my bed. I mean it. I nearly fell out, even.

I called out in a whisper to Bud, but he was asleep. I forgot to tell you we sleep in the same room. Anyway, I knew I didn’t have to be afraid, so it didn’t matter that he didn’t wake up. Thunder doesn’t scare me when you can look at it—I even like watching it—but when it’s night-time and everyone is asleep but you, then you begin to wonder if it really is just thunder. And sometimes you begin to think that maybe somebody will come and grab you when you can’t hear them because of the noise. I wondered if that was what Effie meant.