Once We Had a Country (26 page)

While Lenka disappears into the kitchen, the priest leads them on a tour of the rooms. There are two bedrooms, a sitting room, and a small dining area, its table laid and waiting. As Maggie takes in the place, she realizes it’s the first dwelling other than the farmhouse she’s entered since the spring. She finds herself admiring the spotlessness of it all. Nowhere are there gouges on the wall or haphazard furniture with torn upholstery. The kitchen gleams as though nothing has ever been spilled or burnt.
The effect is heightened by the priest’s obvious pride in the place. He explains that Lenka’s bedroom was a study when they arrived, and that the rectory is usually for one person but for them an exception was made. This is all the two of them need, he says. It’s bigger than their parents’ apartment in Prague.

At dinner, George Ray sits next to Maggie, and Lenka serves them all a noodle soup, which is consumed with obligatory compliments to the chef but without any conversation, only noisy slurping by the priest. Then, after Lenka has brought the sirloin and dumplings to the table, suddenly she begins to talk, as if it’s a Czech custom to withhold discussion until the appearance of the entree. While she speaks, the priest watches her as he might watch a child playing a violin piece he has taught her.

“We come four years ago, yes? Is not by choice. Josef and I are sheep, we keep opinions to ourselves, we hide in flock.” Her brother murmurs as though she has hit a wrong note, but Lenka shushes him. “After parents are arrested, is dangerous to stay. People say Canada is good for Czechs. We joke it is Siberia but colder.” George Ray gives a sympathetic laugh, and Lenka beams. “Now, in one more year, we are citizens. When we arrive, we talk no English. Today we are not too bad, yes?” Maggie and George Ray agree they are not too bad.

“What about your parents?” asks Maggie.

Lenka adjusts the napkin on her lap. “Some gulag,” she says. Maggie expects the priest to offer a word of commiseration, but he only sits gazing at his plate.

“You ever think of going back?” she asks.

“Back?” Lenka repeats it as if the possibility would never occur to any reasonable person. “No, there is no back. We come here, Josef puts heart into church. We pretend we are in paradise and not in exile.” The priest makes a face to suggest he’s familiar with this viewpoint but not approving. “Is hard on priest here—not many Catholics. There are Mennonites everywhere, you notice? Women in the black dresses, men with the buggies. People think they are nice. Josef hates them.” At this, the priest speaks sharply to Lenka in Czech, and she responds with equal severity before resuming in English. “He denies it, but I fear he is on path to becoming—jaded? Is that right? Yes, jaded. Once he has great hopes for life in America. Canada is always letting him down.”

“Is not true,” says the priest sulkily, but he offers no further rebuttal.

“What about for you?” Maggie asks Lenka. “What’s it like here?”

“In Czechoslovakia I train as legal secretary. Here, degree is worthless. Cousin in Toronto, she promises to find me a nice Czech man to marry, but I tell her I am old, I will settle for a Canadian. If I have too high standard, I will spend all my life cooking for Josef.” She smiles at the priest, who’s still sullen.

“Did you have a boyfriend in Czechoslovakia?” asks Maggie. As she does, she recognizes something too personal in the question, but it’s too late. The priest lowers his head, and Lenka gives him a glance that he doesn’t return.

“Long time ago,” says Lenka. Then she gets up to fetch something from the kitchen.

Maggie wonders what George Ray must think, listening to all this. He’s already finished his meal, unhampered by speech because no one has asked him a thing. Should she try to draw him into the conversation? No, it’s better not to expose him like that. When Lenka returns, though, it seems she’s had a similar thought, because the first thing she does is to ask him what part of Jamaica he’s from. The question is puzzling. Why does Lenka care? For a moment he doesn’t respond, and Maggie feels a nervousness on his behalf. There’s a compulsion to rush in and reply for him, though she doesn’t know the answer.

“Little place called Newcross,” he says. “Up in the mountains, not more than twenty houses, mostly farms. There’s a dry goods store and a church. Anglican,” he adds apologetically, directing this information to the priest. Josef shrugs as if to say it can’t be helped.

“You spend all the summers working in this country?” asks Lenka, and George Ray nods.

“Each time I go back, my children say I sound like a Canadian, all speaky-spokey.”

“You have children!” Lenka exclaims. “But is so long away from them! If I am prime minister, I make rule, I do not let fathers come.”

“The Canadians like fathers best,” George Ray replies. “They’re more likely to go back when the contract is finished.”

“But is hard work, no? And pay is not so good?”

Again some time passes before he responds, as if he’s weighing up how much to tell her. “Most places it’s minimum wage, ten-hour days. Rain or shine outdoors. You
sleep eight or nine to a room. I don’t complain, though. Do that and the boss sends your backside home. Plenty more in Jamaica to take your place.” He speaks with a wry, amused tone that loses some of its humour as he goes. Then he turns to Maggie and sees her look of horror. “It’s not so bad where I am now.”

She tries to smile at him but can’t. She should have asked him about such things a long time ago. Perhaps she was afraid of what he’d tell her.

“Soon you will be home?” Lenka asks.

“Five weeks,” he says, and again Maggie’s taken aback. Only five? Yes, of course. He must be counting the days, eager to see his family. Perhaps next year he should come for less time. But less time is less money; surely he wants more of that. And by then Maggie could have a baby. They’ll need George Ray to look after the farm.

Now Lenka’s asking him about his wife. It’s another thing Maggie hasn’t discussed with him. She starts to feel an irritation with the questions, as if they’re meant to make both her and George Ray uncomfortable, but he seems not to mind. He says his wife’s name is Velma, and Lenka asks what it’s like for the two of them to be apart so long.

“Oh, Velma is a jealous woman,” he replies with a grin. “She says no messing with the white girls. Black girls neither. I tell her there aren’t any black girls in Canada. She says don’t sound so sad about it.”

The priest and Lenka laugh, while Maggie begins to plot how she and George Ray might make an early escape.

Then Lenka turns to her and asks if she’s all right. From the start of the evening Maggie has been resigned to the
idea that eventually the conversation will shift to her, and she has expected a quiz from the priest about her father, but to a simple query about whether she’s all right, she has no answer whatsoever.

“Yes, thanks,” she manages. “It was a wonderful meal.”

It feels like the beginning of something but turns out to be the end; Lenka merely acknowledges the compliment and starts to clear the table, promising dessert. Bewildered, Maggie rises to help. Have their hosts agreed beforehand not to ask her questions? Following Lenka with a load of dishes, she grows annoyed at the thought that they’re handling her with kid gloves.

When the two of them have reached the kitchen, Lenka glances back toward the dining room. Once she seems assured that no one else will join them, she speaks in a low voice.

“You are pregnant, no?”

Maggie can’t hide her shock. Looking down at her stomach, she observes no change.

“Is not belly,” says Lenka. “I hear from doctor’s secretary.” In response to Maggie’s expression, she adds, “Is horrible, I know—forgive her.”

Maggie’s not thinking about forgiveness; she’s thinking of the implication. “She’s seen the results? They haven’t called me with them yet.” Twice this week she’s phoned the office and received no satisfaction. Lenka could have misheard; there could have been some problem of language.

“This is what the woman say,” Lenka insists.

So flustered is Maggie that she doesn’t immediately
comprehend Lenka’s next words, spoken in the same low voice as before.

“You know, with doctor’s permission the abortion is legal here.”

Slowly, Maggie grasps what has been said. It’s outrageous. Lenka can’t tell her this news and then suggest such a thing in the same breath. How could she? A priest’s sister! Is it a kind of test? But she thinks of Lenka’s near whisper and realizes this is something about which the woman hasn’t consulted her brother.

“I tell you because is harder to get in other countries,” Lenka says. “And some women here do not know the rules.” She says these words very precisely, so that Maggie has a glimpse of something, like a phrase on a poster in her peripheral vision, and it leaves her not knowing how to respond. There’s been too much all at once; she never asked to be told such things.

“I’m going to have the baby,” she says.

Lenka looks surprised. “You are sure? What of father?”

“He’s coming back.”

“I see.” As Lenka meditates on this, her silence is freighted and intolerable.

“Really, he is,” Maggie tells her, irritated by her own insistence. She fumbles to picture how things will go: her belly like a watermelon, Fletcher pacing outside the delivery room. Something in her needs Lenka to affirm this vision or refute it, to tell her she’s a fool and he’s never coming back. It doesn’t happen, though. Lenka’s thoughts have already passed on to some other matter.

“So is not George Ray’s?” she says.

Maggie feels herself blush. “Of course not. We’re just friends.” But this last assertion sounds too defensive, and it might not even be true, because who ever said she and George Ray were friends?

“I forget to ask him whether he wishes coffee,” says Lenka, as though there’s no more to be said, and without any further comment she starts back toward the dining room.

Maggie lags behind, still trying to make sense of what has been revealed to her. Right now she couldn’t stomach coffee. She needs to get home and phone Fletcher with the news. No, first she needs to call the doctor. What if that secretary answers the phone? Maggie doesn’t know what she’d say to the woman.

Instead of reclaiming her seat, she lingers at the edge of the dining area and announces that they have had a lovely time but should be going. George Ray takes the hint and rises while the priest turns to Lenka accusatorily, seeming to recognize that something has transpired. Maggie doesn’t want to think about the discussion those two will have once she and George Ray are gone. Then the priest is all smiles again and stands to show them to the door. Lenka remains behind him, saying nothing. She doesn’t have to speak; there’s an invisible thread running between her and Maggie now.
Harder to get in other countries
. To distract herself from the phrase’s implications, Maggie studies George Ray putting on his shoes and realizes that tonight he has changed for her as well. What is she to do with his village in the mountains and his resentment about being here? Only the priest, with his sanctimony and hard
stare, has stayed within himself, and in that respect she’s grateful to him.

“Was that okay?” she says to George Ray on the drive home.

“She asked you a lot of questions.”

“Not too many.”

The radio towers blink on the horizon, starlike in their fixity. When Maggie speaks again, she feels detached from her words.

“In the kitchen, Lenka told me I should have an abortion.” She keeps her eyes on the road as he turns to her.

“I didn’t know there was a baby.”

“There might not be. Fletcher thinks I’m just stressed.”

George Ray ponders this information while scanning the dashboard as if scrutinizing lines printed there. “Why would she suggest abortion? Because you aren’t married?”

“Actually,” she replies, “Lenka seemed more concerned that you were the father.”

He gives a surprised laugh that stutters into silence. “You must be glad your man is returning soon,” he says finally.

“Yes.” But she doesn’t hear gladness in her voice. “And soon you’ll be home. You’ll get to see your family.”

To this he doesn’t respond.

At the turnoff for the road to Harroway, there’s the noise of the tires transferring from pavement to gravel. A minute later Maggie steers them up the farmhouse driveway. Once the camper’s at rest, she and George Ray exit on their separate sides. As they cross over in front of the vehicle, she makes herself busy rifling through her purse.

“Good night,” he says.

“Oh! Right. Good night.” They stand facing each other until awkwardly she puts out her hand. He shakes it with an exaggerated pump. “Sleep well,” she says, starting up the porch stairs. At the top, she turns to find him in the same place as before. “You okay?”

“Yes. I was just thinking.”

“Do you want to come in for tea? No, of course. Sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“It’s just that it’s late.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe one cup,” he says.

She smiles, fumbles to get her key in the door while he climbs the stairs. When she gestures for him to enter, he hesitates.

“What is it?” she says.

“Nothing.” But still he won’t go in. Finally she reaches up, takes his head in her hands, and turns his face to meet hers.

“Hello,” she says.

“Hello.”

As if in response to their greetings, there’s a meow. They look down to see the grey cat circling their feet and brushing against their ankles. George Ray bends to pick him up and rocks him against his chest. When she goes to pet him, Elliot pushes his cheek into her fingers.

“You take him tonight,” says George Ray.

“No, it wouldn’t work. I’ve tried. He just yowls to go outside. He likes you more.” She glances back into the house. “Will you—”

“I should go,” he says, setting Elliot down. “You know?”

She swallows before putting on a smile. “Sure, of course. Good night, then.”

She watches until he has disappeared around the side of the house. Then the cat bounds down the porch steps and sets off after him.

The next morning, she tells herself she didn’t do anything wrong. If she confessed it all to Fletcher, he’d only praise her for being sociable. It isn’t true, though. He wouldn’t be glad to know about her holding George Ray’s face, feeling his cheekbones, and taking in those sad eyes. For that matter, what did George Ray think of it? During breakfast, she sits by the window watching the lawn. When she spots him, she hurries out to ask if he’ll be eating dinner in the house tonight, trying to make it sound like an everyday, ordinary question. He answers that he will be and he seems relaxed, but it doesn’t stop her worrying.