Sweet Jesus (15 page)

Norm pressed a wrong number on the remote control and found himself staring at the Weather Channel. A jazzy instrumental version of a
U2
song was playing. A map of the world spun and threw up the temperatures in London, Stockholm, Cairo, Marrakesh. There was something about the jaunty blind optimism of the music and the authority over the planet and knowing what the weather was in some faraway city that made him feel lonely here in this small apartment, full of melancholy and something to do with brotherly love.

He turned off the
TV
and went outside onto the balcony and rummaged through a shelf made of milk crates until he’d gathered up a small plastic pot, some newspaper, and what remained of a bag of soil. He took these things into the kitchen and laid them on the table. In a shotglass of water, an avocado pit hung suspended from the lip of the glass by three sewing pins. When they got home the day before, Norm had noticed that the pit had sprouted while they were away, a small white tongue was pushing its way out of a crack in the stiff brown shell.

When the phone rang, his hands were furred with soil. He picked it up delicately, so as not to get it dirty. It was Hannah’s sister.

So you’re finally back, Connie said. I’ve been calling for days. I wasn’t sure when you were coming home.

We didn’t get any messages, Norm said.

Well, you know me, she said. I hate talking to a machine. And I guess you could say it’s been pretty bad over here. Things are kind of rocky at the moment. I mean, who ever said life was going to be easy, right? And her laugh rang hollow, a desperate jackal, waiting on the outskirts of camp. I honestly don’t know how things are going to turn out, she said. I suppose only time will tell.

They had only met a few times and Norm had found Connie distant and hard to talk to, but something was pouring out of her now that he needed to catch. He wanted to feel solid for her. He nodded and then matched his gesture with words. Time’s a healer, he said and could think of nothing else to say. All he had for her was sympathy, though she wasn’t making it clear exactly what had happened. There was no judgment.

It’s just that everything’s such a mess right now, she said. Maybe Harlan needs to go see a counsellor. I mean, we could
all use a bit of counselling after this. And again there was that forced jovial laugh.

Norm understood there was embarrassment and there was shame. He knew from Hannah that her sister was the kind of person who had a strong idea of the shape an admirable life should take. How different the sisters were from each other, it seemed. As Connie spoke, Norm was holding the phone with his shoulder and rinsing his hands. He dried them on a dish towel and looked at a picture of Hannah’s niece and nephews taped to the fridge. Their faces were so beautiful. How are your kids?

Well, you know. I mean, how do you talk to a child about something like this? Connie said and stopped abruptly.

Kids are resilient, Norm said.

Yeah, but that shouldn’t be an excuse.

It’s not an excuse, he said. It’s a good thing.

Connie went quiet.

How easy it would be to fail as a parent, he thought. It had occurred to him that it might be selfish cowardice to avoid that risk in life, but he wasn’t swayed by romanticism. He didn’t feel the need to improve himself. Sacrifice was not an urge in Norman Peach. He had very little, if any, superstition. You had to embrace what you loved in this life. There was no consequence or reward beyond the grave, and unhappiness was all the proof he needed that he wasn’t living his life well.

Will you please get Hannah to call me as soon as she can? There was a new tightness in Connie’s voice that felt like an accusation.

Of course, Norm said. She’ll be home soon. I know she’ll want to talk to you right away. Is there anything we can do for you?

I just really want to speak to my sister.

They hung up and Norm gazed out the kitchen window at a view of a brick wall so close you could touch it. So close
you could throw a wineglass out the window and it would smash and fall into a triangle of dead space below, full of accumulated junk – paint cans, rusty aluminum table legs, an old-fashioned telephone on top of a filing cabinet that every winter expanded to cartoon proportions under the snow. Hannah had done that once, like a drunk pitcher. One knee up, she had hurled a glass across the kitchen. It was summer and the window was open, but only partially. She’d been so impressed with her aim. Why did you do that? he’d yelled at her. It had frightened him. I don’t know, she said, full of smug delight. Hannah was a glass breaker. She had gypsy blood. Get loaded, smash something. That moment when you feel so full, you just have to throw something away.

Norm was happy with Hannah. He knew he could be happy with her for a long time. It was easy to be with her. She was funny, she made him laugh. And she came with her own checks and balances. She could be moody and selfish and insecure, but when these things made her lash out she would catch herself and apologize. She was self-aware, she didn’t flinch. He’d never known anyone to duck so quickly out of an argument. Sometimes it was so sudden she’d be laughing seconds after accusing him of unforgiveable neglect. Then she’d look sheepish and probably do a little dance to mask her embarrassment. Bury her face in his armpit. And all of this made him want to please her. He would give her anything but what he knew she truly wanted – a baby. That was his limit and it made him feel churlish.

It was early evening when Hannah started walking home from the Y. In the fluorescent glow outside a dry cleaners, a midget
sat on a stool, playing the balalaika. His fingers had the deft, pudgy articulation of a child’s. He was playing the theme from
Doctor Zhivago
. Suddenly, Hannah was Lara in the ice castle. She doubled back and dropped a toonie into his case and whispered into her collar,
Nostrovia
, in her most melodramatic tone. Just to feel the language on her tongue, so redolent of ice and fur.

She pulled her collar up higher against the cold air. The convenience stores on the way back home had barrels of pumpkins out front, in anticipation of Halloween. At the corner of their building, Hannah noticed how fast the clouds were moving. They were like mauve peonies, the sky velvety and a dark mushroom grey. She could hear honking, and headed through the narrow brick passageway that divided their building from the one next door, so narrow it was hard not to graze the skin off your knuckles when pushing a bike through, reared up on its hind wheel. Norm called it the gauntlet.

When she came around the back, she saw a woman in the alley, standing by the open door of an idling
SUV
. She was leaning on the horn now. Another car was parked in front of her, blocking her way out. The woman was wearing high heels and a long ginger-coloured sheepskin coat. She swung herself inside, revved the engine, then got out again. She shouted, Goddamnit! and stomped her foot like a child. A window opened in the wall above her and a young man with tattoos leaned out.

Asshole! the woman yelled.

Shut the fuck up, lady. You’re disturbing the whole goddamn neighbourhood.

The woman shouted, I don’t give a shit because you and your stupid friends kept me up ’til five o’clock last night with your stupid fucking music!

That was true. Hannah had heard it too.

Parties are good for people, he said, but
SUVS
are killing the planet. He pulled his head back inside and Hannah walked up the clanging metal staircase to their apartment. If Norm heard her coming up the stairs, he’d go to the door and open it before she had a chance to put her key in the lock. She looked back over her shoulder for a moment.

What the fuck are you looking at? the woman said. This is none of your goddamn business!

You know, Hannah said, you’re making an awful lot of noise yourself.

This asshole has me blocked in, she said, pointing up at the window the tattooed man had leaned out of.

I don’t think that’s his car.

Shut up, the woman said. I don’t have to listen to you. You’ll be gone in a couple of months. You people never stay for more than six months anyway. I used to own that building. I used to own the whole fucking block! But now the place is a dump and y’all live in these filthy apartments.

Well, at least I don’t have a filthy mouth! Hannah shouted and turned towards the door and there was Norm. Crazy bitch, she told him, and Norm looked curious and amused. Oh, how she loved the face on him. She held it between her hands and Norm said, Get in here. He closed the door and slid his hands up under her shirt.

Hannah ran her fingers through his thick black hair. You’re my little black rabbit, she said and soon they were in bed again. What a luxury liner this love was – high and solid and unsinkable, though Hannah drowned all the time. It was a willing submission, but it wasn’t subservient. It was increments of liberation. She was slowly uncovering Norm’s abundant permission to be more herself. She trusted that Norm really loved her. It was that simple, and that revolutionary.

You need to call your sister, Norm said, stroking her face. It’s important. She was pretty upset.

Really?

Yeah, something’s going on over there.

Are you being serious?

Why? Why are you so incredulous all the time? It’s your sister. She called. It’s not bewildering. If I had to guess I’d say that she and Harlan were having some marital problems.

Is that what she said?

Not in so many words.

What else did she say?

Norm threw his hands up in surrender.

Hannah pulled a face and got out of bed. She was naked and could feel Norm watching her. What are you lookin’ at, eh?

You, he said. The soft, pliable mechanics of your body.

Hannah looked pleased and did a little undulating dance. A moment later, she walked back in with the phone. Why is the phone covered in dirt? Hannah watched Norm cross his ankles and put his hands under his head in a posture of contentment.

She dialled her sister’s number and went into the kitchen and noticed the fresh pot of soil on the table. Norm had a green thumb. He could coax anything to life. Except a baby, she thought and tried to banish the idea. She opened the fridge, taking out last night’s chicken and the dill pickles. She started opening a bag of bread, got Connie’s answering machine, and left a message. Norm came in just as she was hanging up the phone. Here, give me that, he said, taking the bread. I’ll do that. Norm was also, she thought, the Sandwich King.

It was nearly midnight. Norm was slouched low on the sofa, one leg flung over its arm. He was reading Marcus Aurelius, Hannah a book by Paula Fox. There was a stillness between
them that was comfortable. Hannah looked up from her book and found the mere shape of Norm’s leg in his blue jeans miraculously attractive.

If we ever got married, Hannah said, do you think we’d be the kind of couple that wraps a few sandwiches in wax paper, rinses out the thermos, throws the sheepskin coats on the back seat of the car, and drives to the country while reading
Out of Africa
out loud to each other?

Sure, Norm said after thinking about it. I hope so.

Oh, Hannah said. She sounded disappointed.

What’s wrong with that?

It’s so bourgeois.

Well, how would you have it?

I’d have Captain Beefheart on the stereo, Hannah said. And a king can of Molson X in my hand.

Norm looked at her then, as if he was seeing her again for the first time. The things you say, he said, they surprise me sometimes.

I’m glad they do.

Hannah crawled across the floor and up between his legs, resting her head in his lap. She looked up at his face and it seemed she’d known this face for a very long time. I’ve been looking for a face like this, Hannah said, all my life. You’ve got a big face, Norman Peach. A face like a tree.

A few weeks ago, on their way back from a bar where they’d met up with some friends, including a woman Norm had dated for a while, Norm had said, What if I made out with another woman? What if I find another woman attractive? Do you want to hear about that?

Not really, she said. She was that happy. She was feeling that strong. I mean, I know you’ll have feelings for other women. That goes without saying. I just don’t want you to indulge those
feelings under the pretext of being honest. So no, Hannah said, I don’t want to hear the whole truth about how you feel. I want to hear what I deserve to hear.

It was this big love that was making her wise. She was opening the gate and letting her maturity wander out onto sunny pastures. Norm took her back to bed. He turned her over. She was lying on her stomach and Norm was on top of her. He fit the contours of her body like a hand on a breast. His breath was warm on her cheek. His cock was like a torch filling her with light.

Tell me something, he said.

I want to have a baby with you, baby.

I know you do. Now tell me something I don’t already know, he said. Tell me what this feels like.

Norm’s request made her feel self-conscious. Hannah’s mind went blank and she felt dull, uninteresting, like she was letting him down. She wanted to say something smart, something beautiful, to capture the moment. She didn’t answer Norm right away, and then she forgot to answer him at all. She gave into the gentle, absent-minded rhythm of their bodies. She hardly even noticed when, after a while, she said, Your skin’s so warm, babe. I can hardly feel it against my own. I feel like there’s no one here but me.