The Seary Line (39 page)

“Ah, shit,” Summer said. “Shitity shit. Look, you fucker, look what you did.” She shoved him, and he fell backwards, rolled on his side, holding his stomach and giggling.

“Ah c'mon ladieth. Danth. Love me.” Flat on his back now, he lifted his hips off the floor, once, twice, moaned, slurred, “Fff-uh-uh-uh-uck.” Then, with blackened nails, he scraped one of the bright beads off the grimy floor, shoved it into his mouth, crunched down hard as though it were a jawbreaker. Within seconds he spat the bead out, and it
bounced against Stella's calf, rolled away. “My tooth,” he cried, laughed, cried, “My ff-uh-uh-cking tooth.”

Summer moved closer to him, but Stella clutched her elbow, said, “Never mind, never mind. Let's just go.”

On their way back to the car, Summer lurched, caught herself, then lurched again. Stella picked her way slowly through the muck and the pebbles, eyes locked on the car, but when she came around the corner, she glanced at Precious. Curled in a ball and sleeping. Poor dog. No wonder it's as surly as it is.

“I'm gonna get you new beads, Nan. I'm gonna do that for you. I'm gonna, I swears. If I got to thumb it all the way to Toronto to get 'em.”

“That's the last thing I wants now, is new beads. Believe you me. The very last thing.”

When Summer stopped to look at her, Stella had to avert her eyes, would not be able to disguise her dismay. Summer swayed again. And this time, as she watched her granddaughter in her peripheral vision, she reminded Stella of someone. Not so much the balance dance, but it was something else. Perhaps the tottering of the head. Or her arms, maybe, elbows bent, hands, fingers slightly curled. It was the way they were held out in front of her, as though she was reaching for something. Something that kept moving away as her granddaughter walked towards it.

“What was you doing in there? All that time.”

Weakly, “Talking.”

“Talking?”

“Yes, Nan.”

“About what, for God's sakes? Lordy, Lordy. Whatever happened to a cup of tea at a proper table?”

Summer backed Betty Blue down the driveway, narrowly missing a gate that swung slightly on its hinges, even though there was no breeze. Stella stared at the house as it receded, and it did not look happy. Clusters of shadows, grey patches emerging underneath peeling pinkish paint. Even though it was inhabited, the house appeared empty, lonely, troubled, no doubt, by activities taking place within its walls. When they converged in her view, the fence pickets looked like thin rotten teeth. A final peek at the house, and the windows were now black. Stella wondered if someone were standing there, disguised by darkness, watching them leave.

Once they reached the high road, Stella sighed. Though she didn't enjoy traveling in a car, she was glad to be moving away from that community into which they'd descended. Summer was speeding and swerving on the road, and when Stella noticed the sharp drop just outside her window, she said, “Do you want to pull over?”

“No,” Summer replied. “Not now. I'm good.”

“We'll both be good if we goes over the edge. We can say that to Saint Peter when he asks us.”

Summer braked slightly, leaned forward, squinting when headlights came upon her, horns blaring. As they reached the outskirts of St. John's, she relaxed in her seat, turned up the radio. Jammed her forefinger on the tabs, channels hiccupping, music finding its way. A voice arrived in the car, and he sang words that made Stella's lips turn downwards. “Ooooh, the time to hesitate is through, there's no time to wallow in the mire. . .”

“I like the Doors,” Summer said flatly. “I like his voice.”

“Sounds like his head is stuck inside a fishing cask, if you asks me.”

Summer giggled quietly. “Oh, Nan.”

“Who on earth would want to sing something like that? Or who would want to listen to it?”

“It's hard to explain why. It just. . .it just pushes my soul closer to the surface.”

“Well, my soul can stay right where it is.” Stella reached up and flicked the volume button counterclockwise. “My soul idn't in no rush to be pushed.”

Summer giggled again. “Woman, how did you get to be such a card?”

Outside the window, Stella noted the return of the rows of houses, the sidewalks, the occasional burst of forsythia illuminated by a streetlight. Though Bended Knee never looked like this, she had grown used to the square order of the city, and took great comfort in it. Everything had its proper place.

“Why,” Stella said, putting her fingers up to touch her side window. “Why on earth would you ever go to such a place?”

“I don't know, Nan. It's no good, you don't have to tell me. I know that's what you're thinking.”

“Beyond that, honey. I've seen a lot of stuff in my day. I've lived through two wars. I've known good men to destroy themselves with the drink and God only knows what else.” Her voice trailed off. “Ah,” she half-snarled, “I'm not one to preach. Never was, and I don't mind to start now.”

Summer never spoke for several minutes. Then, she said, “It makes me feel better.”

Gently, “Better than what, honey?”

“Better than I do.”

“How do you feel then?”

“Like a book with all its pages torn out. Two covers.” Gulping sound. “Hollow.”

Stella looked over at Summer as she slowed the car at
a stop sign. Robert's old sweater hung off her arms, and her shoulders were thin like sickles. Stella remembered holding her, that first time in the nursery. Something blocked the light from entering the window, thick spruce growing outside, maybe bulky curtains inside. She couldn't recall, though she did have a clear memory that the room was poorly lit. Full of shadows. And that Summer was nearly weightless in the heaviness of the room. Swallowing her. Stella remembered how, with no concrete reason, a sadness had crept into her heart. To this day, it lingered still whenever she looked upon her granddaughter.

“Do you want to stop somewhere for an ice cream?”

“Oh, Nan,” Summer replied, reaching up to hold her braid. “I don't know whether to laugh or cry at you half the time. I swear you think ice cream is a cure-all.”

“It usually goes with happy times.” Her brother Amos arrived in her mind then, how he'd brought her to Old Man Morgan's back step, handful of children already there, waiting for a spoonful of ice cream made from the last chunk of ice found in the sawdust. Stella looked down at her hands, blinked.

“Maybe another time, all right?” Then, as they neared the turn-off for Elise's house, Summer moaned, “I don't think I can do that tonight either. Do you want me to drop you?”

“Drop me off?”

“Yeah. I just can't listen to it tonight. Yammering on about petty bullshit. Hair dye and bottled moose.”

“They'll probably miss us.”

“Mother and her friends? They'll miss me now, like they'd miss a wart on their backsides. Only something to complain about. And you? No offense, Nanny E, but you are just a required invitee.”

A short unintended “Hm” darted from her throat. Stella coughed lightly, said, “Well, I guess there's no harm in it. Us carrying on like we is.”

Summer pressed down on the gas, looking at Stella now, shaking her head. “How come I knew you were going to say that?”

“Watch the road, honey,” Stella said, wagging her finger at the windshield.

“We're just so damn alike, Nan. Believe it or not. Twins born fifty-odd years apart.”

“Now, now. You're way too young to be old like me.”

“You're not old in your head, Nan.”

Images of the scene inside that shed burst onto Stella's inner eye, and she winced at her own discomfort, said, “Oh, I believes I'm plenty old in the head. Old-fashioned.”

After criss-crossing streets aimlessly for an hour, Summer made her way down along the water. Stella watched the men walking away from the hulking boats, foreign words printed across great rusting hulls. On the opposite side of street, two women traipsed up and down the sidewalk, wobbly heels, skirts too short for the damp spring weather. Summer turned up a steep side street, past a handful of houses clinging to sheer rock, and then began the lazy ascent up Signal Hill. She parked at the very edge of the lot, away from the handful of other cars with chugging motors, steamy windows.

“Do you want to take a walk?”

“I suppose,” Stella said, as she hoisted herself from the seat. “Not too far though. I don't trust my legs on wet grass. Especially so when cliffs and waves is involved.”

They made their way along a well-worn path, stopped near the end of a low rock wall, sat down side-by-side facing the ocean. Summer stretched, removed the bands
securing her hair, and undid her braids. Watching her, Stella reached up to touch her own curls. Earlier fluffed with a plastic pick, they had now returned to their orderly sausage rows. Dampness would do that to a style. And dampness was readily available. Moss-covered rocks and earth beneath her felt almost swollen with moisture, and wisps of fog crept inwards, splaying and scattering distant lights. Lonely horns, begging for a dry day, cried out to anyone who might listen.

“It's all so sad,” Summer announced.

“What's that, honey?” Stella crossed her feet at the ankle.

“Life. So sad.”

“There's good times too. Got to think of those.”

“Don't you find everyone is desperate? Even those horns sound desperate. Don't you think, Nan?”

Stella nodded slightly, shivered as the rock released some of its cold agony up through her sloping spine. “I do. Sometimes I do too. Think that.”

“Why is it? Why does everyone bang up against each other, then act like they don't even feel it?”

“I don't know, honey. I wish I could tell you, but I don't.”

Simple laughter. “That's one thing I know about you, Nan E. You won't lie to me, even when it's harder to tell the truth.”

“I try. With you. Though I'm not very good at it.”

“Well, you're better than any other person I know. Lots better.”

Stella pursed her lips slightly, not sure whether to frown or smile.

“What do you think they're doing now?”

“Who?”

“Mother and her friends?”

“Oh, I don't know. Eating dinner?”

“Ah, c'mon. Something better than that. Guess.”

“I'm not much one for guessing.”

“Well, I bet they're talking about me. What a waste I am. How Margo's daughter's about to become a teacher. Probably win some stupid awards. Impact the future generation of our province and all that shit. Poor kids.”

“I doubts that, honey. Your mom wouldn't do that.”

“Pouff.” Summer shot air from her mouth, knotted her fingers together. “I reckons you stayed in that shack a little too long, Nanny E.”

Stella reached around and put her hand on Summer's shoulder. The entirety of Summer's shoulder bones could be cupped in Stella's hand. “At least I likes to think she wouldn't. You two are black and white.”

“That's an understatement.”

“Well.”

“I think about Mom sometimes, you know. How could she be the way she is when she had a mother like you?”

“I don't know, maid. We all lives our own lives.”

“You know, she never tells me a single thing. I ask her about stuff, and she says it's none of my concern.”

“She might some day.”

“I doubt it. She's all sealed off.”

“I'm sure she don't mean to be. I know she cares about you.”

“I think she got secrets, Nan. Lots of them.”

“Most folks do.”

“I think she's a bee box.”

Stella fastened the top button of her coat, shivered. “What's that?”

“A bee box. I was reading this poem this woman wrote,
talking about how she ordered herself up a bee box. A box filled with bees, buzzing up a storm.”

“Now that's a bit queer. Never saw nothing like that in the catalogue. What sort would ever want such a thing?”

“I don't think it's real. I think she was talking about all the bees that live inside her. All locked up tight inside this lovely perfect box. So nice on the outside, but swarming on the inside. She thinks an awful lot about her bees, and she's trying to convince herself of stuff, and she's going to let them out, even though they'll probably sting her real bad. I don't think she's got much choice about it. Or else the sound'll torture her.”

“Hmmm. I don't go in much for poetry, I'm afraid.”

“Ah, neither do I, Nan. I might've read it all wrong. I just wonder about her sometimes.”

“And I reckons she wonders about you too, honey.”

“I doubt that.”

After several moments, Stella replied, “Sometimes a mother might find it hard to love someone who is so different from herself. Love them out in the open. Love them like the other one needs to be loved.” She waited for a moment for Summer to react, but Summer never did. And Stella wondered if she'd actually said those words out loud, or if only her mind had spoken. “It idn't easy.”