April Raintree (25 page)

I got up and put my hands on her arm to help her.

Cheryl shook them off, viciously. “You take your hands off me. I'm gonna have another drink and no one's gonna stop me. Especially not a superior white madam. I can take care of myself. I don't need anyone. Not anyone.”

I recoiled at her loud outburst and sat down again. I watched the liquid in Cheryl's glass go down once again. The bottle was half-empty.

“I don't need anyone,” Cheryl repeated to herself. Then she looked at me and said maliciously, “Especially not you. I couldn't care less about your fancy ways. You're just a social climber who didn't make it.”

Cheryl was slurring her words badly and when she saw that I winced every time she used a vulgar word, I could see that she was delighted.

“So, April Raintree, you think you got all the answers, eh? But you can't tell me nothing, can you? Because in reality, you know zilch. I'm the one who knows what life is really all about. Me. That's who. I got the answers. I found the answers all by myself. You lied to me and I lied to you. I did find our precious dear ol' Dad. He's a gutter-creature, April. A gutter-creature! Ail the tricks I turned, well, that helped him, you know? That kept him in booze. Not only that, I joined him, too. All, but that's not all. The best part is still to come.”

She smiled a lopsided smile, as if she had lost control of her facial muscles,

“Mother—you know what happened to our poor, dear Mother? She jumped off the Louise Bridge, is what she did. Committed suicide. You know why she stopped seeing us? Because she couldn't bear the pain. Yup, she committed suicide. They were bums, you know. Both of them. Bums. Boozers. Gutter-creatures. Dad took all that money from me. He didn't know where it came from. He didn't care where it came from. Mark DeSoto. Jack-of-all-trades. Drug pusher, bootlegger, stealing, breaking and entering, pimping—if it was illegal, he was in it. And guess who was right there in it with him? Your little sister, Cheryl Raintree. Your baby sister. Pardon me. There was another one after me. Baby Anna. Did you know about her? Well, she died when she was still a baby. She was the luckiest one of us.”

Cheryl leaned her head on her arms which were crossed in front of her on the table. She was weeping to herself, repeating the last sentence, “She was the luckiest one.”

I was shocked by her revelations. I didn't believe them. Cheryl was only trying to shock me. Except she wasn't watching me for the desired effect. She wasn't lying. I was going to make coffee for us. Then I was going to see Cheryl to her bed. Tomorrow, we were going to have a long talk. Now that I knew the reason behind her actions, I knew I could do something about it. I was also relieved that it wasn't because of me that Cheryl had given up. I took the bottle over to the sink and began pouring the liquid down the drain.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Cheryl screamed, at the top of her lungs. She frightened me and I dropped the bottle into the sink as I jumped. For all of Cheryl's drunkenness, she moved as swiftly as a mother cat coming to the rescue of her endangered kittens.

“Give me that, that's mine!”

I had a hold of the bottle again and Cheryl lunged for it. We both struggled for control of it. I guess all Cheryl could see was that her precious liquid was seeping away. All I wanted was for her to quit drinking for the night. When the last drop was gone, I let go of the bottle. I started turning toward Cheryl. She was enraged. She glared at me with hatred and before I could speak to her, she brought her hand up and struck me as hard as she could across the face. I was already off-balance and the blow sent me reeling backward across the kitchen. I hit the refrigerator hard with my back and shoulders. I put my hand to my face where Cheryl had struck me and looked at her, unbelievingly.

Cheryl, momentarily horrified by what she had just done to me, seemed to come out of her drunken stupor.

“Well, you shouldn't have done that.” She grabbed her jacket and I heard her go down the hall. Then the front door slammed.

CHAPTER 16

I shook my head to clear it. This was all too much. I went back to the sink and put the empty bottle into the garbage container. My mind started activating again and I realized I should have gone after Cheryl. I went to get my jacket and boots and then I had to look for the house keys. They weren't in my purse and I couldn't remember where I had put them. When I had found my keys, I went out the front way, deciding not to use the car. The closest bus stop was at Watt Street so I walked in that direction. At the bus stop, there was no sign of Cheryl. I went back towards Henderson. I was sure that if Cheryl had intended to take a bus, she would have gotten one by now. I waited at the bus stop for the next bus, heading downtown, and got on. I tried looking out both sides of the window but with it being dark outside and lighted inside, plus the condensation on the windows, I couldn't see the sidewalks very well. I got off in front of the City Hall and decided to walk back home, by way of the Disraeli Bridge.

That meant walking down Main Street for a ways. I walked on the north side because there were more people on that side. If Cheryl were among these people, I could spot her. But I walked all the way home, without running into her.

I couldn't get to sleep that night. The wind had picked up outside and I was sure there was a blizzard going on out there. Mixed in were the noises of the house, all those creakings, one doesn't notice during the day. I listened to them, deciphering what made them. Several times, thinking that Cheryl had returned, I got up and went upstairs to check her room. The next morning, I got up, tired. I thought perhaps I had made too big a deal the night before when I worried about never seeing Cheryl again. Nonetheless, I called where she worked and found out that she had quit a few months earlier. Later, I called the Friendship Centre but the person who answered didn't know Cheryl. I made coffee. I spent most of the day waiting and worrying. When my employer from the agency called, asking if I wanted to start a job Monday, I said no, that I'd be taking some time off again.

At four-thirty, Roger phoned to say he was going to pick me up in an hour. We were supposed to go out for supper but I had forgotten.

“Oh, Roger, I can't go. Cheryl left last night. I don't know where she is. She's not going to come back.”

“Well, April, Cheryl has been away overnight before. Why are you so worried?”

“We quarreled. A lot. She was drinking heavily. She told me everything, Roger, all the things that have been bothering her. I have to find her.”

“Okay. We'll have supper and then we'll go and look for her, all right?”

“You don't have to come with me. I don't even know where to begin.”

“I'll come with you. Don't worry, April, we'll find her.”

While I waited for Roger, I decided we could go down to the Friendship Centre and talk to anyone who might know where Cheryl would be. I tried to remember places Cheryl had mentioned in the past. Was it Carlos or was that the name of a beer? I got my coat and boots on and waited for Roger. I returned to the kitchen and looked in the phone book. There was a place called DeCarlos. That was it. I noted the address. Since it was a Friday night, I thought we might even find Nancy. I cursed myself for not taking more interest in Cheryl's friends. I didn't even know Nancy's last name.

After we had a quick supper, we went to the Centre. A few people said they knew Cheryl but that they hadn't seen her for the past couple of months. From there, we drove, over to DeCarlos which was on Carlton. There was a line-up of people waiting to get in, different types of people and it reminded me of the Hungry Eye. My crowd once. When Roger and I got in, we looked the crowd over. A smoky haze hung over everyone's heads. Music was blasting from the amplifiers. The way we were dressed, Roger and I were obviously out of place. We ordered drinks but were barely able to talk because of the noise, I watched for Cheryl or Nancy. I even felt I'd be able to tell who Mark was if I saw him. I wondered if this was where they all still hung out. On the other side of the room, there was a girl who reminded me of Sylvia Gurnan. I couldn't see clearly because of the dimly-lit, smoky atmostphere. People kept passing between us and sometimes I was sure it was Sylvia and then I wasn't sure. She wouldn't have been any help, even if it had been her but I would have known there was a possibility of Cheryl being here, too. I studied the other people at the table. They were all white. Mark, as far as I knew, was Metis. When the band took a break, Roger asked me if I recognized any of Cheryl's friends. Since I didn't, we left.

We drove around for a while, up and down the downtown streets, as we searched the faces for Cheryl's. We were not successful. We returned but she hadn't. We took our coffee into the living room and I turned the television set on.

“You know, Roger, I'm to blame. No, I'm not going into a ‘this-is-all-my-fault' routine. It's just that I wanted her to have all these good memories of our parents. I always told her, just the good things that happened when we lived with them. I knew that they had drinking problems. That's why we were taken away. I should have told her that, when I gave her those addresses so she could look for them. But I didn't. I just gave her the stuff and hoped that her search would come to an end. And she went out and found our father and found that he was an old drunk. I'm sure she never told me all of the things she discovered because she felt she had to protect me from the truth. She carried that around with her all alone, not wanting to share her problems. And I knew about it! Well, not the part about our mother committing suicide. So many lies to protect. And in the end, they destroy anyway. I just can't understand why all that would have such an adverse effect on her.”

“I wish I could say something that would help.” Roger said.

“Maybe, maybe she just used these things as an excuse to start drinking. Maybe she was an alcoholic all along and she just needed some real good reason to start into it. Do you think that's possible?”

“I guess anything is possible. The reasons for drinking can be complicated.”

“Sometimes I think if we really were white, we wouldn't have all these complications in our lives. I'd just be a wife, maybe a working mother, just an ordinary person. You know what I mean? There probably wouldn't be any problem with alcoholism. Our lives would be so different. But as it is, I lie to protect her and she lies to protect me, and we both lose out. I don't know. If I was more like her or she was more like me, maybe we wouldn't have pulled apart.”

“Maybe you've both pulled too much in different directions. Cheryl has identified with the Indian people and all the wrongs that have been done to them. And you, having identified with the white people, well, she's taken everything she's felt, out on you. Earlier when you told me the things she used to say when she was drunk, well, she wouldn't believe them herself when she was sober. I think, from what you've told me, Cheryl saw you in a typical white role. You supplied her with all her needs. You stayed in Winnipeg to help her, to be by her side. You've made her take handouts. You've stressed that she can depend on you, right?”

“Well, I am her big sister. I had to watch out for her.”

“Maybe you could have told her that you needed help from her, in return. Or at least, not have made it so clear that you were in charge. People need to feel that they are needed and worthwhile. On top of all that, she blames herself for your rape and she knows you blame her, as well. I'd say Cheryl has a very low self-image right now. Drinking helps wipe out that image. And she can't let herself become sober because it hurts when she's sober. So she drinks again.”

“What kind of help could she have given me? I have everything I need.”

“April, I'm sure Cheryl could have given you something that is very important. Right now, I don't know exactly. But something to do with your attitudes about yourselves.”

“That night, I just wanted her to go to bed and sleep off the alcohol. I wanted for us to really talk when she was completely sober.”

The weeks passed and Roger and I continued to look for Cheryl. She had never come back to the house. Every day when I'd get home, I'd look in her room and everything was always just as it had been that first night. We returned to DeCarlos regularly but always without any luck. Sometimes. we'd drive, around and I'd spot someone who I was sure was Cheryl. I'd get Roger to park the car and I would jump out and go after that person. But when the woman would turn to me, my excitement would turn to disappointment because it was never Cheryl.

The month of April brought erratic temperatures. Some days were warm enough to tempt impatient women into their shorts. The nights brought back the cold temperatures, though, sometimes even below freezing. April 18, 1973, my birthday, was a cold rainy day. I stayed home, hoping Cheryl would remember and come home. But she didn't. Roger and I celebrated alone.

Ten days later, it was the same kind of dismal day. The winds started early in the afternoon, first in short bursts as if gathering momentum for the gales that would follow. It had drizzled off and on for the previous several days. Since it was a Saturday, Roger and I had been out combing the city, more specifically, the hotels. We'd even gone to all the hotels along Main Street. The rain began to fall more and more heavily, as the day wore on, and the wind had also picked up. Early in the evening, we decided to call it quits after I had rushed out into the rain, thinking a stranger had been Cheryl.

When we got to my place, I was still soaked to the bone. I felt so discouraged. While I changed, Roger made us coffee. Then we sat silently in the living room, just listening to the steady pelting of the rain against the windows. I wondered what Roger was thinking. Maybe he thought I wasn't worth all the trouble and aggravation. Maybe he wanted to call it quits with me but not at his time, because of Cheryl. I sighed.