Blackstrap Hawco (52 page)

‘I'm fine.'

‘Yes,' the policeman agrees. ‘Well…' He nods and backs away. He points toward the door. ‘Good that you are fine.'

She moves her head to watch him. On his way out.

‘Goodbye.'

‘Bye.'

He leaves and turns to walk up the corridor. Brightness out there. A nurse passes.

Karen raises her hands. Places them on her breasts. The flatness. Bound within gauze wrapping. Beneath her hospital gown. The policeman still there. In her mind. Tall. Standing in her room moments ago. Something else he wanted. She wishes she had told him to stay. A quiver in her.

The nurse enters to check on Karen.

‘How you feeling?'

‘Okay.'

The nurse smiles. Almost meaning it. A nice woman. She takes Karen's temperature. Does her blood pressure.

‘When can I go?'

‘Tomorrow. We just need to check the bandage for a while. Can I have a look?' The nurse nods at her chest. ‘Just undo the back.'

Karen undoes the string. Behind her neck.

‘Can you sit up a bit?'

Karen tries. Rises a little. The nurse takes down the front of her gown. The nurse lifts back the edge of the bandage. Peeks in. ‘Okay.'

Karen's eyes on the open door. A man passing. Watching in. Flowers in his hand. A child behind him. Skipping. She glances at her chest. Flat. The doctor had told her to expect it. Gravity will have its way, he had said. I don't go smaller than a C cup.

‘Okay,' says the nurse. ‘You can lie back.'

She turns her face away. Then looks at the nurse. Still there. Karen tries a smile.

‘You'll be fine,' says the nurse. She shifts to see a man in the doorway.

It is Glenn. With his shoulder bag. He raises a plastic shopping bag. ‘I ran out of tape.'

Karen says nothing.

The nurse leaves.

Glenn steps in. Shuts the door. Lays the bag on the chair.

‘What did the nurse want?' he asks. Checking the door. A tapping there.

‘Come in,' Karen calls out.

The door opens a crack. The policeman, again, sticks his head in. He is looking right at her. Something behind his back. Then he notices Glenn. ‘Oh, sorry.'

‘It's okay,' she says.

‘I was thinking to ask if you need a ride. But you have…I see.'

‘This is my brother, Glenn.'

The policeman nods.

Glenn nods. Not happy about the intrusion.

‘They thought I was missing,' Karen says to Glenn. Laughing a little. Hooking greasy hair behind her ear.

‘They?' asks Glenn.

‘The police.'

‘Oh.'

‘I don't know if I need a ride.'

‘I can drive you back,' says Glenn. ‘Not a problem.'

Karen sees the hint of something pink. Behind the policeman's back. In his hand. A stuffed animal.

The policeman notices her eyes. At first he doesn't want to show her. That's how it seems. Then he does anyway. ‘I found this. Lost by someone. Up on the floor there.'

Karen smiles. It is a puppy. A pink puppy with floppy ears. ‘I leave it here in case, you know.' He carefully steps into the room. Lays the puppy on the bottom of the bed. He nods. Backs away.

‘When are you going back?' Karen asks.

‘Tomorrow. I see some friend tonight.'

She looks at Glenn. ‘Save you the trip.'

‘I don't mind.'

She is beginning to feel better. Although groggy. All this competition.

‘Tomorrow,' says the policeman. ‘I ask again.' He backs into the doorway. Nods politely. ‘Okay?'

‘Okay.' Karen smiles. Numbness in her breasts. She is aware of.

The policeman takes a look at Glenn. Looks at the bag on the chair. The zipper open. The edge of the video camera visible. His eyes change. He checks Karen. Nods and leaves.

‘You,' Karen says to Glenn.

‘What?'

She waits until she is certain. The policeman is gone. ‘Out,' she says. Pointing to the door.

Glenn laughs. ‘What?'

‘I'm going to scream.'

‘What?'

‘I'm going to scream now, if you don't leave.'

Glenn chuckles.

And she screams. That sound and footsteps. Running.

 

‘Tell us wha' ya wants first,' Patsy says. ‘'fore I let ya in.' Her hand holding the latch of the screen door. The toddler, Ruth, braced in the
crook of her left arm. Inside the house. There is the sound of a television program. It's all plain to him. Too plain for him to want.

Blackstrap studies the girl. His children taken away from him. No real reason given. Patsy just wanting to move. To get away. Blackstrap didn't want to move. Cutland Junction was his home. Patsy made all the noise. He said very little. Then Patsy moved. Maybe he should have said more.

Gone one day.

The girl much prettier than her mother. With curly brown hair. And big brown eyes that stare right at him while she sucks on two fingers. He wasn't there when she was born. Never saw her as a baby. Blackstrap glances down at Junior. The boy has pulled back his hood. His hair damp. His cheeks burning red in two uneven circles.

‘Just a visit,' he says. Not looking at Patsy. He smiles at Junior. And is pleased to see the boy smiling back. Shyly. But meaning it.

‘So say hello 'n leave. No one bees interested in seeing you.'

Blackstrap turns his eyes on her. Patsy's expression steady. She sniffs and leans slightly to one side. Supporting the weight of the child. Patsy scrawny in her jeans and white V-neck pullover. Dark rings under her eyes. Sick rings. Not the woman he knew.

‘Can I come in?' He has tried his best to ask forcefully. But it does not come off that way.

Patsy checks his eyes. She licks her lips. Thinking.

‘I got company,' she blankly tells him. But there is more to it than that. Something else in her voice.

Blackstrap nods without really meaning to.

‘Just Rayna.' Patsy sees the shift in Blackstrap's eyes. She watches them change again. Smiling and crinkling in the corners. Just like his father's. So that she smiles too with memories of better times. She tosses the screen door open on its spring. And turns. ‘Come in den.'

Blackstrap takes hold of the door. Steps up. Into the tiny square porch that leads directly into the kitchen. The house smells the way he remembers. Despite the absence of her parents. A bag of sliced white bread on the kitchen counter. And a few thick round slices of bologna. Junior making a sandwich. The knife rattling in a jar of mustard.

Blackstrap glances at the porch wall. A big wooden outline of Newfoundland with a row of pegs pointing out from it. A few jackets hung there. Patsy's father made it years ago in his shed out back. Blackstrap leaves his coat on. Steps into the kitchen. A plump woman in a grey tracksuit at the table. Pulling on her coat while she stands. Blackstrap nods at her. And she gives a sour smile. Obviously having heard things about him. Knowing who he is. Where he has come from. He doesn't know her. Someone new to him. Someone he does not want to know. Poison by the looks of her.

‘I'll call ya later,' she says to Patsy. Then glances at the TV on the counter. The one Junior watches while biting into his sandwich. An argument going on there. A big black woman pointing at a skinny little white man. Words bleeped out. ‘Don't forget ta tape da soap fer me.'

‘Spot on,' says Patsy. And the woman laughs at this. Moves toward the back door. Where her eyes check Blackstrap over. Again, she smiles. This time in a secret way. Playing with him. Hinting at other things out of Patsy's view.

‘See ya,' Rayna says to Blackstrap. And is gone.

Moving to the corner of the kitchen. Patsy groans as she sets Ruth down on the floor. Junior stands next to a chair. Chewing bites from the sandwich. Eyes on the screen. Then steps out of the way. When Blackstrap stomps the snow from his boots. Junior's eyes on the TV again.

Sitting, Blackstrap takes hold of the boy's arm. And carefully pulls him back to the place where he was. ‘No need ta move, Junior. It's just me.'

The boy looks from TV to his father's face. He smiles and inches closer. Until he is almost leaning against the man. Blackstrap lifts his arm and sets it along the boy's shoulders. Junior smiles. Warms to this. His smooth-skinned face aglow. Not a word out of him. His eyes then back on the TV.

‘How's things?' Blackstrap asks. Gaining confidence. Finding acceptance where he feared. What would most certainly be denied him.

‘Ya wants a cup of tea?' Patsy asks. Stepping away from Ruth. Across the linoleum. And reaching for the cupboard.

‘That'd be fine,' Blackstrap says. His eyes skimming the new flooring
toward the edges. Where the mouldings were nailed in place. ‘When'd this get done?'

Taking down a mug. Patsy glances over her shoulder. ‘Few months ago.'

He thinks he should have done it. If he knew. He could have done it for her. Saved the cost of labour. Or maybe there was no cost of labour. If she was hooked up with someone new.

‘It was filthy,' she says. ‘Rayna's brudder done it.' She offers a bit of a smile when he looks at her. And so her words do not scald too badly.

Rayna's brother.

He watches Patsy slide the kettle onto the burner of the electric stove. And he thinks of the old pot-belly stove. Once there. Patsy's mother always at it. Not a word in her mouth. The heat unbearable in the kitchen. The way Patsy's mother liked it. You'd have to haul your sweater off. Or faint from the heat.

‘Don't ask about the stove now,' Patsy says. ‘Yer jus like yer father always wanting to hang on to everything. Every bloody broken-down bit of nuisance.'

‘Was a great stove,' he says. Encouraged by how she knew what he was thinking.

‘That old thing!' She shakes her head. And turns for the counter. Stares at the mugs.

The audience makes a ruckus from the screen. A lot of them boo. Some of them cheer.

Blackstrap thinks of his mother's stove. And he thinks of Karen. So that he must shift his eyes to the floor again. To hide what he knows is showing. He hears Ruth babbling. Knocking toys together. Looking there, he finds that she is not watching him. She is watching the TV. The flicker of light. Just another man to her. Sitting at a table in a room. He squeezes his arm tighter around Junior's shoulders.

‘You know my brother was called Junior,' Blackstrap tells his son. ‘You were named after him.'

Patsy lays a plate on the table. He sees that it is stacked with fresh buns. The scent nearer to him now. He has missed this. His mother never knew how to cook. When she came from St. John's. From
England. This he knew. Because his father often said it. The daughter of a British merchant. His father said that, too. But she had learned to cook. And bake. And was made to be just like any other bay woman. Taught by his father's mother. But smart too. Sharp as a tack. Karen had not turned out that way. She had the brains. And was different. Better. But without knowing how to abide. How to be thankful. How to count her blessings. How to…

‘You wan' mashberry jam, or blueberry?'

‘Mashberry,' he says. Not looking at her. Not wanting to give her too much. Now that he has gained a bit of ground. Still pissed off. Still bracing control. Even though he understands that it is he who has come back. The thought making him uneasy.

‘Did I ever meet him?' Junior asks. Drawing his eyes from the TV.

‘Yer father's brother's dead, Junior,' Patsy says. With her back to them. Reaching into the cupboard for the plastic tub of margarine. As simple as that.

‘Oh,' Junior says. Quietly.

Blackstrap takes offence to Patsy's bluntness. The tone of her comment bringing up memories. Harder times between them. He checks the boy who is watching him. Curiously. Chewing his sandwich. Only the crust left now. And he sees his brother there. The spitting image. The genuine want to know. And outright friendliness that always won out over his brother's sadness.

‘Yer just like him,' Blackstrap says. ‘ 'N he was one hell of a great man, tough as nails and sharp as a tack. Like yer grandmother. And a hero. The best kind of Newfoundlander.'

Patsy comes up beside the table. Looking at Blackstrap's arm around her son's shoulders. Her face does not change. Shows no reaction.

‘I could've sworn that was yer old man talk'n,' she says.

Blackstrap thinks of Jacob. He glances at his boots until he hears the whistle on the kettle. Feels the boy shifting beneath the weight of his arm. His small shoulder must be uncomfortable. Blackstrap lifts his arm away. Straightens his legs beneath the table. Looks toward the window. And stares at the snow. He does not know what to say about the man. About his father who has been struck down. By something no one recognizes.

‘I was just saying to Rayna about when all da oldtimers is gone, then that's it fer Newfoundland.' The whistle of the kettle. And the sound of Patsy. Dragging it off the burner.

Blackstrap mumbles, ‘Utter bullshit.' Not wanting to hear such nonsense. He looks to see Patsy turn with the kettle in her hand. He slathers margarine on a bun. Puts it back together. Chews into it. The smell and taste of it. Doughy. Warm.

‘Don't be talking with the language around the boy.'

Blackstrap casts a stray wink at Junior. The curse has captured the boy's attention. And Junior smiles. Proudly nodding his head. Winking back. As if they now have a secret between them.

Patsy lines up two mugs on the counter. And pours in water. ‘Yer father's one of the few true Newfoundlanders that're left, Blackie. The oldtimers. How's he doing?'

Coughing. Blackstrap straightens in his chair. And leans an arm on the table. Carefully. He studies the boy. Ignoring Patsy's question.

‘You're a true Newfoundlander, Junior.' Blackstrap nods once. Seriously. ‘Right?'

The boy nods in agreement. ‘Yes, sir, I am.'