Consumption (41 page)

“Either she would have known, and eventually revealed you, or she would have made it unnecessary.”

Balthazar nodded. “Which would have been much better, actually.”

“To have been content.”

“And unafraid.”

“Why are you afraid, Keith?”

“God knows.”

“Maybe He does. He keeps His own secrets too, in my experience.”

“Sacrilege.”

Bernard laughed. “Hardly.”

It was storming and Balthazar had been stuck in the priests’
residence for four days, waiting for a flight to Repulse Bay. Father Bernard was near the end of his time there—as was Balthazar, it turned out. At some level, they both knew this. Hence, the revelatory nature of their conversation.

Balthazar stood on the shore of the frozen bay and looked eastward. Under his feet was an amalgam of gravel and frozen sea water that merged imperceptibly into the whiter and flatter sea ice, which stretched all the way to the floe edge. A thin purplish haze hung on the eastern horizon, as the sea water sublimated into the dry and frozen air hanging over it. He spotted a figure walking into town. As he stood there the figure grew slowly larger, weaving its way between ridges of soft snow and heaped-up shelves of sea ice. It walked unerringly toward Balthazar, and when the figure was thirty feet from the shore he lifted his hood off his head. It was Simon Alvah.

“Hello, Doctor.”

They had never been introduced, but Alvah had been there long enough that they each knew perfectly well who the other was.

“Mr. Alvah.”

“Out for a walk?”

“Nothing like what you’ve just been up to.”

“Well, that’s purely a function of circumstance, my boat being as far away as it is. If I were doing it over again, I’d have anchored closer to town. This trudge is getting old.”

“Keeps one trim, I suppose.”

“I’m trying to put
on
weight. Do you have any idea how cold a steel boat is, out here?”

“My technique: Cheez Doodles and beer.”

Nodding. “Things still pretty nuts around here?”

Balthazar blinked. “Oh, you mean the murder and everything.”

“Especially the ‘and everything’ part.”

“Yeah.”

“Does
anyone
around here ever actually talk about anything
out loud
?”

“Not to me.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Twenty years or so.”

“Do you think they talk out loud even to themselves?”

“No.”

“So you actually got any of them Cheez Doodles and beer you mentioned?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna share?”

Justine had an appointment to see him, but when Balthazar looked eagerly into the waiting room for Victoria, he was disappointed to see only her daughter sitting there. He waved to her.

“Hi, Justine. Is your mom late?”

“She’s not coming.”

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?”

“Sure, if it’s okay with you.”

“Good.”

He closed the door behind her and sat down at his desk. She took the chair beside it.

“So how are you?”

“I’m okay. You?”

“I’m fine. Your mom okay?”

“She’s worried about Marie.”

“Of course. You must be too.”

“I am.”

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Not really.”

“Because, I can’t really, you know.”

“I know. She’s told me everything anyway.”

“So what can I do for you?”

“I want to start on the pill.”

“Your mom know about this?”

“Not really.”

He dropped his eyes to her chart. “Okay. You’re going to need to have a Pap test and everything. I’ll set it up with one of the nurses.”

“Okay.”

“Is there anything you need to ask about the various contraceptive options?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Normally the nurses handled this sort of work. And normally when he had this kind of conversation, the girl would be pawing at the door by now. Justine sat in her chair, looking straight at him, her eyes locked on his Adam’s apple, it appeared.

“What’s on your mind, Justine?”

She looked at him. “So, not talking about Marie or anything, how would someone know if they were going crazy?”

“You’re having a hard time with all this, huh? Your dad’s death and everything.”

She nodded.

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “See, that’s the thing, we’re all just about going crazy half the time. Anyone who’s been through what you have lately is, anyway. Do you ever think about hurting yourself?”

She shook her head.

“That’s all anyone can expect of you. And if you start thinking about that, it wouldn’t be so surprising either. Just don’t do anything about it. And come see me.”

“Dr. Balthazar?”

“Yes?”

“It’s okay with me if you tell my mother I was here.”

“I can’t see why the matter would come up.”

“I’m just saying. I’m not hiding anything”

“I understand.”

TWENTY-ONE

VICTORIA STOOD OVER SIMIONIE
as he lay beneath her kitchen sink. “Can you hand me the big whaddyacallit wrench? No the other one, the red thing.”

Her father was no help any more, the plumber in town was long ago hired by the mine, along with every new one that came in to replace him. Tagak, whose skills in these areas were suspect, wore a suit every day now, even on the weekends, and simply would not have lain on his back under her cupboards. So she waited until she was alone and then she called Simionie.

He had told her over the phone that he knew next to nothing about plumbing. She said come anyway, see what you can do. He took this as an invitation, and though she would not have acknowledged this if asked directly, it was. He knew better than to ask her a direct question.

“So the drain just stopped working, all of a sudden, or did it gradually stop draining?” he called from within the cubicle of painted plywood, cleaning supplies, and mouse poison.

“It was acting funny yesterday. Took longer to drain than usual. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“I guess it’s plugged somewhere, eh?”

“I was thinking that myself, yeah.”

It was better that he did not see the expression that went with this. He banged on the pipe a couple of times.

“I don’t suppose it’s draining now?”

“No, you don’t suppose right.”

She could not see him rolling his eyes.

“I’m gonna try something here.”

There was a loud clunk and the sink drained in an instant.

“Well, that appears to have worked,” Victoria said.

“Jeezus Christ.” There was the sound of an appalled mouth, spitting.

“You okay in there?”

“Hairball. Has someone been washing their hair in here?”

“Marie. It’s like she’s got the mange these days.” Then bits of matted hair began appearing on the newspaper Simionie had laid down on the floor beside him.

“Where is she now, anyway?”

“Winnipeg. She left two days ago.”

More wet hair slapping down on newspaper.

“Tests?”

“Yeah.”

“Hand me the Teflon tape, please, the white stuff.”

“Here you go.”

“It’s good that she’s being checked out. She’s been looking pretty sick.”

“I know.”

He wiggled himself out from beneath her sink, rose, and wiped his hands on a patch of newspaper. “All done here.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“Okay. I’ll get going now,” he said—asked—as he finished wiping his hands.

“All right.”

He stopped at the door as he zipped up his jacket. “It’s hard, eh?”

She held the door and as she looked at him directly, slowly softened. “You know, it really is. It really is. You were the only one I could think of to call.”

“Let me know what I can do to help.”

“You could mop up this floor.” He stopped zipping up his jacket, his face lighting.

“I’m just joking. Thank you.” She closed the door.

Amanda sat in Café Mogadur and looked out at the street as she smoked a Camel Light. She had woken up in Lewis’s father’s basement, Lewis nowhere around, and had put on her clothes from the night before and walked down to the Rockwood Diner where they usually ate. He was not there, nor was Kat nor Beth, nor anyone else she knew. She found herself stepping onto a bus that would take her home, wondering whether her mother was still there. When she came to her stop she could see their house even as the bus started to slow and found herself unable to rise—to step off that bus and walk in through that door—even for the sake of clean clothes. It wasn’t that she feared violence, say, or even violent speech, but rather the confusion and disarray that would be evident in the obsessed fussing of her mother. How long it would take for her to comment on how much weight Amanda had gained was anyone’s guess. She could not walk inside that house.

So she stayed on the bus and rode it to the Port Authority, where she was obliged to exit. She caught a subway downtown. Tompkins Square was green and damp and cheerful in the warm spring morning. Amanda watched the cyclists flying past her.

She called her uncle on a pay phone, with the idea of having lunch with him, maybe accepting some money. She knew he was home, but there was no answer.

She called him again, over the following three hours, seven times. Later, the police would discuss this with him, ask him to account for it, why she had called him so often, why he hadn’t answered, and he would be unable to explain it. Did he know her to be in distress of some sort? If he had he would have answered the
first and every subsequent call, he said. Watching him, they knew this to be true.

“Mrs. Robertson? Dr. Hildebrandt here, from the children’s hospital in Winnipeg.”

“Hello.”

“I’ve been seeing your daughter Marie these last couple of days and I thought I’d discuss with you what we have found.”

“Go ahead.”

“Well, firstly, I don’t think she has TB.”

“No?”

“We’ve done a bronchoscopy, had a look inside her lungs, and taken samples and they’re all negative. We did a CT scan too, and saw that she has scarring from when she had TB as a baby.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, well, it’s called bronchiectasis, and in her case it’s fairly mild, but it is almost certainly what has been causing her to cough up blood. It’s not dangerous, and it can be managed with antibiotics when she has a worsening cough.”