Knucklehead & Other Stories (15 page)

Zelle
@
4 months
They never see the old lady, Lydia's mother, Ted's grandmother, until the day the ambulance shows up next door. Then they never see her again. They see Ted's mother Lydia leave her house each morning Tuesday to Saturday at exactly 6:05 a.m. She wears an old-fashioned nurse's cap pinned into her tightly-coiffed silver hair. She covers her starched white uniform with a yellow cardigan, which is replaced as the seasons change in turn by a shapeless grey overcoat with raglan sleeves, then a bulky parka with a fur-lined hood. She is so regular that Colm and Beverly begin to set their own routines by hers. When her old Valiant turns over and the slant-six valves clatter as she accelerates away, Zelle wakes and starts to cry, unless she is already awake and crying. Colm brings her into their bed, and settles her against Beverly. He has a two-minute shower, and then rummages in the kitchen for coffee. As the months roll by and the baby starts eating solids, he makes Beverly's and Zelle's breakfasts.

“How old do you think she is?” Beverly asks one morning. The three of them are in the darkened living room. Colm hugs his robe closed as he looks out the window. Beverly's been up for an hour, she's pulled on a pair of sweats. Lap-cradled Zelle suckles at one breast, using her free hand to reach through the unbuttoned pyjama top to tweak the other nipple. “She's got to be at least sixty, even sixty-five,” Beverly answers her own question. “I mean these houses are over forty years old. Teddy Bear's got to be pushing forty.”

They have names for their neighbours. Lydia next door is just Lydia, her son Ted is Teddy Bear. Across the street there's Bill and Betty, who they call the
OHITGY
's (Ozzie & Harriet In Their Golden Years)—Ricky and David have long since flown the coop, and now Mom and Dad spend their days gardening, golfing, trimming their hedges, sweeping the sidewalks, flashing toothy smiles. Beside them lives Gwyneth, a deaf widow: she's Madame Butterfly, short for social butterfly. Her busy calendar keeps her coming and going all day long. She waves to Colm and Beverly, rocks her arms and gives the thumbs-up to show her appreciation of Zelle. On the other side of the Copes lives Mr. Fish, the Lawnmower Man, a widower who cuts his lawn three times a week and talks to the carp in his fish pond. Around the corner are the Clones, a couple younger than Colm and Beverly, but who are also new to the neighbourhood, have a daughter a few months older than Zelle, who drive the same make and year four-door Toyota as they do. Beverly freaks out the day Mrs. Clone announces she's expecting their second child.

“She looks in good shape,” Colm says of Lydia. “Maybe she likes it. You know, keeps fit, sees people. Gives her an excuse to get away from Ted.”

“Still,” Beverly says.

“Ted.” They don't see much of Ted—he hardly ever sets foot outside the house. At the back door with the dogs. Sunday mornings he makes the long trek to the garage in the lane, to fire up his Harley and rev it. They catch a glimpse at the front door when he greets one of the many callers. A daily visit from the Video Superstore Express (We Deliver!). The pizza guy, Chinese food, dial-a-bottle at all hours of the day or night. Twice a week, the shiny yellow truck with the famous ice cream. The ice cream man comes over the day after Colm and Beverly move in. His name, Artie, is stitched over a breast pocket bristling with pens, a miniature flashlight, and a thermometer.

UPS drivers drop packages at Ted's door. Men on motorcycles come singly or in pairs, or with their old ladies riding on the back. Biker handshakes in greeting. But others too—button-down businessmen, slackers, office temps. College kids, artsy types, silver-haired matrons. These visitors always leave with something—a used plastic grocery bag, bundles wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. “He's up to something, that bastard. Hydroponics. Methamphetamines. Something.”

Every time someone comes to his door, they can hear the terrier start to bark. Zelle starts to cry.

Zelle
@
7 months
[
From the city website. Animal Services Department: “What to Do When Your Neighbour's Dog Barks”
]

Citizens are urged to discuss problems regarding noisy pets directly with the pets' owners before laying a formal complaint with the Animal Services Department. If you can't resolve the dispute, the following outlines the barking dog complaint process:

1. Complainant files a notice with the Animal Services Department.

2. Animal Services notifies the dog owner by mail, with a copy to the complainant. Strict anonymity is preserved by the department.

3.The complainant is also sent a form entitled “Barking Dog Complaint Log” on which to record the instances of barking over a five-day continuous period.
THE COMPLAINANT MUST WITNESS THE DOG IN THE ACT OF BARKING ON EACH OCCASION THAT AN ENTRY IS MADE INTO THE LOG. IT IS
NOT
SUFFICIENT MERELY TO HEAR THE DOG
.

4. The complainant forwards the completed log to Animal Services.

5. Animal Services at its discretion may choose to issue a warning or a Notice of Offence.

6. Penalty for first offence is $100, second offence $200, subsequent offences in a 12-month period are $300.

Under the Animal Control Bylaw, the Animal Services Department has the authority to petition the Provincial Court to declare as a nuisance any animal that is kept within the city limit. Nuisances are defined in the Bylaw, and include but are not limited to noise, mischief, hygiene, destruction of property, perceived menace, etc. The owner of a nuisance animal is subject to maximum penalties of $1,000 in fines per nuisance, imprisonment of 14 days, and seizure and destruction of court-defined nuisance animals in his or her care.

Zelle
@
almost 9 months
In January, six months after they move in, Colm keeps the Barking Dog Log provided by the city, to document his complaint. It is the second time he has done so. The first time is in November, and he watches, shielded by the curtains, when the Animal Control Officer visits. Beverly refuses to take part, she won't maintain the log when she's at home and Colm's at work. He knows Ted got off with a warning. This time the recordkeeping will be unimpeachable. There will be a penalty paid for the sleepless nights, those bark-shattered days.

Beverly has landed a contract sewing costumes for an elaborate production of a Gilbert & Sullivan for the biggest theatre in town. She is working both at home and at the theatre this week. As they move into final fittings and technical rehearsals, she will be away from home full-time. The child-care schedule is complicated, the separation anxiety high. Colm takes a week's vacation to help Beverly with the transition. That week, Colm sees the terrier barking forty-six times, and registers it in the log.

During the show's run, she'll be a dresser; they can pass Zelle off at the door as Beverly dashes for the evening costume call. After Colm's week, for three weeks of rehearsals, Gaddie comes over to “sit.” Zelle is almost nine months old. She crawls everywhere, gets stuck under chairs, pulls herself up, knocks over cups. She smiles sometimes. She still cries.

The first day Gaddie cares for Zelle, a chinook blows. The January deep freeze melts away as the temperature soars. When Colm drives up from work, he sees Gaddie towing Zelle in a little penguin-shaped sled he's never laid eyes on. She's standing in the Copes' yard, gesturing a mittened hand as she talks. She's talking to Ted, who has the front screen door with the pheasant decoration propped half-open. He's holding the terrier like a loaf of bread. Zelle is laughing. Laughing. So is Gaddie. Colm slams the car door and marches up the walk into his house without looking over. As he slams the house door for good measure, he hears the dog bark. Zelle's laugh turns to a cry.

“What in hell were you doing out there?” Colm demands of his mother when she comes in with Zelle.

“Oh, Colm, isn't she sweet?” Zelle's wrapped in a tiger-striped snowsuit. Two little ears poke up from the hood. She gurgles.

“Jesus Christ, Mom. I come home and you're practically in his goddamned house.”

“Colm. You don't have to use the Lord's name like that.” Gaddie slips out of her boots and carries Zelle into the room.

“Jesus Christ Jesus Christ Jesus Christ. It's my own goddamned house, I can say Jesus Christ whenever I damn well please. Jesus Christ.”

“I was visiting next door.”

“Oh fuck.” Zelle's ears perk up. What is that new and interesting word? “With Zelle, I suppose. Are you nuts?”

“Colm, you're overreacting. You let your imagination get away.” Gaddie tugs Zelle's arms out of the snowsuit. “I took little ZeeZee for a snow ride—”

“Where did that thing come from?” Colm gestures towards the outside, where the plastic sled sits on the snow of the front yard.

“I picked it up at Sears. Half-price. If you don't like it, I kept the receipt.”

“We can't return it now.”

“There's hardly a scratch on it. I was out with Zelle, getting her some fresh air. Honestly, I think you two need to get her out of the house more. She's cooped up here all day.” She hoists Zelle in her arms. Zelle tugs at her earring and coos.

“Mom, just stop with the teachable moments for once. She gets out all the time.”

“If you say so. She was having the time of her life, and we stopped and talked to Lydia. What a delightful woman.”

Colm quickly checked out the window: the Valiant was not parked curbside. “Where is she now?”

“Bingo. She asked me to come along. Imagine that. Bingo. In the afternoon. She was just going out, and she asked me for tea some time.” She pulls Zelle's fingers away. “Don't do that, dear. That's GaGa's ear. We don't pull on ears.” She puts Zelle on a blanket on the floor strewn with rattles and squeaky toys.

“Won't pass that opportunity up, I'm sure. You're here one day and barging in on the neighbours.”

“Oh, we didn't really go in.”

“Hang on a second, I get it. You were cold-calling her.” Colm gets down on the floor and picks up a little yellow star with a ring full of beads attached to it.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You're going to convert her.” He rattles the star at Zelle. She rolls towards him and struggles to sit up.

“Well, you're wrong. That wasn't what I was doing at all.” Gaddie busies herself collecting her things: her leather-bound phone book, her cellular phone, her slippers. “Besides, Lydia has already accepted Him as our Saviour. She goes to the Celebration Centre downtown. The one in the old theatre. I think it's Pentecost. Or maybe Southern Baptist Convention.”

“That makes even more sense. You guys have your own radar.”

“Colm, you're impertinent. I noticed the fish bumper sticker on her car.”

Zelle has managed to sit up in front of her father. She reaches for the yellow star, and they play tug-of-war. “Lydia invites you to bingo. Okay. Why were you talking to Teddy Bear? Don't tell me he's born again too. Not that fat bastard.”

“Really, Colm. Zelle is just enthralled with the little dog.”

“Spare me.” Colm lets go.

Zelle tips back so her feet go in the air, recovers her balance and settles back down. She giggles, and thrusts the star at Colm.

“Did you know he does leatherwork?”

“What are you talking about?”

Gaddie has packed her bag. The zipper of her brightly coloured ski jacket bristles with ski-lift passes. “Edward. He makes things out of leather for people. He's really very talented. People come to him from all over the city.”

“You've got to be kidding.” Colm tugs at the star again. “I suppose he makes vests for the motorcycle gangs.”

“I told him he and Beverly should compare notes. He had no idea she was a tailor.” She slips her feet into her fleece-lined boots and zips them up to her ankle.

“She's not a tailor. She's a designer. I don't want him to know anything about us.” He pulls on the little star and Zelle leans forward, gripping her end with both hands.