Not Suitable For Family Viewing (18 page)

Thursday, Noon

www.youyouandmimi.blogspot.com

Mimi complains how modern society is drowning in a sea of facts. What can we do to turn back the tide?

The library is cool and quiet. I head over to the table. The box is sitting there waiting for me.

I don’t know why, but I see the box and this thing happens to me. I hear a clicking sound in my brain, as if someone’s fiddling with the focus button. It’s not like I’m hallucinating or anything but suddenly I realize everything’s changed. The box used to be this big depressing, overwhelming, scary pile of papers. Now it’s just a box. I can’t even remember why it scared me. I feel my posture improve.

I might be a mess on the outside but inside I feel like I’m coming together. I got off the couch. I went to Port Minton. I’m gathering the clues. I’m figuring out who Mom is. I’m not running away. I’m falling in love.

I’m okay. I’m in charge. I’m normal. I’m good. (I sound like I’m watching too much
You, You and Mimi.
)

I sit down and pull the box toward me. I can do this. I get out Rosie’s yearbook, just to see if I missed anything first time around.

An old
Canadian Geographic
magazine underneath catches my eye. I put down the yearbook and pick it up.

I’m stunned. Embree Bister is on the cover, looking just as mean, just as dirty and only a little bit younger than when I saw him a few days ago. There are a bunch of raggedy kids and a scared-looking woman in the background. The title’s written in large white letters—“The Lost Tribe of the North Atlantic.” Levi told me it was a big deal—but
that
big a deal?

I hold my breath and flip through the magazine until I find the article. There are lots of pictures of the Bisters. They all look like extras in a movie. Who else would be that dirty? I wonder if the photographer had to tell them not to smile—or were they all just as naturally charming as Embree?

The magazine’s a good twenty years old but I can tell that even back then their clothes were out of date. One of the women is wearing a long dress—and it’s pretty clear she’s not heading off to the prom. Embree’s wearing a suit with patches on the knees just like you’d see on some Halloween hobo. The kids must have just put on whatever they could find. One boy’s shirt is torn up to his ribs. Another boy—who I’m pretty sure is Gershom—is wearing a jacket that was obviously meant for a very large man. Their hair is matted and long and sticking out all over the place. The snot under their noses is black and crusty. I can just imagine what they smelled like.

There’s a picture of Embree sitting under a tree, reading an old book. The sidebar reads:

Highbrow Hillbilly.
Despite no formal education, Embree Bister is a voracious reader. The shabby homes on the Island have little furniture and few amenities but are stocked with over seven hundred books, all dating from before the 1888 quarantine. Abednigo Bister, patriarch of the family at the time of the feud and Embree’s great-grandfather, was an educated if eccentric man who’d sailed the world in his youth. His passion for learning continues in the family even to this day. Although woefully unaware of the world beyond Bister Island, the children have an almost encyclopedic knowledge of pre-twentieth-century art and history.”

Another photo shows a guy in a white coat examining a kid’s mouth.

The Bister diet is so impoverished that many people have lost all their teeth by their early twenties. Rickets and scurvy, although almost unknown today in the developed world, are also common afflictions of the clan. Many family members also have webbed toes and suffer from “the falling sickness” (epilepsy).

The worst picture, though, is of a girl holding a baby in her arms. I don’t know why it bothers me so much. She’s staring up at the photographer from a pit in the ground. She’s dirty and kind of pointy-faced. She looks terrified—and sort of terrifying too. You wouldn’t be surprised to hear she was possessed by an evil spirit or something.

Primitive Bunker.
Minerva Bister and her 2-year-old brother, Cicero, were among several children found in an underground hideaway not far from the main residence. Their father, Embree, is a stern taskmaster who preached against the evils of the outside world to his flock of fourteen. Children were instructed to secrete themselves in this underground cellar at the first sign of an approaching boat. This may be why, until recently, government officials believed there to be only two children on the island, 16-year-old Gershom and 18-year-old Barnabas.

I feel sick, or I guess sickened. That’s a better word. Imagine living your
whole
life on this tiny little island, in these nasty old shacks, with deerskins for windows and crates for chairs and a hole out back for a toilet. Imagine having to hide every time someone came over. (At least when I hide, it’s in a comfortable room with a flat-screen TV.)

I skim the article some more for Ingrams but there’s no sign of them. Mrs. Hiltz makes it into the magazine, though, lots of times. I recognized her picture right away. Her hair was brown back then and she stood straighter than she does now, but otherwise she hasn’t changed that much. Even on Bister Island, she was wearing lipstick.

I guess this is what she meant when she talked about rabble-rousing.

Despite her wealth, Opal Hiltz still considers herself a Port Minton girl. Widow of industrialist Enos Hiltz, she was the first to sound the alarm about the situation on Bister Island.

“I did it for two reasons,” the well-known philanthropist says today. “I had a strong suspicion that there had to be other children on the Island. A young woman I once knew, Nettie Faulkner, had shocked the community years ago by running off with Embree Bister—and yet the only children anyone ever laid eyes on belonged to his brother, Disraeli.”

Mrs. Hiltz attempted to ask after Nettie on Embree’s occasional visits to town but the answers she received were, at best, evasive. She put this down to the Bisters’ famous insistence on privacy, until a chance encounter made her believe that there was more at play.

She explains. “Last year at around this time, Embree was in Port Minton with his nephew, Barnabas, picking up some molasses and flour. It happened to be our annual Spring Fair and I was manning the bakery table set up on Main Street. Barnabas was 17 at the time but so small for his age he could have passed for 12. I offered him a cookie. He gobbled it down like a starving man, and then, when Embree wasn’t looking, asked if he might have a few more to bring back for his ‘cousins.’ I knew then that there were other children on the Island.”

Early attempts by Mrs. Hiltz and other concerned citizens to bring resources to the Island were rebuffed with threats of violence. Finally, in desperation, Mrs. Hiltz brought in the provincial government. “I don’t believe in forcing our way of life onto others but the welfare of the children took precedence over any qualms we had in that regard. We were worried that the youngsters were not receiving the medical care they might need.”

Her concerns were justified. When a team of hospital personnel, social workers and government officials finally strongarmed their way onto the Island, they were shocked to find ten rail-thin children covered in sores and so filthy as to be almost unrecognizable. Several of them reported they had lost siblings the previous winter due to starvation or to “the bloody flux” (dysentery). There was concern for the children’s emotional health as well. Although polite and well-spoken, most of the children appeared as afraid of their adult relatives as they were of the strangers.

The children, the ill and the elderly were removed from the Island shortly after these photos were taken. Mrs. Hiltz shocked many by offering to foster one of the displaced children. Most others were adopted out of the area.

Mrs. Hiltz’s childhood friend Nettie Faulkner was never found. Embree claims she left him after the birth of their last child, but authorities believe that foul play may have been involved in her disappearance. The Bisters have never reported any deaths on the Island.

So much for not knowing anything about the Bisters. By the sounds of it, Mrs. Hiltz pretty much rescued those kids all by herself. I wonder why she didn’t tell me. My guess: too humble. I can sort of understand now why Mom gave me the name Opal. Mrs. Hiltz is a pretty amazing—

I get a chill.

So you’re one of those, are you?

I’m looking at this picture of Embree in front of his arsenal of old guns and that just pops into my head. He said,
What’s your
name?
I said,
Opal.
Then he said something like,
So you’re one of those, are you?

That’s why he hates me. It’s not just peeing on his property or my so-called research. It’s the name. He must know Opal is Mrs. Hiltz’s name too. She came in and broke up the Island, got all the kids off. Everyone else might think she’s great but she must be pure evil to him. He probably figures I’m related to her somehow. Maybe he thinks she’s up to her old tricks again. Maybe he thinks she wants to get him kicked out of the park or something. That might be enough for him to hate me too.

That might be enough for him to want to kill me.

I start feeling freaked out again. I throw the magazine back in the box. I try to calm down. I wish I could talk to Anita right now. Not about this. Just talk to her about anything. Hear her voice. That would make me feel better.

I can’t call her. Doesn’t matter what I talk about. She’d know by my voice that something’s up. I can’t fool her.

I get up and switch on the computer. I’ll e-mail her. I’ll just say hello, tell her I’m okay. She’ll e-mail back. That will have to do for now. I type in my password.

I’ve got mail.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Subject:
Death-defying feat

U so o me! I went 2 the house yesterday cuz I got off work early. Mom ran out of Pledge & had 2 go 2 the store. She made me clean the baseboards while she was gone. She gave me hell for not finishing them by the time she got
back but who cares? I got the file. U better tell me what this is all about when u get back. (U better tell me about this guy 2.)

Good old Selena. She was like this when she was a kid too. She tortured me but she always came through in the end.

I open my grandmother’s obituary and there it is, plain as day, in the very first sentence. “Dora May Reiner (née Gotfrit), survived by her beloved husband, Harry, and chosen daughter, Miriam Ingram.”

Miriam Ingram.

There it is. The proof. There’s no “maybe” about it any more. Mimi used to be Rosie Ingram.

And “chosen daughter”—that obviously means adopted.

I check the date. Dora died just a month before I was born. She died in Brooklyn, just like Mom said in the book. Okay. That fits.

I open the other attachment, the marriage licence, and check the date there too. I was almost a year old at the time of the wedding. Why did they wait so long?

Maybe because of Dora? Maybe it didn’t seem right to get married when she was sick—or so soon after she died. I shake my head. Who knows? Maybe Mimi couldn’t find a dress she liked. Maybe she couldn’t lose her baby weight. Maybe Jean-François couldn’t fit her in for her eyebrow wax until then. Could be a thousand different reasons for it.

I think for a second. Okay. What do I know for sure? Mom definitely had left Port Minton by the time I was born and…

And that’s about it. The sum total of my “research.”

Where did she hook up with Dad, then?

I get out the yearbook again. I looked for Schwartzes before but Dad might have changed his name too. I go to the hockey section. Maybe Dad was the manager or the water boy or something. Maybe they got rings too. I look at the team picture. There’s a manager but it’s a girl, and the stick boy is a fat little blond kid who bears a striking resemblance to the coach, and none at all to Dad.

I try to be systematic about this. I go row by row, look at each of the faces, check each of the names. Maybe I missed something before.

No one even rings a bell—until I get to Percy Hiltz. I didn’t recognize him at first. By the look of the picture, he sweated just as much as he does now, but he was way skinnier then and had a whole head of thick red hair too.

I really wish I could talk to him. I bet he’d know. I just don’t want to bother him while he’s so busy.

I go back to the yearbook. I see the caption
Roy Tanner, Captain.
Debbie’s Roy.

Maybe I don’t need Percy after all.

I grab Rosie’s yearbook. I’m going to get my hair done.

Thursday, 2 p.m.

You, You and Mimi

“Love Crazy—Part 2.” Mimi’s celebrity guests continue to share more mortifying stories about the things they did for love.

I know before I even see the van that Levi’s near. I’m not claiming to be psychic or anything like that but it’s true. I just know. I’ve got this little high-pitched hum going all through my body. It’s like the music in a movie that tells you to brace yourself, something big’s about to happen.

I’m walking down Main Street to Debbie’s salon. The humming gets stronger. I look up and there he is, outside the hardware store again. He smiles at me and it’s like he just pushed the fast-forward button on the remote. I’m a robot. I immediately start to hobblejog over to him.

He starts singing, “
Go, Granny, go, go, go!
”

He makes me laugh. I can hardly wait to touch him, to tell him about the brick, the threat, everything.

Damn.

I stop. I can’t. I promised Mrs. Hiltz.

He goes, “C’mon, Beulah! Don’t give up now! You almost made it!”

Big deal. She’ll never know. I’ll make Levi promise not to tell too. I can trust him.

But that’s what I thought about those girls at school too. I didn’t worry about their little cellphone cameras.

I walk up to him. I swore I wouldn’t tell a soul.

He looks at me funny. “Okay. What’s the matter now?”

“Levi…” I say. A blue car pulls up into the parking lot. I recognize the screech of the tires. It’s Krystal’s car.

“Yeah?”

Do I need this now? What does she do? Keep driving up and down Main Street until she catches us together or something?

Levi gives my arm a little shake. “Yoo-hoo! What’s up?”

I’m sick of her. I’m not going to take this any more. Scaring me. Harassing me. Insulting me. He’s mine. I feel like a dog, marking its territory or something.

I let the cane drop to the pavement, throw my arms around Levi’s neck and kiss him. I kiss him for a long, long time. I rub my hands through his hair. I squirm. I wriggle. I moan. I do all the Hollywood make-out moves I can think of.

Get the message, Krystal?

I’m just starting to understand why they say that revenge is sweet when I hear this guy go, “You were supposed to be picking up some mortar, Levi, not some girl.”

I jump back with my hands up in the air like a cop just pulled a gun on me. (“Robin Opal Schwartz, you are under arrest for impersonating a hot girl, moaning in public and unlawfully placing your big fat lips on an unsuspecting male victim.”)

Levi doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed. He just laughs and goes, “Don’t worry, Uncle Jimmy. Mortar’s in the van. I’m on my way. Just saying goodbye to Opal here, that’s all.”

Jimmy shakes his head, slams the door of his blue car and heads into the store.

I groan—and not in that Hollywood babe way either. I’m an idiot—and, as far as his uncle’s concerned, a skank too.

Levi clicks his tongue. “Yowza! You’re some hot-to-trot today, girl. What got into you?”

He sticks his neck right under my nose. “My new cologne, perhaps?” I shrug and move away. He moves in closer. “No. Seriously. Take a whiff. That it?”

I go, “No,” and look away. I can’t believe I did that. I’ve got to get out of here before Jimmy comes back.

Levi walks around in front of me. “What do you think it was, then?”

I’m too embarrassed to even glare at him.

“Hmm. I use their deodorant too.” He lifts his arms and sniffs his pits. “It doesn’t do much for me but…maybe the effect of the fragrance combined with the pheromones in my sweat was enough to send you into that—what would you call it?—frenzy? Yeah. That’s the word. Frenzy of lust and desire.” He starts moving his hips and making his lips go all rubbery like he’s some sleazebag sexpot and I can’t even pretend any more.

I go, “Shut! Up!”

That totally cracks him up.

“No, not yet! I have another theory too. Or…or…” I try to cover his mouth with my hands but he keeps swivelling his head
away. “Or did you perhaps mistake Jimmy’s car for Krystal’s?”

I attack him like some crazed barbarian warrior.

He’s killing himself laughing. “Bingo. Looks like we have a winner!” He puts on this tough-girl voice. “Back off, Krystal. Levi’s mine! Smooch. Smooch. Ooh, baby.”

I’m hitting him and I’m laughing and I’m practically crying because I’ve made such a fool of myself but somehow that only makes me laugh more.

He grabs both my hands and squeezes them against his chest, then clamps me into a bear hug. He says, “Oh, now I feel bad,” and I think he’s finally going to show me some mercy but instead he puts on this big pout and goes, “I was hoping for lust—but I’ll take jealousy. Don’t matter to me none. Heck, I wouldn’t even mind if you were just feeling sorry for me.”

Levi and I are still hanging onto each other, cracking up, when Jimmy comes back out of the store.

Levi wipes his face with the back of his hand and says, “Be right there, Jimmy.” Then he waggles his eyebrows at me and whispers, “Hey. Why don’t we see if we can make Krystal
really
jealous tonight?”

I squeeze my teeth together to keep my face from flying apart. I close my eyes.

He says, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I nod, then I sigh and go, “No. I can’t. I forgot…Mrs. Hiltz is taking me for a picnic in Port Minton tonight.”

Levi slumps against the van. He twirls his finger around like
ooh, whoopee, lucky you.

I say, “It won’t be very late. Mrs. Hiltz was in bed by eight last
night. Maybe we could, like—you know—get together then?”

Levi pulls me toward him. “Sure. Eight, nine, midnight, whatever. I’ll be waiting.”

The sky suddenly gets darker. He looks up. A big black cloud is blocking the sun. “Oh-oh,” he says. “I better get out of here. Jimmy’ll kill me if it starts raining before I get this done.”

He kisses me, gets in the van and waves. I never noticed before that his ears move when he smiles. (His ears, my heart.)

I forget about the brick. I forget about Krystal. I forget about Jimmy and all the stuff he’s probably thinking about me. Who cares? There’s only room in my head for Levi.