Pure Spring (11 page)

Sandy eats the rest of the piece of chocolate cake the lady in Fenton's Bakery gave him, turns facing the store window, clicks the heels and
Snap
goes the salute!

The show is over.

I go up to him and look down into his squeezed-up face. Even in his big boots, Sandy is short. He must have been the shortest soldier in the war.

“Have you seen Grampa Rip tonight?” I say.

He tells me yes with his face. Sandy doesn't talk.

“Where?”

Sandy turns to go up Somerset Street and then stops and looks back. I follow him up past Borden's Dairy Bar and into the stable.

Half dark in here. Squint to see. We go deeper into the stable and up a ramp. You can hear the horses chewing and
sneezing. Sometimes thumping, tails switching against wooden stall walls. The huge stable smells warm and friendly. Brown smell of horse and harness, hay and oats. Sweet horse shit.

Sandy points.

There's Grampa Rip lying down on some bales of hay in one of the empty horse stalls, on his back, peaceful, in his funeral suit, his watch chain glistening, snoring a little bit, a small smile on his lips, a tulip in his buttonhole, his open hand on his head.

The horse in the next stall says something in his throat to say hello to us. Grampa's eyes open.

“I love the smell of horses,” he says. “Don't you, whoever you are?”

“It's me, Martin, Grampa Rip. Sandy showed me where you went to. It's time to go home.”

“I've had many different jobs in my lifetime, boys. I've been a ditch digger, a paver, a caddy, a door-to-door watch salesman, a tugboat cook, a stonemason, a roofer, a bricklayer, a lumberjack, a log boomer, a pig slaughterer, a manure spreader, a harness maker, an elevator man, a boxcar loader, a railroad man, a bottle washer, a farmer, a mailman, a dynamiter, a sewer worker, a teamster and many, many more... I've seen it all. One of the jobs I had for a while was milkman for Borden's Dairy, years and years ago. My horse's name was Strawberry, one of the first berries of spring. Strawberry knew my milk route as well as I did. I remember, on hot days, she liked me to put a chunk of ice in her mouth to cool her off. I came looking for her tonight.

“She knew every house and store to stop at. You didn't have to tell her. You didn't even have to pick up the reins to steer her. And if there was a sign in the window — NO MILK TODAY, THANK YOU — she wouldn't stop. She'd go on to the next. I swear she could read the signs. Yessir! And between stops I'd read and read my books!”

“Time to come home, Grampa.”

“You know, boys, in the old days,” says Grampa Rip, “in spring in the Ottawa Valley we had contests, games, cross-cut sawing, rip sawing, needle threading, big picnics, everybody there, potato peeling, pancake eating, eggs boiled in maple syrup...pour maple syrup on everything, on each other, pour maple syrup all over the boys and girls and we bathed ourselves in the sacred dew of the maple tree...”

“Time to come home, Grampa Rip.”

Sandy and I help him up and brush the straw off his suit.

“Home?” says Grampa. “Get my horse, Strawberry. She knows the way. Strawberry, my old loyal horse. Take us straight home, no questions asked.”

There's a warm spring rain touching tender our faces. We walk the short way home.

At the apartment door Sandy gives us a special salute. We go in. Grampa gets in his chair and I get five dimes out of the Grampa-is-lost bowl.

I go out in the hallway and shut the door. I want to give Sandy the five dimes and I want to talk to him about an idea I have. An idea about “distract, then act.” Sandy doesn't talk
but I only have to explain the plan to him once and he gets it right away. He'll be there. His nodding tells me that.

Oh, Gerty. Tomorrow I'm comin' to see you with a plan! And tonight, in my sleepiness, I'll go to sleep with you!

16

R
ANDY IS
in a good mood today. Today is Saturday. Today is payday. The weather is beautiful. The tulips are all over the place. He's already stolen, with my help, twelve dollars from the first stop we made today at the Parliamentary Restaurant.

“They're easy on Parliament Hill. They just don't seem to pay attention to anything. You could steal the flag off the Peace Tower up there and I bet they wouldn't even notice!”

I'm hoping to get him off his usual subject before he even starts so I tell him that Gerty and I went to see the Marx Brothers movies at the Rialto last week.

“Marx Brothers. Jews. Karl Marx, the inventor of Communism, was their great-grandfather. Those Marx Brothers, they're not funny. No Jews are funny. Oh yeah, maybe they'll try to make you laugh while they're picking your pocket. That's why they get to be comedians.

“The Jews started the First World War and the Second
World War...and now the Commies...did you know... you know what fluoridization is? No, you probably don't. Fluoridization is a plan that they're talking about to put stuff in our drinking water that's supposed to stop your teeth from rotting. Well, those Commies up there in city hall, most of them Jews are plotting to poison us all and take over the city...did you know that Doris Day is a Jew, her real name is Doris Von Krapelhead or some stupid thing. Come on, kid. Wake up!”

Randy seems crazier today than usual.

Is it because he's in such a good mood?

While Randy's raving away about Commies and Jews, I'm thinking about last night. Gerty and I went walking. The more we walked, the more I told her of my plan. First I told her some, then more, then all and the more I told the happier she got. She cried, and then she laughed and as Randy might say while she laughed the tears rolled down her eyes. Then she sighed and then her eyes were on fire, set on fire, flashing with disgust and hatred for Randy.

It was a long walk because I had to tell her about Igor Gouzenko and the stolen papers and go over the plan with her again and again.

Gerty likes the plan. She loves the plan. She'll have the tulips ready. She'll have the back garage unlocked. She can't wait. She's more excited than I am.

This is Saturday. The last day I'll ever work at Pure Spring. Randy doesn't know this. He won't know it until it's too late.

And Randy will never, ever know this.

Last night, in the half-moon light by Baron Strathcona's fountain, I kissed Gerty McDowell on the lips.

We pull up in front of McDowell's Grocery and Lunch on Sweetland.

Gerty is in the doorway of the store. Everything is written on her face that only I can see.

“There's Gerty McDowell,” I say. I have put cheerfulness in my voice.

“So
that's
Gerty McDowell! Oh ho! I get it now, Boy. She's your girl! Why didn't you tell me? Hey, she's a nice lookin' piece. Wow wow wow! Way to go, there, Boy O'Boy! Look at the great hair. And the blue ribbon in the hair! Nice touch, there, Romeo. Eh? Eh? You gotta tell me all about her. What she's like, ya know what I'm sayin'?”

We get out of the truck.

“I'll go down. Check the basement,” I say.

“Okay,” says Randy. “Mind if I have a little chat with your sweetie?”

Instead, there's Sandy coming out of the store just like we planned and he starts a little show for Randy. Gerty gives Sandy a sandwich. He bows. He turns. He begins to eat the sandwich. He salutes.

I'm in the store and down into the cellar. I open the cellar window and crawl out. I can hear Sandy's clicking heels. Now Gerty's giving him the cup of tea. Now the show starts over. More Sandy. More heels clicking.

I pull three full cases of Honee Orange off the truck, careful, no noise, and wheel them into McDowell's garage.
I come back. Now I hear Gerty's voice. Sandy's act is over. Gerty has applauded and got Randy to applaud a bit, too. Gerty is saying, “Mr. Randy, could you come in a minute? I'd like to talk personally to you...” Just like we planned. Distract. Then act!

I pull three more cases, ginger ale this time, off the truck and dolly them into the garage and shut the door. I bring back the dolly, load it quiet, crawl back into the cellar.

Mutt McDowell's stolen cases are back! I'm a thief again, in reverse!

When I come up through the trap door in the store I see Gerty giving Randy the bunch of tulips. Randy loves tulips. I told her about that.

“Oh,
really
?” she said when I told her, her eyes smiling.

“Martin tells me that you've been very kind to him and he arranged that I give you these tulips to give to your lovely wife. He's told me so much about the two of you...” says Gerty.

Randy can't keep his eyes off Gerty. And the tulips. I want to smash Randy's head open with something, anything. Maybe a case of Pure Spring Honee Orange.

“They don't need anything today,” I say to Randy. “They've got plenty.”

Randy glares at me for a second. Don't
need
anything? What's going on?

Mr. McDowell shuffles out and stands by the cellar window. He's coughing and spitting up.

“There's four cases of empties,” I say. “Should I put them out?”

“Might as well,” says Randy. He's sniffing the tulips and looking Gerty over.

I go down and pitch out the four cases of empties. I can see Mutt McDowell's skinny legs and his cane tip through the window.

It's over. Distract, then act!

I'm so excited I can hardly breathe. Mr. Mutt McDowell's got back the cases of drinks we stole.

We're back in the truck. Randy won't miss the missing cases until tonight when he takes the truck back to the bottling plant. That's when he counts. Or sometimes, because it's the weekend, he won't bother until Monday.

Depends. But it doesn't matter. I'll never see him again.

Now Randy's back in the truck.

“Old man McDowell sure got to the window in a hurry...”

“Did he?” I say.

“Do you think he's on to us?”

“I don't know. All I know is they didn't need any drinks. Business isn't very good there, I guess.”

“Yeah,” says Randy. “I heard ya the first time.”

We pull away, Sandy and Gerty waving good-bye.

“Who's that jerky little army guy, anyway? Is he crazy?”

“I don't know,” I say. “I've never seen him before in my whole life.” Granny said once that sometimes telling a lie can be a whole lot of fun!

I'm so happy I feel like jumping out of the truck right now and running back in to Gerty. But I can't. It's not in the plan.

“Oh yeah,” says Randy. “I should tell you before I forget. I invited your little patootie over to my place tomorrow for lunch. She said sure. She'd love to. You and pretty little Gerty. Show up at noon.”

Now I'm not happy any more.

Now I'm confused.

His place? A lunch?

What is happening?

What Happened • Five

A
LONG CURVING
road through ghost black bare trees, branches clawing at the swirling storm.

Your father pulled Horrors Leblanc's car around the circular driveway.

Then you and your family walked up the wide walk, wide enough for a car. Then three wide concrete steps. Then four granite steps and between four square slate pillars reaching to a canopy. There were three windows over the doors.

The letters carved in the stone above the two large doors: ONTARIO HOSPITAL SCHOOL.

The building was only two stories high.

Inside, two more doors, then a curved lobby and a starched nurse in white greeted you with a wide smile.

What was that smell? Lysol? Piss? Bleach?

Phil was frozen to the floor. You tried to move him but he wouldn't. Then he began to howl. Howling to the
high ceiling of the lobby. Howling echoing down two long, long hallways.

Two men in black suits, white shirts, black bow ties, shiny, shiny black shoes came walking with long strides. A nurse arrived with a wheelchair. Phil was acting the worst you've ever seen him. Froth in his mouth. His face choking purple.

Another nurse came with a needle. The two men with the black bow ties grabbed Phil and took off his coat and sweater. The nurse bared his arm and stuck him with a needle.

They put him limp in the wheelchair. They put straps around him so he wouldn't fall out.

Then the whole group of you started down a long hallway. You couldn't see the end, the hall was so long. You walked and you walked and then you walked some more.

Phil was awake now and calmed down. He seemed to be enjoying the ride. Soothing.

It hardly seemed possible but you were still walking. One of the bow ties said the place had over three miles of hallway connecting all the buildings. He seemed proud of it.

And then, after a long time still walking, the other bow tie said, “...and this is one of the shorter ones.” It was a joke about the hallway but nobody laughed.

Then the bow tie pushing Phil in the chair said, “What's his name? You said Phil? Let's speed things up a bit here, Phil!” And he took off running ahead, running
ahead pushing Phil down the hallway for the ride of his life until they got smaller and smaller and Phil giggling hysterically — the fun of it!

“Wheeee!” Phil screamed with delight. They became just dots down there where they at last stopped to wait for us. Phil's voice echoing down through the long hall.

Papers signed.

It was time to go.

Your mother tried hugging Phil but he didn't want to. “That's enough,” your father said. “He doesn't understand. You're just making things worse. Let's go.”

Standing sad there.

You remembered, for some reason, something that happened a long time ago.

You got on the St. Patrick Street streetcar and your mother was standing with Phil out there on the sidewalk. It was summer and the streetcar windows were open and you waved at Phil as soon as you sat down and you were surprised when you saw Phil wave back. You were sure he did — at least a little bit of a wave. You saw it, you were startled by it — he never waved before — and you felt so glad but your father said afterwards no, Phil was too stupid to wave, he didn't know what waving meant, he couldn't have waved, he was probably swatting a fly or scratching his head or something, but you thought he waved because he looked right at you and his hand went up and it was a nice look he had on his face that you'd never seen before...