“What happened to her?”
“Oh, you’re finally awake there!” Wilfred stacked the firewood. “Everyone in town is talking about the crazy Indian in the apple orchards. I think the cops are lookin’ for you.”
“They’ll get bored soon enough.” Kenny sat up and flexed his skinned knuckles.
“What happened to who?”
“Your sister. Lucy.”
“You still sweet on my little sister?”
Kenny blushed. “Just wondering.” He thought of how much Wilfred had changed since he’d last seen him and wondered how different Lucy would be.
Wilfred fanned the little flames until they wrapped themselves around the dry twigs and branches, burning hot and smokeless. He pulled out a can of beans and stabbed it with his hunting knife, neatly working his way around the edge to open the can. “She’s in Vancouver. I heard she’s working at some fleabag hotel.” He placed the can of beans in the fire, its ragged lid still attached, setting it at an angle to protect the contents from floating ash. “She’s single, I think. You know, I never really knew her well. She was just a toddler when I was taken. They whipped my ass when I tried to talk to her when they brought her to the Mission. They didn’t care she was my sister.”
They sat at the fire, watching the beans rise and bubble. Kenny turned to his friend. “And whatever happened to Howie after he escaped? Did you ever hear from him? I wonder if he’s still down the States.”
“Nope, never saw him again, but I heard he had to leave the States because he didn’t have proper paperwork or something. I ran into some of the guys from the school and they said they heard he was back in Arrowhead Bay trying to get his papers fixed and he ran into Brother. Kicked his ass. Beat him to a pulp. Heard he almost died. I don’t know if Howie escaped or got thrown in the can.”
“I felt so sorry for that kid. He was so small and terrified all the time. I think Brother would have killed him if he hadn’t escaped.”
“Yeah. I remember that morning. I thought he was already dead, he was so limp, and all that blood.”
Wilfred used two twigs to pull the can out of the coals and set it between himself and Kenny. He pulled two small forks from his shirt pocket and handed one to Kenny, smiling. “Nabbed them from the café along with the TP.”
Kenny laughed. “Some things don’t change, eh? Still making raids to get by.” The friends took turns taking forkfuls of beans from the can, as the hesitant dusk turned into night, the full moon casting a pale reflection on the creek. “Don’t know what I’m gonna do now.”
“You ever worked the logging camps on the island?” Wilfred took the last bite of beans and rinsed out the can in the creek. “Pretty good coin if you can get on. Lots of jobs, but you kinda have to know someone.”
Kenny nodded thoughtfully. “Naw. Never had enough money for the gear. This guy once told me you can make enough money in the logging season to live well for the year.”
“Well, you burned your bridges here. Might as well go. I know a guy. I’ll give you his number. He might be able to get you on.”
“What about you?”
“No cops lookin’ for me.” Wilfred laughed. “I’ll find another apple orchard. Finish out the season.”
The young men spent the rest of the night catching up and drinking tea made in the bean can with tea bags also lifted from the hapless café. The next morning, they bundled up their few possessions and stood, now at a loss for words, as the day pulled them in different directions.
“Man, it was good to run into you, Kenny.” Wilfred reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. “Here, this is that guy’s number. Pretty sure he’ll get you workin’. Tell him I said hi. I was his lead hand for a while. Oh, and this is the place Lucy was working. If she’s still there.”
“Thanks, man. You gonna head back toward town?”
“Might as well. Maybe the competition is hiring.”
Kenny looked in the other direction. “Well, I think I’m gonna follow the creek for a while. Stay off the road. Head for the border.”
Wilfred held his hand out to his friend. “Good plan.”
With nothing left to say, they shook hands. Wilfred headed south, Kenny north, looking over his shoulder once, waving to his friend.
Kenny walked along the meandering creek, enjoying the sound of it when it narrowed and quickened, the peace of it when it widened and slowed, deeper and quieter, the rusty-coloured stones casting a sparkling copper tone on the crystalline water. There was a bitter sweetness in seeing his old friend. He was happy to share their tricky survival memories; it was the other ones, the ones that slipped in through the silences, that he was relieved to lose in his usual solitude.
The collar of Kenny’s jean jacket did nothing against the wild coastal rain so heavy he could barely see in front of him. He walked quickly to catch shelter under the huge, bright sign announcing the Manitou Motel to anyone within a block’s radius. He stood under the sign, watching as the maids rolled their trollies to the rooms. He wondered what Lucy would look like now. The cigarette drowned instantly when he threw it on the ground. He headed through the lobby door. The man behind the desk lowered his magazine and looked Kenny up and down without saying a word.
Kenny cleared his throat. “Ah, I’m looking for an old friend of mine. Heard she was working here. Lucy. You know her?”
“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” The manager worked a toothpick with his tongue.
“Aw, come on, man, I’m just looking for my friend. Is she here?”
“Not now.”
“But she works here? She’ll be back?”
“Maybe. You never know with these Indian chicks.”
Kenny looked down at his knuckles, which were just starting to heal, then at Harlan’s sneering face. The anger rose, but he swallowed, hard. “Well.” He cleared his throat. “Can you tell her I was here looking for her? My name’s Kenny.”
“If I don’t forget. Now move on. I have real customers to deal with.”
Kenny looked around the empty lobby, turned and left, the blood ringing in his ears.
Before the door closed behind him, Harlan called out, “Hey, I think she lives above Chong Li’s. Just down the block.”
Kenny let him think he hadn’t heard. With darkness deepening, he walked through the rain to the entrance to Chinatown and Chong Li’s grocery. He looked up and figured there was only one apartment there. The rain slowed to a drizzle and Kenny stood, across the street from the grocery, wondering if she would even remember him. He thought of her, head shaven, eyes downcast, that horrible sign around her neck, and he couldn’t stand still any longer. He walked down the alley and headed for the Balmoral for a beer. As he rounded the corner and looked back, he thought he caught sight of two women in the corner of his eye, but when he looked again, he saw nothing. He shrugged and carried on.
5
Lucy
There was a time of day, just past three, when the Manitou Motel didn’t look like a crime scene. Swept clean of grimy evidence, its early 1950s facade seemed almost family friendly. Lucy liked the Manitou in the afternoon, buffed up and almost shiny for a few hours, before nightfall and the inevitable onslaught of customers rendered it unrecognizable, again, under a layer of empty bottles, overflowing ashtrays and mangled linens. She nodded in satisfaction, the beds neatly made, the bathroom porcelain gleaming, the towels artfully folded, as though by some magic she wouldn’t be wading through the fetid mess again the next morning. Daydreaming, Lucy walked straight into Clara as they both reached for the door to the linen closet.
“Hey!” Clara bumped her with a swing of her hip and held the door for her. They shrugged off their smocks and punched their time cards by rote, the sudden darkness of the windowless room no longer a hindrance to their practised hands. Tired and ready to leave the Manitou to its ghosts, they sauntered into the sunlight.
“It’s your big day tomorrow, Lucy, right?”
“Yep.”
“You scared?”
“Nope. I’m going to pass that test. It’s not the same as if you go right through high school. But it’s kinda the same as grade twelve. What would Sister think now?” She waved her hand as though swatting a fly.
“Yeah, she’d probably faint, the old bitch.” The two girls snickered at the thought of Sister Mary fainting dead away at the news of her success. “You know what day it is today?”
Clara shook her head. “You mean other than Thursday? What?”
“Two years today since Maisie died.”
The girls walked in silence, finding no words.
Lucy turned to her friend as they approached Chong Li’s. “Hey, you want to come up for a cola? Just got some new 45s. ‘Ruby Tuesday’ too.”
“Nah, I can’t. I promised Liz I’d meet her at Woolworth’s.”
“I sure hope she shows up tomorrow. She promised she would cover for me.”
“Yeah, but you know Liz and her promises. She better show, because I sure don’t want to be doing all those extra rooms.”
Lucy touched her friend’s shoulder. “I’ll come straight back to the Manitou after the test, and if she doesn’t show, I’ll take over.”
“Hey, don’t worry. Just think about your test. Do us proud, girl!”
Lucy turned into the alleyway and the small alcove that led to the apartment above Chong Li’s. She laughed, fishing in her purse for her keys. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah! We’ll all go out and celebrate.”
Just then, Lucy looked down the alley and stood motionless, keys pointed toward the door, as she watched a guy walking away. There was something about his frame, the way he moved as he disappeared down the alley; the tilt of his head strangely familiar.
She shrugged and slipped the key into the lock. Pull, lift and turn the key simultaneously and the old, sticky lock would open. Otherwise, she might as well try abracadabra. It was almost two years now since she’d laid all her money, but for two dollars, on Chong Li’s counter in return for the key to the apartment upstairs.
She couldn’t get the door open and had to go back to the store to ask him to open it for her. His English getting worse and worse with frustration, he opened the door with an irritated flourish, grumbling his way back to the store. She could have taken over Maisie’s apartment after she died. The landlord even offered her the place. She chose this apartment instead for its low rent and proximity to the Manitou. Besides, there was just too much sadness filling every corner at Maisie’s place. Lucy didn’t often allow thoughts of her. She didn’t understand how Maisie could have been so full of despair that she would take her own life. The cops had come to the door, then took Lucy to the morgue to identify her lifeless body. Yes, it was Maisie. Beautiful, brave Maisie. Even though the other girls told Lucy over and over again not to blame herself, she felt sure it was her fault. So she tried not to think of Maisie alone in a corner of the graveyard for the destitute and abandoned.
Lucy pushed the thoughts away and stepped inside the apartment. She changed into her new bell-bottoms and matching paisley blouse and stood in front of the open fridge, barefoot. The ancient linoleum was cool respite for her feet, which were hot and tingling after a long day. Her fridge was empty except for a dozen eggs, a package of toaster tarts and three bottles of pop. The light blazed with so few contents to block the rays of the bulb. She pulled out a bottle of pop, held it against the counter edge and popped the lid off with the base of her hand. She guzzled half the bottle at once, gasping from the fizz of it. She took her place at the kitchen table, placing both palms on the textbook. A familiar nervousness rose in her, constricting her throat. She pushed the textbook away and, instead of studying, emptied every cupboard, the small counter piled with dishes and dry goods. Already spotless, she nonetheless wiped every inch of the cupboard interiors and carefully placed their contents back inside, only to empty the cupboards again and again, each time reordering the contents, this time by size, this time by brand name, this time by shape.
In the evenings, the Manitou’s neon sign filled her kitchen with a soft red light. She often sat at her kitchen table, smoking, calm in the red hue, even though it reminded her from time to time of the illuminated exit sign in the dorm. Sometimes she wondered if it was there just to taunt them, to remind them there was no exit, no escape.
Finally, exhausted, she closed the cupboard doors. She gazed out the window at the Manitou. The hookers were just starting to trickle in. They carried their haughty promises in their bearing, swinging their hips, hanging provocatively on the arms of the johns as they headed for the rooms at the Manitou. She would also see them emerge later, more subdued, adjusting their clothes and folding money into their bras or shoes.
Not long after her arrival in Vancouver, Lucy quit her evening ritual of rolling the giant pink curlers in her hair and securing them against her scalp with the bobby pins she had brought with her from the Mission School. She was mesmerized by the hippie girls who sometimes wandered away from Fourth Avenue into the downtown core. She saw their white-pink lipstick, dramatic kohl eyes and long, straight hair, shiny and swaying, unhindered by the brittle freeze of hairspray. In the years since Lucy’s departure from the Mission, her hair had grown past her shoulder blades. She thought it grew faster now that it was free of Sister’s temper and her well-used razor. She replaced her rat-tail comb with a boar bristle brush, and her hairspray with herb-smelling shampoo. She watched the hippie girls living with a freedom that came naturally without anything or anyone to fear or resist. She wondered if they could even imagine a life without such abandon.
Sometimes Lucy had to remind herself that no one was watching her, waiting to pounce. A turbulent river of exhilaration ran beneath her quiet demeanour with the realization that her choices were now her own.
Lucy sighed and pulled the textbook toward her and read it aloud, in a whisper, as though sound would seal the information in her head.
The next afternoon, Lucy walked into the Manitou parking lot, waving as Clara caught sight of her and raced toward her.
“Well? Come on!” Clara grabbed her elbow. “Tell me! How did it go?”
Lucy hung her head, disappointment heavy in her step. Liz, close on Clara’s heels, swallowed her words as Clara turned and whispered to her, “Don’t say anything. I don’t think she made it.” The girls reached out to hug Lucy.
“It’s okay, Lucy, you can try again.” Clara patted her on the shoulder.
“Psych!” Lucy laughed as she pulled her exam paper from her purse and pointed to the red-circled B+. The girls jumped and shouted their delight at her success. Liz hugged her so hard Lucy could barely breathe, as Clara danced around them, laughing.
“Well, maybe one of us will get out of this hellhole.” Clara sighed, not used to laughing so hard sober.
Lucy smiled at her friends. “We’ll celebrate tonight. My treat.”
“All right!” Clara reached for Lucy’s test paper and held it out above her. “You should have this framed.” She turned to get Liz’s approval and caught Harlan out of the corner of her eye, stepping out of the office door and striding across the parking lot toward them. “Uh-oh. Here comes Hitler.”
The girls started toward the linen room, but not fast enough. Harlan cut them off and grabbed Lucy by the wrist. “And where the hell have you been? I’m docking your pay!”
“Fuck you, Harlan. I told you I had to write my test this morning. I told you Clara was going to cover for me.”
“I don’t know what you think you’re trying to prove. You Indian chicks are good for two things, and both of them happen in motel rooms.” He grabbed her test and threw it on the ground. “You think this is going to make a difference? Now get the fuck to work.”
“Fuck you, Harlan. I quit.” The words were out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying.
“You can’t quit, you’re fired! Ungrateful bitch. Collect your shit and get the fuck out of here.”
Lucy stood, unmoving, under the
garish neon sign of the Manitou, rage and exhilaration rushing through her like two rivers colliding. “Ungrateful? You should be grateful we don’t report you to the health department.”
Later, the girls would laugh about what happened next and talk about it for years to come. But in that moment, both Liz and Lucy were left standing, stunned, as Clara, with a raging scream, pounced on Harlan’s back, her wiry legs wrapped around his waist, punching him in the back of the head and yelling at the top of her lungs. Everyone knew Clara had a hair-trigger temper in situations like these, when things were just plain wrong. Later, they decided that Harlan should have known better.
“You fucking bastard! You’re ruining her best day ever!” Clara rode Harlan like some violent piggyback ride, punching him in the face and head as he swatted at her, hunching and twisting, desperately trying to throw her off his back. He circled and circled, arms flying, as Clara clung to him with one arm and pummelled him with the other. Lucy watched wide-eyed until she and Liz jumped in, prying Clara loose. Harlan then took a swing and Clara flew through the air, landing on her ass on the pavement. The two girls threw themselves between Harlan and Clara as, in a daze, she struggled to stand. Wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, Harlan waved his fingers at the girls.
“You’re all fired! Now get the fuck off the property. And you, Lucy, tell your deadbeat boyfriends to stay the hell away from my lobby.”
“You just had to wreck everything like you always do, didn’t you?” Clara brushed herself off. “I’m getting my stuff, and if you want to try to stop me, well, go ahead.” Head high, Clara limped toward the linen room to get her things. Liz and Lucy walked backwards behind her, watching Harlan twitch in their direction. Clara emerged with her few possessions and the three girls headed down the street, the shadow of the Manitou sign shimmering over them.
“I am so sorry, you guys. I didn’t mean for you to lose your jobs,” Lucy said, on the verge of tears.
“Aw, to hell with him,” Clara muttered. “He needs us more than we need him. Who else would work in that dive? You watch, tomorrow morning he’ll be tryin’ to track us down to come back to work. Forget him! This is your big day. Let’s go party!”
Five Little Indians Page 9
