On the Shores of Darkness, There is Light

by Cordelia Strube

  “No doubt you charged them plenty.”

  “Is Irwin all right?”

  “What do you think? Don’t ever feed him without our permission again.”

  Harriet wants to scream in his pasty face that Lynne’s met The One and he should start packing. She looks for signs of a fight—deserted dinner plates, unwashed pots and pans—but the kitchen is tidy, even the chairs are pushed neatly into the table.

  “Your mother told you to come straight up to see Irwin, but of course you didn’t because you never do what you’re told.”

  “He doesn’t need me when she’s around.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. For no reason I can fathom, he needs you all the time.” He pulls a plate of spaghetti out of the microwave. “Your mother wanted me to heat some dinner for you.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I told her you’d say that.” He pitches the food into the garbage and drops the plate into the sink. “You can starve for all I care.”

  “Right back at you.” Harriet grips the magenta button she found in the DQ parking lot, and moves sluggishly into the living room, dragged down by Irwin’s inexplicable and unceasing need for her.

  Her mother and brother must have fallen asleep watching TV. Irwin’s curled into Lynne and she’s resting her cheek against his head. Harriet holds a hand in front of his face to feel if he’s breathing.

  “What are you doing?” Gennedy hisses. “I told you not to disturb them.”

  Harriet never curls up with her mother to watch TV. She did before Irwin was born. They’d walk hand in hand to the video store, and Lynne would let her choose a movie. Harriet picked DVDs with dogs on the cover. She dreamed of having a faithful Saint Bernard that would go with her everywhere and rescue her from snow avalanches. The video store went out of business, and Harriet can’t have a Saint Bernard because of Irwin.

  Gennedy hands her the antibiotics. “Take a pill. Your mother says you’re supposed to take one at bedtime. It’s late. Go to sleep.”

  She plugs in her glue gun and shakes the pill container like maracas while waiting for the gun to heat. Untreated the infection will spread and her mother might take her to the hospital again. They might admit her and Lynne might stay with her all night long.

  She carefully dots glue on the back of the magenta button and places it between the eyes of The Leopard Who Changed Her Spots. “This is your third eye,” she tells her, opening the shoebox of squeezed-out paint tubes. She badly needs more siennas.

  “Bunny, did you take your pill?” Lynne stands groggy in the doorway, holding a glass of water. “You didn’t, did you?” She hands Harriet the glass, takes the pill container and tips a capsule into Harriet’s palm. “Gennedy’s right, you know, you should soak your toe in salt water.”

  Harriet takes the capsule but pushes it to the side of her mouth with her tongue. “When are we jogging with Buck tomorrow?”

  “He said he’d text Dee and you guys would sort out the deets.”

  “He’s nice, isn’t he?”

  “Who?”

  “Buck.”

  “He smokes dope.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know a pothead when I see one.”

  “He can’t be a pothead if he drives a Mack truck. Maybe he’s a recreational user.”

  “A.k.a. pothead.”

  “I think he’s the nicest man I’ve ever met.”

  “He’s nice all right.”

  While Lynne catches sight of her reflection in the mirror and adjusts her hair, Harriet spits the capsule into her hand. “Does Gennedy know?”

  “What?”

  “That you’re jogging with another man.”

  “Gennedy doesn’t jog. Bunny, you have to promise me you won’t feed Irwin anything without asking me or Gennedy first. It’s really important.”

  Providing treats was one of the few things she could do for Irwin, and now she has to ask permission. “I won’t feed him anything. Period.”

  “What smells? Is that the glue gun? Oh my lord, Harriet, it’s after eleven. You have to go to bed. Did you brush your teeth?”

  “I will.”

  “Please don’t be difficult.”

  “I won’t.” She hopes her mother will hug her again. The boldness she felt earlier that empowered her to initiate hugs has left her.

  “So why aren’t you turning off the glue gun?”

  “I will.”

  “Do it now, please. Otherwise I’ll take it to our room. You can have it in the morning.”

  Harriet turns off the glue gun.

  “Thank you. Now go brush your teeth. I’m so exhausted I can barely stand so please cooperate. I’m going to bed.”

  “With him?”

  “What?”

  “Aren’t you mad at Gennedy?”

  “Why would I be mad at Gennedy?”

  Harriet would like to say Because he wants to hit me and shouts at me and is the grossest man alive. Instead she says, “It’s just you were fighting all day.”

  “Gennedy wants what’s best for our family, and sometimes he gets a little emotional.”

  More excuses. Harriet no longer wants to hug her mother. She pushes past her to the bathroom. Gennedy’s just been in there and it stinks. She drops the capsule into the toilet and grabs her toothbrush, trying to make herself feel better by thinking about Buck moving in. He won’t be around all the time because of his job. This would mean more computer time for Harriet. And he’d make Lynne laugh, which Gennedy never does. Irwin would love him too, especially if Buck takes them to Canada’s Wonderland and buys them cotton candy. Irwin might miss Gennedy but, if he’s going to die before the end of the week, it won’t matter. And Harriet could make his room into her studio. Already she’s feeling better. And hungry. She sneaks into the kitchen to make a peanut butter sandwich and call Dee. “What the fuck?” Dee says. “It’s like one in the morning or something.”

  “It’s the only time I get privacy on the phone. Did he say anything about my mom on the drive home?”

  “Woman, you need to calm down.”

  “He must’ve said something.”

  “He said she’s really nice.”

  “That’s all?”

  “What’s the problem, yo? We know he wants to do her.”

  “Yeah, but it’s got to be different from the others.”

  “I got no control over that, dawg.”

  “You could talk about her, like how great she is.”

  “I don’t even know her.”

  “Just keep telling him she’s not a ball buster like Nina.”

  “What are you eating?”

  “A peanut butter sandwich.”

  “You skinny-assed bitch. I’m totally starved and my mom’s hidden all the carbs. She says I’m not supposed to drink Slim Fast plus eat a meal. She says Slim Fast’s a meal replacement. I said, ‘Bitch, you try living on liquids.’”

  “Do you want me to bring you a peanut butter sandwich?”

  “Now you’re talkin’. With jelly. You go, girl.”

  At night the building becomes Harriet’s domain. Free to search for mixed-media materials without anyone spying on her, she finds treasures. Most recently, a pearl earring she plans to pawn. Outside Mr. Rivera’s, she spots a piece of gold-trimmed burgundy ribbon. Through the crack between the door and the floor she notices that his lights are on. She presses her ear against the door and hears Mr. Rivera praying and sobbing, sounding almost as though he’s choking, and she considers knocking but then he stops choking and starts praying again. She fears this means Mr. Rivera is sick because, in her experience, Filipinos only pray all night when someone is dying. She stands very still hoping to hear Mrs. Rivera’s spirit assure her that everything is all right, anak, but all she hears is Mr. Rivera praying.

 
Dee’s waiting outside her apartment. “Get your skinny ass over here.” She grabs the peanut butter and jelly sandwich and takes a bite while scrolling through her Facebook newsfeed. “Fun Fact. That Caitlin whore got her tongue pierced.”

  “Stop reading about her.”

  Dee holds out her phone. “Check out the whore beast in her Lululemon Groove Pants. What a cam ho.”

  “Stop looking at her.”

  “You need to take my profile picture, yo. Mine’s a selfie and it sucks. Let’s do new pics tomorrow.”

  Being included in Darcy’s plans gives Harriet an unfamiliar sense of self-worth. Dee is including her in her plans, not because she has to, but because she wants to.

  Mr. Bhanmattie steps through the fire stairs door and begins slapping the walls with a fly swatter.

  “What’s up with him, yo?”

  “He’s on steroids,” Harriet explains. “They’re for his asthma. They make him see bugs on the walls and ask for pink gin.”

  “Nice.”

  Mr. Bhanmattie scuffles towards them. “You see all these insects? Where are they coming from? We must exterminate them. They carry pestilence.”

  Harriet slaps at the walls with him. “Got ’em.”

  “My throat is so dry.” Mr. Bhanmattie touches his neck. “I require refreshment.”

  “Go ask Mr. Shotlander,” Harriet says, pressing the elevator button. “I was over there earlier and he’s got all kinds of drinks. 506. He’d love to see you. And there’s no bugs on his walls.”

  “Mr. Shotlander.” Mr. Bhanmattie narrows his eyes. “Can he be trusted?”

  “Certainly.” The elevator doors open and she guides Mr. Bhanmattie in, then presses five before jumping out again.

  Dee fist-pumps her. “What a badass. And the way you slapped that Caitlin whore around? You made that ho eat the voodoo, seriously. You rocked it, girl. Bam.” Dee’s admiration swaddles Harriet, making her feel proud.

  “That’ll teach her to mess with my crew,” Dee says.

  “Darcy?” Nina calls. “Who are you talking to?”

  “The warden’s after me,” Darcy whispers. “TTYL, bra.”

  Gennedy is lurking in the kitchen when Harriet returns but says nothing, just stares at her with eyes dulled by life’s disappointments and she knows she has been one of them. She tries not to care, although his loathing has started to burn holes in her. He shakes his head slowly and goes back to drinking milk. This is another thing she can’t stand about him. What kind of grown man drinks milk?

  “So tell me about your little art projects,” he says. “What’s the glued garbage supposed to represent, your angst?”

  “I’m going to bed now.”

  “Of course you are.”

  She lies very still in her bed, pretending she’s Tutankhamun in his tomb, surrounded by treasures. Uma, when she was still trying to impress Harriet, took her to King Tut’s exhibit at the AGO. That’s when Harriet learned that nobody knew about Tutankhamun’s tomb because Tutankhamun was a runt pharaoh with one leg shorter than the other. Bigger pharaohs with legs the same length had bigger tombs that were raided for hundreds of years while Tutankhamun lay forgotten and undisturbed. A man with BO beside her said, “The little twerp slipped under the radar.” This is what Harriet will do at Lost Coin Lake.

  Fifteen

  She hears Mrs. Butts’ cane tapping towards her while she’s waiting for the elevator. “Harriet, I need you to go to the drugstore for me. I woke up this morning and my arm was swollen. Lukey’s bite is infected, look.” She holds out her forearm.

  “It doesn’t look infected.”

  “The last time he bit me the doctor told me cat bites can be fatal. I need you to run to the drugstore and get me some Polysporin immediately. The ointment, not the cream.”

  “I’m busy. I have to get drinks for Seniors’ Reading Night.”

  “Did you not hear what I said? The doctor told me cat bites can be fatal.”

  “Call an ambulance.”

  “What’s gotten into you? First you want money for every little thing, and now you’re just plain rude.” Lukey slips out of her apartment and winds around her legs. “Bad cat. I can’t even look at you. You’re a horror. A devil.”

  “Five bucks.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll do it for five bucks. It’s out of my way—I was just going to Mr. Hung’s.” Pop is cheaper at Shoppers Drug Mart than at Mr. Hung’s. For the extra five bucks she’ll go the extra distance to make a bigger profit on the seniors’ drinks.

  “All right then, all right. Just a minute.” Mrs. Butts taps her way back into her apartment to get the cash. The elevator comes and goes.

  “Harriet?” Gennedy calls. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I have errands.”

  He squishes towards her. “Can you not even have breakfast with your brother? The minute he woke up he ran to your room and you weren’t there. He started to cry, Harriet.”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  “Really? Yesterday you said he wasn’t my business because I’m not related and that he was your business because he’s your brother.”

  “I can’t help him. He’s going to die anyway.”

  The slap across her face is so swift she thinks she might have imagined it. But the sting spreads to her ear, and she can tell from his startled expression that he has hit her.

  Mrs. Butts comes tapping back. “Here’s ten dollars. It shouldn’t cost more than five so I expect to see some change. Get a receipt. Now hurry up about it.” Harriet presses the elevator button. Mrs. Butts turns to Gennedy. “What are you staring at? Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, living in sin. No wonder this girl is turning into a criminal. You should be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage of that woman and her sick child. I wouldn’t put up with you for one minute, all that shouting. I have half a mind to call the police.” The elevator arrives. Harriet darts inside and presses the close button as Mrs. Butts says, “None of this is good for my ulcer.”

  In the lobby Mr. Shotlander stops her. “What happened to your face?”

  “Nothing. I’m hot.”

  “You look like you got stung by a bee,” Mr. Hoogstra says. His underwear is peeking above his trousers again. “My nephew got stung by a bee and swelled up and couldn’t breathe, had to go to the hospital and get hooked up to a pole.”

  “Did you get stung, Harry?” Mr. Shotlander mines his ear with his finger.

  “It might have been a mosquito.”

  Mr. Hoogstra scratches under his captain’s hat. “West Nile is going around again. You should get it looked at, Harry. You can’t be too careful with all the crazy diseases out there.”

  “I don’t buy it.” Mr. Shotlander grips her arm. “Somebody hit you, Harry. Who was it?”

  She tries to wriggle free. “Nobody hit me. I’m going to Shoppers—does anybody want anything?” Immediately the seniors are feeling their pockets for change.

  Mr. Shotlander releases her arm to tug up his trousers. “Nobody has the right to hit another human being.”

  “Or animal.” Mr. Chubak hands Harriet a ten. “In the flyer they have a deal on six packs of juice boxes. Can you get me a couple?”

  She writes down their orders on Post-its, puts their cash into Ziplocs then looks at Mr. Shotlander. “You don’t want anything?”

  “I thought I was in the doghouse.”

  “I’m giving you one more chance on the condition that you don’t tell him anything ever again.”

  “It’s him who hit you, isn’t it?”

  “Nobody hit me.”

  “That scoundrel. I’ll kill the son of a bitch.” He digs in his ear again.

  “Do I have your word that you won’t tell him anything ever again?”

  “You have my word. But if he so much as lays
a finger on you, he’ll have me to answer to.” He wipes his finger on his polyester trousers.

  “What do you want from Shoppers?”

  “See if they have any chips on special. Doesn’t have to be barbecue if it’s under a buck.”

  Out in the world, Harriet tries to look like a girl who lives in a nice house with loving parents. Around her, apparently untroubled people glide through the day easily, checking cells, listening to iPods, waiting for busses, sipping coffee out of disposable cups. Small things irritate them like lineups at checkout counters, or slow phones. But nothing really seems to bother them, and Harriet tries to imagine what it would be like if every day wasn’t a battle, if she could wake up in the morning and not immediately dread seeing Gennedy, or Irwin, or her mother smoking again. If she could believe that everything will be all right. People say that all the time, “It’ll be all right,” and they seem to believe it. Whereas Harriet never believes it will be all right. Every day brings new obstacles she must circumvent. And the stormy cloud of Gennedy’s loathing has begun to trail her. She thinks he might be right. They might all be right about her being difficult, greedy, selfish and without compassion. She forces herself to think about Buck’s trustworthy grip, and how she can say anything around him. If she can get him to cut back on fatties, soon this may all be over and Gennedy will be history and Irwin will be dead. A display of Turtles halts her because Turtles are Irwin’s favourite food. He laughs as he bites the head off. Buying the Turtles would make Irwin happy. But she’s no longer allowed to buy him treats, and suddenly a hurtling sadness spins her into the path of a yoga mom on a cell, pushing a stroller. “Watch where you’re going,” the mom chides before resuming her phone conversation. “I make my own pepper spray. My husband thinks I’m really smart.”

  Out in the world, everybody looks as though they belong. Harriet’s always on the run, trying to be nowhere, to avoid trouble. Standing in the snack food aisle, checking for chips on sale for less than a buck, she can’t run anymore. She stops in front of the Cheetos and sits on the floor while the people who know where they’re going bustle around her. When she couldn’t sleep last night she glued three of the blue and white antibiotic capsules on the cheeks of The Leopard Who Changed Her Spots. “These are your tears,” she told her.