by Colin McAdam
Somehow it was growing into a buffer zone. There were our developments on one side of it and the airport on the other. What was being saved? The airport? It made no sense. And if we had to stop our developments on one side of it, and we couldn’t develop again for miles beyond the airport, there would be one of those breaks in the web. An abomination.
I’ll put it this way. You’ve got a city with needs, you’ve got a developer with ideas. The developer stakes his claim, the city commits some money, investors come in, roads are laid, the buildings go up, the city spreads, the needs increase, and it hums along like music. It can be such a beautiful thumping piece of music, even from one house to the next. In blocks of ten, I would put foundations here, frames up here, walls up here, mechanics here, painting here. Progress blowing from one block to the next like seeds in a springtime field. That is nature. That is music. You can’t put an end to that.
AND LET ME tell you about green, in Ottawa.
It doesn’t exist.
That land in the green belt was flat, white, and bitter. They talk about nature. Life. Drive near that area in the middle of winter and the only thing alive is the snow kicked up by your wheels, the snow that curls in the wind like evil empty questions. There’s nothing green, nothing to cherish. See, I’m there in my truck on this flat unused land, and I’m in an Espolito mood; those snowy questions blowing in through the cracks and down the neck of my coat.
I see Kathleen, you see, I see her parked near the future phase five, and I pull over feeling fluey, and I watch her, that yellow standing out all the more because the snow is blowing today, my friend, blowing sideways so the world is flat and is only the color of cold. I should have felt relieved to see that truck, but I am realizing, pulling over, that she is such a stranger that I’m afraid to get too near.
What is she doing here in the middle of nowhere? Such a nowhere. Our sites are a mile away. Her work is a mile away.
I just can’t get near her any more. I sit about a hundred yards behind her in my truck and I think about inching toward her, taking my foot off the brake a bit. I don’t think about racing up to her and hopping in for a warm embrace. I wonder why I don’t, and I tell myself it’s because she’s here, in the middle of nowhere. What’s she doing here?
Before I can admit that really I know perfectly well what she is doing, her truck takes off. She kicks up a cloud of snow, and I follow. I don’t know whether she sees me or not, but I realize that she is in a rush. She is racing away from our sites, away from work, and definitely racing. I’m speeding to keep her in sight and chasing her along this shitty gravel road that’s never plowed. It’s straight but any turn of the wheel would put us in a spin.
“Why are you running away from me, Kath?”
The snow was so cold it was like grease. She must have put a bit of weight on the brake and turned the wheel. The road was still straight so why she braked and turned I don’t know. I found out later she was drunk.
I watched her tip and start rolling, and the only thing I could do was worry about stopping in time, and not sliding right into the upside-down truck.
Kathleen was upside down, buckled into her seat and bleeding from her mouth.
Somehow Edgar went through the windshield feet first. Halfway through. He was stuck at his waist, moaning fuuuuuuck, like he had made a mistake.
A GOLF COURSE. That’s one thing I thought of. Keep it green, but useful.
“WHY EDGAR?”
“Who are you?”
“Why Edgar?”
“He’s a man.”
“Are you saying I’m not a man?”
“Nurse! Fuckin, Nurse! Tell Jerry I’ve spilled my chips!”
“I’m right here, Kathleen.”
“Tell him to clean the oil in the truck, and fry it. Please? Pleeease?”
“MR. HERLIHY?”
“McGuinty.”
“Was that your wife?”
“Was?”
“Whom I just treated? Is that your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Did you bring her in?”
“Yes.”
“She’s a bit confused. Did you see her crash?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She crashed . . . snow. Snow.”
“Had she been drinking?”
“I don’t know.”
“She has a high level of alcohol in her blood.”
“I didn’t see that. I didn’t see her drinking.”
“The painkillers I’ve given her shouldn’t react with the alcohol. She is still intoxicated. She broke two ribs, Mr. Herlihy.”
“Her mouth was bleeding.”
“She lost a tooth. There’s no point in seeing her for a while.
She is delusional. She seems to be concerned about her fries.”
“She told me.”
“I haven’t finished examining her, but the ribs didn’t puncture anything. You should let her rest.”
I DON’T LIKE GOLF. I don’t like sports generally. I hate golfers.
“WHAT ABOUT EDGAR?”
“Who?”
“Edgar Davies. He was in the truck. I brought him in with my wife.”
“Someone else is looking after him.”
“He was bleeding a lot.”
“I see.”
I SLUNG THEM both on the seat of my pickup, bleeding bags of cement, the pair of them, my friends. That’s how they tell me—broken pieces of meat, bleeding the truth on my smelly tartan seats—We fuck each other, Jerry. I had to lay Kathleen, passed out, on top of Edgar, across the seat. There was no room for me to drive. I had to rest Edgar’s head on my lap, both of their faces looking up at me.
“My legs, Jerry, fuuuuuuuuuuuck, Jer, I’m sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry. I’m sorry.”
I should have got out, let them take care of themselves. Or tossed them in the back. Or let them drive. How about you bleeding bags of shit drive my pickup? I’ll get out of the way.
“Get her off me, Jerry. My legs!”
“She’s passed out.”
“Get her off me. My legs, Jerry.”
“She’s passed out.”
“SHE IS STILL delusional, Mr. Herlihy.”
“Is she healing?”
“She should be. I can’t get a sense of how she is feeling. She has to stay still.”
“How long?”
“There’s something else, Mr. Herlihy.”
WHETHER IT’S GOLF or houses . . . Listen to me . . . Whether it’s golf or houses or a gray goddamn parking lot, it’s essentials.
I’m talking about essentials. What people need. How about ambulances? How about ambulances for my lying friends?
Check out my bleeding tartan. It’s this fuckin cold outside and that blood won’t freeze. It’s all soaked warm and forever into that seat.
I’m talking about services. Essentials.
Sit on my bleeding tartan seat, and tell me how green, how natural it all is.
“I’M SORRY, JERRY.”
“How many stitches, Edgar?”
“They don’t know if the muscles will heal. I’m fuckin jelly, Jerry.”
“How many stitches?”
“It’s not the skin, man. It’s the muscles.”
“How many stitches? Just give me a number. Tell me how many times they stuck a needle into your legs. I want to hear it.”
“I don’t know.”
“You look like an idiot, Edgar. Your feathered little hairdo. You can’t fuck my wife, Edgar.”
“I know, Jerry.”
“MUMMY’S FINE. She hurt herself badly, but she’ll be fine.”
“I don’t call her mummy.”
“What do you call her?”
“Little boys say mummy.”
“That’s true. And Uncle Edgar, he basically shredded his legs, you know, back here, those calf muscles. But he’s fine.”
“How come they were driving together?”
“Do you want to see them?”
“No.”
“How come?”
“KATHLEEN.”
“I’m down here.”
“I know. Can you see me? Open your eyes. It’s me: Jerry”
“Where’s Edgar?”
“Fuck Edgar.”
“Am I all right?”
“I don’t know. How do you feel?”
“Trapped.”
“It’s your ribs. You broke two ribs.”
“How many have I got?”
“What?”
“How many ribs?”
“I don’t know.”
“I feel like a feckin bruise.”
“You lost a tooth.”
“I can feel that.”
“Doctor thinks you swallowed it.”
“How long have I been here?”
“A few days.”
“It hurts when I cry.”
“So don’t cry.”
“Can you see my tooth, my . . . where my tooth was?”
“Is that what you’re crying about?”
“Fuck off, Jerry.”
“You fuck off, Kathleen.”
“I wasn’t . . . flippin sorry, Jerry I was only wondering if Edgar is all right. I crashed the truck.”
“I know you crashed the cock-sucking truck. I was right behind you.”
“I’m sorry, Jerry.”
“The doctor says there’s something else.”
2
SIMON KNEW a man who could help. Technically this sort of thing was a matter of aeronautics. This man knew aeronautics.
But it would be so much more.
3
I BANGED MY NOSE against a wall, that’s all I did. I was dazed, pretty sore, nose out of joint, yeah yeah.
Having worked in construction I reacted to pain as all workers should. There is the split second when you feel the pain, and you curse, but after that, reason, calm sets in. You have to think reasonably about what to do about your pain because usually it’s serious—nail through the foot, sawn-off finger tip. I spent a lifetime training myself to be calm after pain so I’d know what to do to make it better.
I was smarting from their affair and I was sort of swinging around, cursing. I had to decide what to do.
I am a reasonable man. Praise me. I am reasonable.
There were moments, maybe one or two, when I lost control, but not seriously. Edgar was in a wheelchair, for example, while he was in the hospital, and one day, the only day, when I persuaded Jerry to visit his mother and Edgar, I asked if he wanted a ride in a wheelchair. He was a big boy of twelve, so he probably didn’t want a ride, but I didn’t really give him a chance to answer. I just picked him up and put him in the chair while Edgar was still in it.
“Owwwwwchaffak!”
But, generally, you know, I was calm, reasonable, a strong and patient mountain of a man, God love me.
I can’t explain it. I’m sure you understand. I have no doubt that you have been cheated on.
Kathleen had spent twelve years draining my blood into little bags. Now she was standing in front of me, juggling the bags around, tossing them over my head to Edgar. I had to be reasonable.
KATHLEEN GOT OUT of hospital before Edgar did. When she came home I said to Jerry, I said, “Watch out for Mummy,” and he said, “I don’t friggin call her that,” and I said, “K.”
She had to lie on her back a lot, stay still. She was helpless.
“I’m feckin starving, Jerry,” she said.
And I said, “Jerry, fetch Mummy some toast or something, K, big guy?”
That started a pattern. I didn’t have time to look after her, because the rest of the world was humming, you know, white hot, so Jerry did a lot of the looking after, a lot of the fetching and what have you. I didn’t really have time to see Kathleen, to talk to her, listen to her.
Edgar was out of the hospital after a while. Do you know, as far as I know, they never saw each other alone again?
I didn’t visit Edgar in the hospital once Kathleen came home and I hoped not to see him for a long time, but he visited me on-site one day when he was able to use crutches.
“Jer.”
“Edgar.”
“Can I buy you a coffee?”
“Coffee shop’s not built yet.”
“True enough. Can I pour you a coffee?”
“If you want.” I didn’t really know how to react and my ass was clenching its fist. I said, “You’ve probably got something to say but there’s probably no need to say it, Edgar.”
And he said, “No, man, I’ve got to say it, I’ve got to say it all.”
And I said, “No, you don’t.”
“I do. Shit, I do, I’m sorry Jerry, I’m totally . . . you know, Full of sorry.”
“Right.”
“I am, Jerry. I can’t explain it. Kathleen . . . you know. I don’t know what she told you, but, shit, you know, I don’t know about her, but that accident threw me. Maybe she’s told you everything, but . . . I liked her, sure, but I know she loves you. You know, she’s difficult, Jerry, and I know it’s not my place and you probably hate me, you should hate me, but I don’t know how to explain. I know she loves you, buddy, and me and her was just, you know, I don’t know what it was.”
“You don’t . . .”
“Yeah, I do, buddy. Shit, yeah I do. You know, it’s eating me up, man, and I’ve got to talk to you. That accident. My legs are like balsa wood, man, and you know, I can’t eat, because I’m so sorry. I feel kind of scared all the time. I can’t eat, seriously. I couldn’t eat before the accident even, because, seriously, I was betraying you, you know, I felt bad. And now since the accident for some reason I can only eat Jell-O, and . . . I can’t even shave, you know, I feel too weak to shave. Did you see my beard?”
“I see that, buddy.”
“And it doesn’t even suit me. I’m this bearded, skinny pussy now, aren’t I, and I know you don’t care, man, you shouldn’t care, but I’ve got to tell you how sorry I am, and sort of tell you what happened.”
“I don’t want to know what happened.”
“We just, you know, it was just in her truck sometimes, not even that much, and it was . . . I know it’s not right to say . . . it was kind of awful sometimes.”
“I don’t want to hear it . . .”
“I’ve got to, man. It wasn’t her, it was me. It was only sometimes, honestly, for maybe a couple of years, but . . .”
“Don’t . . .”
“I fuckin have to. I’m sorry. Seriously. It was mostly drinking, you know, having a laugh, like the three of us do, and I missed you, honestly, it’s what made me feel awful. She missed you. She’s a sad woman, Jer. It’s not my place, but . . . you weren’t there in the truck and we just, you know, it was like friends. Mostly drinking, warming up at lunch, that sort of thing. Sometimes, you know, even most of the time, we seriously didn’t even want to, but, you know, this fuckin job. And I’m going all sort of, man, I just went all sort of, and I’m this, you know, this pussy, since the accident, I’m terrified. I looked at death . . .”
“Look, I’ll tell you what, pussy boy, you hurt your legs. That’s all.”
“I know, Jerry, I know, I don’t want you to understand. I know you do, I know you can understand, but I’m not asking you to. I looked at death, you know, and I realized I’m not a man. I am a man because it’s easy for me to die, I can die any minute because I’m a man, but I’m not a man. I looked at it, you know, death, but I can’t face it. I don’t know what Kathleen says, but that accident changed my life. That day . . . you know, on that day, Kathleen, she’s looking in her rearview mirror, you know, we weren’t doing anything, and she’s looking in her mirror and she says, ‘Shit! It’s Jerry!’, you know, and she starts driving. Both of us were panicking, it’s Jerry, it’s Jerry, and she was bombed. We were drinking because it was so cold that day, but she was really looped. We thought, I guess she thought, you were chasing us. I’m so sorry. And it starts tipping. This terrifying tipping.”
“Do you kno
w what? I really don’t want to hear it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Enough.”
“I need you . . . I know it’s stupid, fuckin corny. I know you hate me, but please forgive me. Please forgive me, my friend Jerry, I am that fuckin sorry.”
I didn’t hear any of it. I know I just repeated every word for you but I have special powers. I can build houses, I can repeat conversations for you. I didn’t hear a word of it at the time. Forgive?
“Forgive?” I said. Real forgiveness comes from really hearing. I didn’t really hear him. “Look at your fuckin beard,” I said.
“I’M HUNGRY, JER!”
“Jerry can you fix Mummy some soup or something?”
I COULDN’T GET RID of that golf-course idea. I have no idea why I wanted to build a golf course, why I hung on to that idea. But it seemed like a good one.
A whole community you see, a whole community brought together by a game—it’s a sweet idea, even if you hate the game. And there’s all that green. If green is to your taste, there it is.
I have never had reason to doubt my ideas. I don’t think I told you, for example, that a particularly admired feature of my self-cleaning houses was a central vacuum system. It was an idea I had—I didn’t invent it, but I used it way before it caught on, way before you and your friends might have got one.
The people buying my houses were rich. Rich people, and people who hope that they really are rich, like to play golf. Plus, even though I prefer to look at buildings, I understand that people like to look at grass and trees so it makes sense to give them an orderly view of those things.
I could build the same sort of house, Big, Self-cleaning, add the fun of a game, and give them some orderly green.
What was slowly becoming clear was that Edgar’s development and my development were maybe a bit too close to each other, and the mall might not be enough of a division when it was finished after all.
Different types of people, you see. Edgar’s cheap houses were bought by poor people, rowdy people, nice simple people of the sort I belong to but stupider. And the people buying my houses were people like you. Already before everything was finished, people in my houses hated having to look at the people in Edgar’s houses: they found their mailboxes on fire sometimes, beer bottles in their yards that could only have come from the people over there. It wasn’t such a serious problem yet (it never became one actually), but I thought it might turn into one.
