It was, of course, a cumulonimbus, and was breathtaking in its grandeur. Its slate-flat bottom hung low, no higher than fifteen hundred feet. From there, it towered upwards, easily breaking sixty thousand feet. Fold after fold of white towered higher and higher, billowing like a plush atomic cloud; that it remained airborne seemed improbable. It crept towards them as if under its own power. Their heads followed its path until its shadow was on top of them and the sun became invisible.
The rainmakers were inspired to an awe that bordered on the religious—it was a rare wonder, one that many wouldn’t even have noticed, let alone revered. Then they got to work. Kenneth put his fingers into his mouth and whistled. Starlings seemed to materialize out of thin air, gathering around him. Moving with quick, practiced motions he began attaching pouches to birds. Anderson, who had already circled his car batteries, began connecting the wires. Sixteen lengths of copper led from the positive and negative poles of each battery to the kite. When the middle of the cloud was precisely overhead, Kenneth released the starlings, the birds straining under the weight of the added silver iodide. Anderson released his kite, the wind carrying it back and forth.
The birds and the kite disappeared into the cloud at exactly the same moment. For a full second there was silence, then a blinding light flashed through the cloud, accompanied by a sound so loud that both rainmakers covered their ears. Looking up, their hands still held tightly to the sides of their heads, they saw the remains of the kite carried away by a sudden and growing wind. Then starlings began to fall. Dead birds, one after another, landed between father and son. They were followed shortly by the first drops of rain.
31
A lesser form of matricide
Aby’s attention was so taken by the flash of light and the deafening clap of thunder that had come from the sky directly above the Prairie Embassy Hotel that she jumped when she heard the knock on the driver’s side window. First she noticed the rain that fell, then her eyes focused on her mother. Margaret rolled her eyes. Aby rolled down the window.
“This will help,” Margaret said. She raised her right hand, which held a cane.
“To what?”
“To walk. You use it like a third leg. For balance.”
To demonstrate, Margaret circumnavigated the stolen white Honda Civic, showing how the cane could be used to support her weight between steps. She stopped when she was behind the driver’s door again. Aby opened the door and tentatively twisted her thin legs to the ground, which the rain was already moistening. Refusing the cane, she took a full, confident step. She took a second step, followed by a third. Then she fell, her body raising a small cloud of dust as she landed.
Margaret tossed the cane. It landed inches from Aby’s head, raising another cloud of dust, albeit much smaller. Margaret watched her daughter, lying face down in the dirt, struggling to right herself. She was, Margaret thought, a quintessential example of the dangers of dogma. Here was a creature who God had created with the ability to breathe both water and air, to swim and to run, but she’d spent her whole life experiencing only half of her gifts. It reminded Margaret of the Christians she knew who were scared of their genitals, or the scientists who could accept only a rational explanation as the right one.
Without looking up, Aby grabbed the cane and used it to stand. She then followed her mother towards the Prairie Embassy Hotel.
“This is the first rain we’ve had in fifty-nine days,” Margaret said, her voice conveying regret that the drought was over. Everything Margaret loved about the Prairie Embassy Hotel, she’d loved even more during the drought. She loved the dry heat. She loved the cracks it caused in the mud of the riverbed. She loved breathing the heat into her lungs and feeling the dirt turn to dust beneath her footsteps. It was all so infused with the qualities of land. But now it was all just becoming mud again.
As they climbed the steps to the lobby, Margaret studied Aby’s reflection in the glass of the front door. She could not deny that seeing her daughter healthy and alive felt extraordinarily good, a relief she had not expected to feel. Inside the hotel, this feeling grew, but Margaret remained wary. She reminded herself that her daughter most likely remained devoutly Aquatic, which meant Aby was here with only one thing on her mind.
As Aby followed her mother into the lobby, she was struck by how large it was, and she stopped to take everything in. The hotel had not looked this big from outside. The decorations were elegant, if in decline. Polished mahogany banisters lined the twin staircases, which climbed the north and south walls; there was no elevator. A vacuum cleaner lay motionless and unplugged in the middle of the floor. The room smelled strongly of fish. At the back of the lobby, past the front desk, was a small open door, which Margaret had already walked through. Aby followed, finding herself in a glass porch.
Light flooded the room. The porch overlooked the Red River, a body of water Aby hadn’t discovered, despite sitting so close to it. Only now did she realize that the structure the Siðri was building wasn’t a shack or a tiny house, as she’d assumed, but a boat. The river didn’t look big enough to float it, though, a situation that was more pronounced now that the Red was a trickle of its former self. The distance between the water and the banks was considerable. These banks were hard, with deep eggshell cracks running through them, but the rain had already begun to soften them. As she looked at the river, Aby’s gills flicked open and shut repeatedly.
“Do you want tea?” Margaret asked.
“I brought you some stryim.”
“Let’s have that!” Margaret said.
This was the moment Aby had prepared for, had thought through over and over again since she was a tysnner, which for humans would be a teenager. It was, in fact, a moment Aby had waited seventeen years for. Reaching into her front pocket, she began to withdraw a carefully wrapped package of her mother’s favourite beverage. But it was stuck. Aby pulled harder, which succeeded in freeing the package, but purple leaves flew onto the wooden floor of the lobby. So did her Bible. The book landed spine down and opened itself, displaying pages 204 and 205.
“I knew it!” Margaret said.
“Just listen.”
“Get out!”
“You must have had some. The rust? Have you?”
“Get out!”
“Mom, I still love you!”
“Not enough!” Margaret yelled. She picked up what was closest at hand, which was the telephone, and threw it. The phone travelled through the air only as far as the cord would allow, then snapped backwards, crashing at her feet. When Margaret turned to find a second projectile, Aby dropped to her hands and knees and began crawling out of the lobby.
Aby crawled down the stairs and through the rain and the gravel to the white Honda Civic. She sat inside the car and listened to the rain strike the metal hood and the roof. When she was sure enough time had passed, Aby walked back inside the Prairie Embassy Hotel, taking awkward steps. There were no sounds of occupancy. Her mother was not in the lobby. She was not on the back porch. Aby found her slumped over the kitchen table, a teacup still in her hand and a purple stain on her blouse.
Aby had, of course, drugged the stryim, knowing that her mother could not resist it. She had been particularly worried about the time between when Margaret consumed the drug and when it took effect. It could have hit her while was she was standing. She could have fallen, breaking a hip or worse. That this had not happened caused Aby to push a sigh of relief through her gills. She removed the teacup from Margaret’s hands and, bending low, lifted her mother over her shoulder.
Aby’s upper body remained strong, and she had no problems picking her mother up, but she remained unsteady as she walked. Taking small, slow steps and periodically setting Margaret down, Aby carried her mother to the white Honda Civic. The rain had softened the ground, which made each step that much more precarious. The journey of no more than fifty metres took ten minutes.
Aby placed Margaret in the passenger seat. She fastened the seat belt. She tugged it to make su
re it was secure and adjusted the tilt of her mother’s head so she wouldn’t wake up with a kink in her neck. Then she pushed the wet hair off Margaret’s face. “I’m sorry,” Aby said.
Returning to the driver’s seat, Aby started the car. Performing a three-point turn, she aimed the white Honda Civic towards the main road. Filled with doubt about whether she was doing the right thing, Aby looked for the hotel in the rear-view mirror, but the rain was now falling so hard that she couldn’t see a thing.
PART TEN
The Book of Doubt and Endings
32
The purpose of speech
Lying on her back in the grass, Rebecca was looking up at the branches of a maple tree when a shadow crossed her face. To her left was a girl, four or five years old, who was wearing jeans and a yellow T-shirt. On her T-shirt was an iron-on decal from a television program that had been popular during Rebecca’s childhood. Sitting on her knees, Rebecca was exactly the same height as the girl. In the little girl’s palm were two cookies. One was clearly chocolate chip. The other looked like it had flakes of coconut in it.
Rebecca was not confused about whether she was dreaming or remembering, since she was certain she was doing both.
“Which one do you want?” the girl asked Rebecca, impatiently, as if she’d already asked this question several times.
“What?” Rebecca asked.
“That’s not what you say.”
“Are you talking about the cookies?”
“You shouldn’t be talking at all.”
“No?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry,” Rebecca said. “I don’t follow.”
“You’ve completely forgotten this, haven’t you?”
“I’m a little confused.”
“You shouldn’t be talking,” the girl said. She stomped her right foot.
Rebecca looked at the girl and didn’t say anything.
“That’s better,” the girl said. She raised her arms higher. Rebecca looked at the cookies.
“Which one?” the girl demanded.
Rebecca still didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. She looked down and realized she was no longer on her knees. But although she was now standing, she was still the same height as the girl.
“It’s snack time,” the girl said.
Rebecca looked around and realized it was her first day of kindergarten. Nap time had just ended, and Rebecca and the girl had been the last ones to roll up their mats. As a result, they had been the last ones to get to the snack table, where only two cookies were left, one chocolate chip, the other coconut.
The girl looked expectantly at Rebecca.
“You stole the last two cookies?” Rebecca asked.
“But Mrs. Wilson caught me,” she said. “She saw what I did, and now she’s making me share with you. You get to choose which one you want.”
“I’m still blanking.”
“Rebecca, this is a very important memory for you.”
“I believe you.”
“I can’t believe you don’t remember.”
“I don’t.”
“Nothing?”
“Not much.”
“Do you remember that you haven’t learned to talk yet?”
“I know I didn’t speak until I was five.”
“Exactly. And this is it. This is where you speak your very first word. Come on Rebecca—people thought you might be retarded.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Smell them.”
“What?”
“Smell them,” the girl said. She shook her palms. The cookies bounced.
Rebecca leaned down to smell the chocolate chip one. Then she smelled the coconut. She breathed in both smells deeply. “Your name is Heather.”
“That’s it.”
Rebecca smelled the cookies again. “And you want the chocolate chip,” she said.
“Who wouldn’t?”
“But you’re lying to me.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. It was me who stole the cookies,” Rebecca said. “And I’ve been caught and I’m very frightened. It’s me who’s being punished; you get to choose first.”
“Maybe.”
“And I’ve never learned to speak because I’ve never had to. Everyone feels my feelings, so they already know what I want.”
“But not me.”
“No—I’m still broadcasting, you’re just not listening.”
“Well, I am five,” Heather said.
“I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re too preoccupied with your own feelings to have anything to do with mine.”
“Then why would I ask you which one you want?”
“Because you don’t know what you want. You’re not sure which cookie is better. You’ll want whichever one I want. And I’ve just figured that out.”
“So which one do you want?”
“Coconut.”
“So do I,” Heather said. She held up the chocolate chip cookie. Rebecca reached out, took it and began to eat it. Heather started eating the coconut cookie. Both were happy with their decision.
“See, that’s the thing, Rebecca,” Heather said, her mouth full of cookie. “The only reason you learned to talk was to lie. And this is where it all started, where you started trying to hide what you really feel. I can’t believe you’ve forgotten it. You gotta wonder about that.”
“Yes. It does feel important.”
Heather nodded. She turned and walked away, and in a dozen steps she was gone.
Rebecca looked down. She was standing in two inches of water, and the water was rising. Soon it was past her hips, up to her neck. Rebecca breathed in, her lungs filling with water. She shut her eyes as the water covered the top of her head.
Rebecca woke up coughing. She listened to the world around her, which felt much too still. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she looked at her clock. It was 9:00 a.m., but Rebecca did not realize it was Sunday, not Saturday, and that she’d been sleeping for thirty-four hours.
33
Marble countertops and the beginnings of despair
Just after 3:00 a.m., two members of the Winnipeg Police Service spotted Lewis sitting on the lawn of the Legislative Building. They assumed he was a vagrant who needed to be moved along, but changed their minds when they saw how well groomed he was. But when Lewis failed to respond to verbal prompts, they each took hold of one of Lewis’s arms and forced him to stand.
“My name is Lewis Taylor. I cannot see or hear. I’m staying at the Fort Garry Hotel. Please help me.”
The hold on his arms did not loosen, and Lewis was led to the back seat of a car. He was unable to tell how much time passed before the car stopped. He continued to wait without speaking and then felt a hand on his elbow. The hand didn’t let go of him until he was out of the car and had been led up steps and into a building. He could smell lilies. Remembering the large bouquet that routinely sat on the front desk, Lewis assumed he was inside the Fort Garry. The hand let go, and soon he smelled perfume, and another arm, a woman’s, linked through his.
“Is this Beth?” he asked, unaware that his voice was very loud. His question was answered by a gentle squeeze, which he considered a yes. She led him forward and stopped. Running his hand along the wall, he realized he was at the bank of elevators. “Floor sixteen, please!” he shouted, just in case Beth had forgotten.
When he felt the elevator stop, Lewis shook off the hand that held his elbow and walked forward. Knowing that his door was the first on the right, he raised his hand and took tiny steps until he felt the door frame. He pulled his pass card from his wallet. After trying it a number of different ways, he managed to unlock the door.
It took Lewis some time to find the bedroom because he had walked into the bathroom by mistake and didn’t realize it until his fingers felt something cold and smooth, which was the mirror. Following the cold granite of the countertop, he left the bathroom and stepped forward until his knees hit the king-sized bed. He took off his shoes and soc
ks, got under the sheets and pulled his legs up to his chest. He experimented with opening his eyes and keeping them closed. But it made no difference. The darkness was just as dark, and this is what terrified him the most.
34
The empty deal
When Margaret awoke, she did not recognize the landscape, the car she was travelling in or, for a moment, her daughter. She remained silent but unfastened her seat belt and turned sideways in the passenger seat. The sound of the windshield wipers filled the car. After looking at her watch and establishing that a little less than thirteen hours had passed since she’d been sitting at her kitchen table drinking stryim, Margaret stared at her daughter.
Aberystwyth kept her eyes focused on the wet road. She had been strong enough to steal the white Honda Civic, drive it across the country and drug and kidnap her mother. But one thing she couldn’t bring herself to do was tie Margaret up. Whether this was from weakness or compassion, Aby still didn’t know.
Aby struggled to keep from showing her panic. She’d thought the drug would keep Margaret asleep for much longer, another fourteen or fifteen hours at least. This would have allowed Aby to get past Toronto, which she’d hoped would be far enough to convince Margaret to continue on to the ocean. As it was, Aby had barely passed the Ontario–Manitoba border. Not knowing what to do next, Aby stared straight ahead. Her gills flicked open and closed. She knew that her mother might attack her at any moment.
Margaret continued staring. They travelled another twenty-seven kilometres in silence. Then Margaret folded her hands in her lap and smiled. Her smile was broad. “Did you think about gas?” she asked.
“What?”
The Waterproof Bible Page 15
