by Chuck Crabbe
"Is this where you live?" her father asked, apparently a little surprised that the house was on the lakeshore.
"Yeah."
"Do your parents own this house?" Mrs. Cullen asked.
"No. They're renting it until we go back home."
"And where is it again that you've come from?"
"We're from Walpurgis."
"And where's that now?"
"It's near Cambridge and Waterloo."
"Demi's grandparents live in Waterloo," her father chimed in.
Ezra looked back at Demi. She looked warm and vulnerable in the dark and he wanted to climb back into the rear seat with her. Instead, he said, "Bye, Demi."
She twinkled her fingers at him lightly. "Bye, Ezra."
After that he often went to visit her at the farmhouse where she babysat. Sometimes he would ask Elsie to drop him off there, and other times he would lie to her about where he was going and ride his bike. He felt like Elsie was more or less on to the whole thing. She had seen Demi Cullen wearing her tight shirts and too much mascara and had not approved. Two or three times Ezra was convinced that Elsie had dropped him off and then parked and snuck back to spy on him through some window (which she had). But Elsie had every reason to worry.
Demi would send the seven-year-old upstairs to watch television, or fabricate some reason for punishing her and send her to her room. Then she would kiss him, and he would lie on top of her on the couch, and they would grind against each other. He would feel her breasts through her top, but whenever she tried to undo his belt or put her hand down the front of his pants he would stop her. He didn't know why he stopped her, but he just couldn't seem to allow her to do that. Not yet.
That year Ezra Mignon grew five inches and put on forty pounds. The transition was a welcome one and he made it without the awkwardness that many adolescents struggle with. He would have to play high school football the next year, but he did not want to do it at St. Anne's. He didn't like the catholic school and asked Gord and Elsie if he could transfer to the Public High School in Belle River where his new friends went. His aunt and uncle decided it was probably for the best: he would finish the year at St. Anne's, but he could begin the eleventh grade at Belle River. So he waited, and got bigger.
Mass at St. Anne's had just finished, and they had to walk back to the school. During the service he had waited in line and received communion, but of course he had not swallowed the wafer. Instead, he had stuffed it into the pocket of his uniform pants. Students broke off into groups and began to lazily make their way back to school in the warm sun. Ezra thought about the wafer as he came down the church steps. He had just begun to agonize about whether or not he had committed some irreversible sin when he heard his name being called. "Mr. Mignon!" The church's front lawn and sidewalk were crowded with hundreds of students. One group of boys near the street pushed each other around playfully. Girls lit cigarettes for the walk back. Ezra looked around. "Mr. Mignon!" the voice came loud and sure of itself.
Ezra spun round as the last of the students passed through the church's heavy double doors. As he did, his eyes fell upon a beautiful, dark haired girl with a kilt that definitely did not meet code requirements. Slowly, his eyes wandered up her shapely legs to where her skirt moved in and out of place as she walked. As it moved he could see a bit further up. "Mr. Mignon!" He raised his eyes, and just past her, leaning with his back against a tree, was the man who was calling him. It was one of the teachers from the school. Ezra was not in any of his classes, so he wasn't sure how the man had come to know his name. He had come across him in the hallways a few times, mostly during the lunch hours, and in fact, if it hadn't been for the way the man dressed, he probably wouldn't have recognized him at all. He had the look of what Elsie would have called a "scholar". In front of him he held the old but tasteful briefcase he always carried, his pants were checkered and threadbare, and on his head of neat dark hair he wore a black bowler hat. Several times Ezra had prepared himself to be questioned by the man as to why he was in the halls when he shouldn't be, had set his excuse on the tip of his tongue, but had never needed to employ it, because the teacher had always walked past him with an easy, permissive smile. Ezra wondered why the "scholar" was calling him now.
"Come here, please, Mr. Mignon," he said. Ezra stepped off the concrete path that led to the steps and without knowing it, into mud. His foot slid out from underneath him and he almost lost his balance. "Be careful now," said the teacher.
Embarrassed, Ezra stepped onto the grass and tried to wipe off his shoes. "Sorry, sir..."
"When I hear someone apologize for something like that, I am immediately sure that they apologize far too often," said the teacher.
Ezra smiled at him a little nervously. "You called me sir?"
"I did."
"Was there a reason why?" He spoke more boldly, partly because he had been admonished, and partly because he was afraid he was in some sort of trouble.
"I watch our students very carefully during mass, Mr. Mignon. Today, for at least part of the service, my eye happened to fall upon you." Ezra was suddenly sure that the teacher knew he was not Catholic, that he had seen him take communion, and that he was now about to be punished for it. The man adjusted his hat. "My concern has to do with communion..."
"I know, sir, I shouldn't have done it. I'm not Catholic...I just got confused."
The teacher laughed and pulled his collar away from his neck as if he needed more space to breathe. "No, Mr. Mignon, it's not that at all. In fact, I'm not Catholic either."
"You're not?"
"No. I belong rather," and he bit his lower lip, still amused with the boy's anxiety, "to the Church of Wealth and Taste."
"Sir?"
"Never mind," he said, lowering his voice. "What I'm really interested in has to do with the wafer you received."
"But I never ate it; it's in my pocket."
"Exactly!"
"I don't understand," said Ezra.
"Not yet, you don't. But believe me, you will. Give it three or four years."
"Sir?"
"Do you have plans for that wafer, Mr. Mignon?"
"Plans for it? No."
"I do. Very particular plans... Would you be so good as to turn it over to me, please?"
Was this guy serious? Still fearing that he was in some sort of trouble, and not knowing what else to do, Ezra rooted around in his pocket, located the wafer, and handed it over. As he did, he noticed that the teacher was wearing a large gold ring with an opal set in it. The man saw him staring.
"Thank you," he said after taking the wafer, "I know a young woman with a very sensitive need for this." He looked down at his hand and spread his fingers out, admiring his ring. "Do you like it?" He didn't wait for an answer but continued on as if to himself,: "I've had it for a very long time... Since Russia."
"Did you live in Russia?" Ezra asked, thankful for an opportunity to move the conversation away from the wafer.
"For a short time. I had very important business to take up there with a father and his sons, one in particular."
"My grandfather was Russian."
"Ah, of course. I thought I saw some in you." The scholar paused. "I'll tell you what, you take it. A gift from me!" And he slid the ring off his finger, took Ezra by the wrist, and pressed it into his hand.
"Oh... No, sir... Really..." He held it out to return it.
"Don't be silly, Mr. Mignon, I insist." He held out his hands to refuse. "It's only right."
Ezra looked down at the ring. "Thank you, sir, but I really don't know why you're giving it to me."
"Mr. Mignon, thank you for your help. I regret that I do have to get going after having just met you. It was my hope that we would be able to speak for longer, but alas..." and he politely turned and began to walk away.
Seeing he was walking in the direction opposite the school, Ezra called after him. "You're not going back to the school sir?"
The man turned gracefully back to face him. "I'd like to
go back to the school, but I can't. Not yet. I have to leave the way I came. It's a rule, and one that not much leeway is given on." He turned and kept walking.
At the end of the long street Ezra saw the last group of students arrive at the school. He turned the ring the man had given him over on his finger a few times before he started to run after them. He was still worried that he was going to get in trouble for taking communion and that the teacher really planned on passing the wafer to the principal. He didn't want to be late on top of all that.
Ezra had felt drawn to Alex DaLivre since the first night he had met him. And as he heard more and learned more about him this attraction only grew. Alex had lived on the edge, been bloodied there, and returned. The older boy felt no shame in being exactly whom and what he wanted to be, and would explain and demonstrate it to anyone he thought would listen. He had a confidence in his approach that Ezra admired and wished for. Because of this bold flare, and because of his reputation as a successful fighter and criminal, Alex was unanimously respected both within the church group and on the tough French Canadian streets around the high school.
The most recent thing Alex had taken a passionate interest in was football. As in other endeavors, he brought confidence and ambition to the game and made rapid progress. He was short in stature, but lean and muscular and very fast. They played on Ezra's lawn with Layne, Nick Carraway, some of the other kids from the youth group, and with Gord, who chose to play quarterback for both sides because he was not particularly interested in running. After playing just a few times Alex decided he would become a receiver. When he ran pass routes or evaded defenders he did so with a hard headed disregard for his own safety. It was immediately obvious that this would transfer well into contact once the high school season began, and Alex announced that it was now his desire to become a professional football player in the CFL, and that he would probably play for Hamilton.
"Do you think it's possible Mr. Joses?" Alex asked Gord.
"Sure I do, Alex."
"I know grade twelve is late to start, but I've been running routes against the team's defensive backs this spring, and not one of them can stop me. Coach Walsh says I'm going to play wide receiver."
"That's probably the best place for you."
"But what will you do after high school?" Nick Carraway asked. "Where will you play then?"
"I'm going to try for a scholarship in the States. Ezra and I will be going to the same college, right Ez?"
A little embarrassed, Ezra checked with his uncle and then looked back at Alex.
"I thought you were going to go to Bible College, Alex," the Bird Man said.
"I'll do that after I'm done with football. While I'm young, I'm going to play!"
"The problem for most players is a mental one," Gord began seriously. "They grow up watching all the big name players on television, and it all seems so far away and impossible. But all those guys playing on TV come from somewhere, right?"
"Yeah," Alex answered.
"So then why shouldn't it be from Belle River? If you've got the talent, then why shouldn't it be you?"
Everyone seemed afraid, for the moment, to look each other in the eye.
"He's right," the Bird Man broke in. "Look at Larry Bird. He's from French Lick, Indiana!"
That summer was the best summer Ezra had ever had. Together he, Alex DaLivre and Nick Carraway drove around in Alex's little black Chevette that he'd bought from his uncle for one thousand dollars. They played the stereo loud and left the windows down to share their sounds with the summer night. Sometimes they would drive into downtown Windsor and call after pretty girls walking down Ouellette Avenue. On hot days they drove down to the pier in Belle River and jumped off the concrete wall to swim in the lake. They lay down on the warm rocks around the lighthouse and got tanned. They admired the older teenage boys who drove mustangs and brought girls who wore bikinis and hugged their boyfriends tightly in the water. Ezra and his friends imagined what it would be like to hold those slick, barely clothed bodies against their chests. During evenings and sometimes until well after dark they played heated football games on someone's lawn or street and soaked themselves with sweat and the magic of dusk in the summer.
Ezra had been cutting the grass and trimming the weeds at Gord's trucking terminal for fifty dollars a week, so he had plenty of pocket money. On Thursday's the three of them went to a church on the highway that had a drive-in movie screen and showed Christian movies. Instead of watching the films they walked round and tried to talk to girls that Alex and Nick knew from other churches. The Bird Man eyed them suspiciously and thought them to be slipping away from the church's yoke and the fiery heart of Christ.
TIMING
It began with petty thefts. The three of them, Ezra, Nick Carraway and Alex were out in Alex's Chevette. There was a church service they were expected at that night that they decided they would not attend. Instead they would go to Adam Nayeve's house, where his parents would allow them to drink and watch dirty movies on their satellite dish.
Only Alex and Adam had any real experience with intoxication. Ezra had been permitted wine by his aunts since he had been a young boy, and because alcohol had never been forbidden, it did not hold the same allure for him that it did for most adolescent boys, so he never drank to the point of drunkenness. The problem the boys faced was that, even if they combined their resources, they had very little money. Adam's father would no doubt have bottles of Serbian plum brandy in the basement, but none of the boys, except Adam, had the fortitude to ingest anything with that kind of bite. Instead, they decided to steal something from the liquor store.
The plan was for Alex DaLivre and Nick Carraway to go in first. They would wait for an adult who was going in alone. It would have to be someone old enough to play the part of their mother or father. They would follow this so-called parental figure at such a distance that it would appear to the store clerk that they were together. At the same time Alex and Nick would follow this person at a distance, and of course in a manner that would not make him uncomfortable enough to notice. Adam and Ezra would follow them into the store a couple of minutes later. They would walk in, trying to appear as if they belonged there, immediately select something from the shelf, and try to purchase it. Alex said it was best for Adam to try to do this because he was the only one who looked nineteen. They would ask Adam for I.D., he would say he didn't have any, and when he was refused service he would make a fuss, as if it were ridiculous that he had even been asked for proof of age. The commotion would distract the clerk and then Alex and Nick would have a chance to make their move.
"The key is to act like you're really upset," Alex, who had come up with the whole plan, instructed Adam.
"Why?"
"Think about it. If someone refuses you and you act like they've caught you and give up, you're letting them know that they were right in the first place. Sometimes the people in these places decide whether or not to serve you just by your reaction to them saying no to you."
"My reaction?"
"Yeah, your reaction Adam. If you get upset, they'll think you're upset for a good reason. They'll think you're upset because you're telling the truth."
Adam thought hard for a moment, trying to grasp what he had been told. Frustrated with the effort, he tensed up and ran his hand through his hair. "I don't get it."
Ezra and Nick Carraway laughed out loud in the cramped back seat. Alex looked at Adam in astonishment and then laughed too. "Adam, when they say no to you, just act like you're more upset than you actually are," Alex said matter-of-factly. "Don't worry about the reason why. Just trust me."
"Alright," Nayeve said, still a little unsure.
The four friends waited outside in Alex's car and watched for the right customer. They had decided that it would be better to follow a man inside—men were less suspicious. But for ten minutes only women entered the store. Finally, a man on an old Cheetah motorcycle pulled onto the sidewalk beside the front doors. He had long curly hair, a p
ointed beard, and was old enough to be their father. With the nimbleness of a much younger man he hopped off the motorcycle and then took a moment to wipe some dust off the Cheetah that was painted on the gas tank. From out of one of the saddlebags he pulled a collapsible cane and snapped it straight. Something about it was familiar, and Ezra leaned closer to the window to get a better look. The handle of the cane was carved into the shape of a pinecone. Right away the image of Olyvia stirring the must with her long staff flashed through his mind. He had grown up seeing her use it religiously at every vintage, and the pinecone on the end of her straff, and the one on the end of the bearded man's cane, were identical. "There's our man," Alex said quickly opening the driver's side door.
The man turned his back to them to walk through the door. There was writing on the back of his leather jacket.
"Eriphos?" Ezra said out loud. "What is that, a gang or something?"
"Who cares?" Alex said. Then his face relaxed and he looked calmly at Ezra. "Back us up, okay?"
"Okay."
Alex and Nick Carraway got out of the car and followed the man inside. Ezra and Adam got out a minute later, as had been planned, to go inside after them. As they approached the door, an old woman carrying a mesh shopping bag stopped to adjust the things she was carrying. Ezra and Adam waited for her to get out of the way, but the bottom of her bag ripped open and a glass bottle of spring water smashed all over the sidewalk. "Jesus Christ!" the old woman yelled, "Jesus Christ!" She bent over and picked up her things as the two of them waited, hoping it was not too late. Finally she moved on, leaving the broken glass all over the sidewalk. They stepped over the pieces into the liquor store.
Alex eyed them impatiently while he and Nick hovered behind the man with the beard. Without pausing to see what he was taking, Ezra snatched a bottle of liquor off the nearest shelf and handed it to Adam. They walked up to the cashier, and Adam boldly placed the bottle onto the counter. The cashier looked up from her register. "Will this be all?"
