Fruit

by Brian Francis

  We finished everything that afternoon. I think I did a very good job, because even though some of the lines around the manger were a little jagged (I was trying to make the straw look more realistic) everything else looked very professional. Joseph was wearing a brown robe with a yellow rope tied around his waist. Jesus had a face that seemed a bit too old for someone just born, but he always looks that way in Christmas paintings. Mary was the best, though. She was wearing a white dress with a blue veil that covered her brown hair. She was looking up at the sky and her hands were pressed together in prayer. She didn’t really look like the Virgin in my closet, but I knew which one was the real deal.

  My dad attached poles to the backs of the figures and we took them outside. We arranged them beneath the living room window and then hammered the poles into the ground. Then my dad said we should put a spotlight on the nativity scene so that people could see it at night. So we went to Canadian Tire. While we were there, I saw Craig Brown with his dad. They were looking at hockey sticks. Craig’s dad was old, even older than my dad, and he was wearing a baseball hat and a big ugly parka with fur trim around the hood.

  “You and your dad go buy your stupid hockey stuff, Craig,” I said through a mental telepathy message. “My dad and I are doing something much more important. Something religious. You wait until my picture is on the front page of the Observer. Then you’ll really regret not talking to me anymore.” I hurried off before he spotted me. My dad paid for the spotlight with a wad of Canadian Tire money.

  “The Virgin will be pleased,” I thought when my dad plugged the spotlight in.

  “Oh my,” my mom said when she came out to look at it. “I can’t wait for the Catholics to see this.”

  Once my shrine was set up, it was time to take care of the other stuff. I signed out a book on the Catholic religion from the school library and made a list of all the tools I would need to make the Virgin happy.

  I cornered Daniela the next day. She was out shovelling her driveway.

  “I don’t know if I’d be bothering to do that if I were you,” I said. “It’s supposed to snow again tonight. You’ll just have to do it all over again.”

  “Yeah, well. What else is fuckin’ new?” Daniela said. She was huffing pretty hard and there were clumps of snow in her black hair, reminding me of her Miss Basilico baby’s breath.

  “You’re doing a great job,” I said. I knew I had to be extra nice to her.

  Daniela looked at me like I was retarded. “You think so, do you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But then again, you always do a great job. You’re a pro, Daniela. A world-class pro.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? And what the fuck is that in your front yard?” She pointed to my Virgin shrine.

  “None of your business,” I said, crossing my arms.

  “What do you mean, ‘none of my business?’ It’s in your fuckin’ front yard!”

  “So?”

  “You put a fuckin’ spotlight on it!”

  “Deaf are the ears of the ignorant,” I whispered. Another message from the Virgin! I’d have to remember to write that one down in my notebook.

  “What did you say?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Look, I need you to help me out on something. Remember when we went to St. Michael’s to light the candle for your cousin?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, remember those necklaces that the old ladies were holding in their hands while they were praying?”

  “The rosaries?”

  “Yeah. Listen, where do I get one? A rosary. Is there like a Catholic store in Sarnia?”

  Daniela threw her shovel down into a snowbank. “Why the fuck do you want a rosary?”

  I wondered if I should tell Daniela about my religious experience, because when I stopped to think about it, she was the one who introduced me to the Virgin in the first place. If she hadn’t taken me to St. Michael’s that day, or told me about her mom going to Peterborough, I might never have noticed the Virgin in my closet. But I knew I couldn’t say anything until my plan was complete. I didn’t want to take the chance of betraying the Virgin. Then she might never heal me. Besides, Daniela would probably tell her mom and I’d have every Italian woman in Sarnia knocking at my door.

  “Well,” I said, slowly. “I’m thinking about becoming Catholic and like any good Catholic, I need to get some supplies before I devote myself to God.”

  That was partly true. If the Virgin did heal my nipples, the least I could do was turn Catholic. I knew my mom would have a fit, but she’d understand once I showed her my closet.

  “Ah, jeez,” Daniela said. “You just can’t go into Woolco and buy a fuckin’ rosary, y’know. And you can’t wake up one day and decide to be a Catholic, either. You have to be born into it. It’s part of your heritage.”

  I promised Daniela I was being serious.

  “Look, I can’t talk about this, but let’s just say that I’m on to something very, very big. Something that would make your mom want to be my best friend and then I could tell her not to make you shovel the driveway or clean the garage because she’d do anything I said.”

  “What are you talking about?” Daniela narrowed her eyes and rubbed her coat sleeve under her nose.

  “I told you,” I said, “I’m forbidden to speak. You can try all you want, but I won’t say anything. But believe me — I’m talking about major stuff, Daniela. I’m talking about the fate of the world and saving starving babies and front page headlines.”

  “God, you’re bugging me,” Daniela said. “I’ll see what I can do. But this will cost you some large cash. Rosaries don’t come cheap, y’know. Ten bucks. Take it or leave it.”

  “Eight.”

  “Ten.”

  “Nine.”

  “Ten.”

  “Nine-fifty.”

  “Ten.”

  “Nine-seventy-five?” I asked. But the look on Daniela’s face gave me the answer.

  “Ten,” I said. “But I need the rosary by tomorrow. There’s no time to lose.”

  After school the next day, I went to St. Michael’s instead of going home. The place was empty, so I was in luck. The first thing I did was go over to the Virgin Mary statue and make the sign of the cross.

  “I now know what it was you were trying to tell me,” I whispered to her.

  Then I deposited fifty cents in the tin box and lit a candle for the world. On my way out, I took the turkey baster that my mom keeps in her dresser drawer and squeezed up some of the holy water from the dish by the entrance.

  I hurried home. I had to be very careful and hold the turkey baster like a candle, so none of the holy water would leak out. When I got home, I tiptoed to my room and squeezed the water into an empty Imperial margarine container. Then I hid it on the top shelf of my closet.

  “It will only be a matter of time now,” I said to my nipples as I slowly peeled off the masking tape. “Only a matter of time.”

  The next day, while I was carrying my bundle of papers home, a firm hand grabbed me from behind.

  “Don’t turn around,” a husky voice whispered. “I got something for you. Meet me in my garage tonight at seven. Tell anyone and you’re fuckin’ dead.”

  When I opened the Bertoli’s garage door that night, Daniela was pacing back and forth. She was wearing a black beret and a pair of sunglasses.

  “You got something for me?” she said, walking over to close the garage door.

  “Yeah,” I said. I turned up the collar of my jacket and sat down on the bumper of the Bertoli’s car. “You got something for me?”

  “First the money,” she said.

  “One five now,” I said. “The other five when you hand it over.”

  Daniela sighed and put out her hand and I gave her the money. Then she pulled a Ziploc bag out of her coat pocket.

  “I went through a lot of trouble to get you this,” she said. “I hope you fuckin’ know that.”

  I grabbed the bag and handed her the other five
dollars.

  “You do good work,” I said. “I might hire your services again. Do you shovel driveways?”

  “Get out of here before I bash your fuckin’ head in.”

  That night, I had to lie awake until everyone else had gone to bed. It wasn’t hard, though. I was too excited. I waited until I could hear my mom snoring and I crept out of my bed and tiptoed over to my closet to get the Imperial margarine container. I took the rosary out from my sock drawer and grabbed my Mirror Game candle.

  I lit the candle and put it on the floor on top of my math book. Then I got on my knees in front of the closet door and took my shirt and tape off.

  I dipped my fingers into the holy water and sprinkled a bit on each breast. My nipples crinkled up as soon as the water touched them. I gasped. Had the Virgin healed me that quickly? But then I remembered that whenever my nipples get cold or wet, they always shrivel up. So I wasn’t sure.

  Then I recited the prayer that I’d written and memorized.

  Oh Virgin, the mother of Jesus,

  Thou are good and very giving.

  At this moment, I pray to you,

  To shrink my nipples back to normality,

  So that I may stop having to put masking tape on them.

  And while I pray to you at this moment, Mary,

  I also ask you to make me thin by September,

  and that you command Andrew Sinclair to call me.

  In exchange for thine kindness, I promise

  That I shall say twenty Hail Marys every night,

  And turn into a Catholic.

  Bless you, Virgin Mary. Bless you for all eternity.

  I made the sign of the cross, making sure I did the right order. Then I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the Virgin to perform her miracle. I must’ve stayed there on my knees for about five minutes or so. It felt like forever. But nothing was happening. I snuck a peek down at my nipples to see if anything had changed, but they were still there, big and puffy as dumplings.

  My parents’ bedroom door opened. It was my mom, getting up for her nightly pee. I was afraid that she would see the candlelight coming from under my door and start screaming “Fire!” so I blew the candle out and waited until the toilet flushed and I heard her go back to bed. Then I put the Imperial margarine container back in the closet and the rosary beads back in the Ziploc bag.

  I put my T-shirt back on and lay there in bed, staring at my closet door. I was pretty disappointed, but I also knew that the Virgin works in mysterious ways. She’s one tricky lady, just like Daniela said. She was testing me to see if I really deserved to be cured or not.

  “I won’t let you down, Virgin,” I whispered. “You’ll see how good I am.”

  My nipples twitched underneath my shirt.

  I decided right then and there that I couldn’t have any more Bedtime Movies. They were evil. Devil films, as Mr. Mitchell might say.

  When my car breaks down in front of Mr. Hanlan’s house and he comes out in his red Speedo to help, I yell, “Stop!” really loudly in my head. “Go back into the house! I can walk to my photo shoot!”

  Mr. Hanlan looks kind of hurt. I hope he understands how important this is for me. “It’s not you!” I call out to him. “It’s me!”

  But I don’t know if he hears me. He’s already gone back inside.

  seven

  Christmas isn’t much fun anymore. I’m too old for toys and too young to get anything expensive, like a car. Not that my parents have the money to buy me a car, but you never know. When I get my licence in a couple of years, we could be a lot richer than we are now.

  This year, my Christmas list is pretty short. I’m asking for a Stephen King book, a new pair of slippers, a new bathrobe, an Italian cookbook, a new sweatshirt (Sears catalogue, page 135, Item 331 786 29ya, size large, colour ash grey, although black is okay), and an inflatable chair. I don’t really have the space in my bedroom for an inflatable chair, but I figure I’ll deal with that if I get it.

  The week before Christmas, the holiday tips from my paper route customers came rolling in. All in all, I made seventy-six dollars this year, which is up from sixty-eight in Christmas ‘83. I also got six boxes of chocolates, thirteen Christmas cards, three McDonald’s gift certificate books, and an apple head doll from Mrs. Guutweister. I almost died when Mr. Hanlan gave me a ten-dollar bill and told me to have a Merry Christmas.

  “Dan, you shouldn’t have,” I wanted to say. But all I could manage was a stupid “Thanks.”

  I was about to turn away when Mr. Hanlan said, “Do you have any special plans for the holidays?”

  I couldn’t believe it! Mr. Hanlan was trying to make conversation!

  “Um, not really,” I said. “You know, the usual. Church. And turkey. And maybe some Christmas crackers. That’s about it.”

  I took a deep breath and squeezed the ten-dollar bill in my fist. “Do. You. Have. Any. Special. Plans?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary,” Mr. Hanlan said. “Probably about the same as you. Although I can’t say I like turkey.”

  I was just about to lie and say, “Me, too!” when evil Mrs. Hanlan poked her head from behind Mr. Hanlan’s shoulder.

  “Hi Peter,” she said in this really fake voice. “Happy holidays.”

  “Same to you,” I said. Why did she always have to ruin everything?

  “Dan, did you tell Peter about us going away?”

  “No, I hadn’t mentioned it.”

  “We’re going away in January,” Mrs. Hanlan said to me, “so we’ll be stopping the paper for a week.”

  “Going to a troubled marriage camp?” I wanted to ask. “It’ll never work.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “We’ll be gone from the 10th to the 17th. Just so you know.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Not a problem.”

  “I hope you have a great Christmas, Peter,” she said.

  “You don’t even know the real meaning of Christmas,” I said through a mental telepathy message.

  “Excuse me?” Mrs. Hanlan was smiling, but in a weird way. I froze. Did I say something out loud or was Mrs. Hanlan able to read my thoughts? I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d been able to all this time. I started feeling sick to my stomach.

  “I said I hope you experience the real meaning of Christmas.”

  “Oh. Okay. Well, thanks,” Mrs. Hanlan said.

  I raced back down the driveway and told myself I’d have to be extra careful around her from now on.

  Once I added up my tips, it was time to head to the mall to do my shopping. I had to buy presents for my parents, my sisters, and Uncle Ed. I figured seventy-six bucks would cover everything, plus maybe a little something special for myself.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” my mom asked me when we pulled up in front of Woolco. “Why don’t I just come with you?”

  “Because then you’ll see what I get for you.”

  “I won’t look, I promise. Besides, I can help you pick out something for the girls and your dad. And how will you know what to get for Uncle Ed?”

  I knew my mom didn’t really want to help me. She just gets all weird whenever I go anywhere by myself. She thinks something bad is going to happen to me, like a pervert is going to come up to me and ask if I want candy. I’ll be reluctant at first, but he’ll put the pressure on.

  “C’mon,” he’ll say. “You know you want some.”

  Then he’ll tell me to follow him out to his van.

  “That’s where the candy is,” he’ll say.

  I’ll be a bit nervous, but I’ll go along. “He looks harmless enough,” I’ll say to myself.

  But when we get to the van, the handsome stranger will push me inside and say “Game’s over, kid.” He’ll tie me up and gag me and then take me back to his house and do perverted things to me. Things I can’t even bear to think about — that’s how perverted they are. After he’s had his way with me, he’ll drop me back off at the mall.

  “If you tell anyone about t
his, kid, I’m gonna have to come back and do it to you again,” he’ll say.

  “You can’t scare me with your threats,” I’ll say.

  “Oh yeah?” the handsome pervert will laugh. “Well, just watch your every move, kid, because I’ll be back when you least suspect it.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said to my mom. “If I need anything, Christine’s at work. Just meet me back in front of Woolco at two o’clock.”

  “Do you have your whistle?”

  My mom makes me wear a whistle around my neck when I go out in public alone. I tuck it under my clothes so no one can see it. I’m supposed to blow it if anyone takes my wallet or starts to follow me.

  “Just drop everything and blow this whistle,” my mom said when she first gave it to me. “For god’s sake, Peter, blow it for all you’re worth.”

  “Yes, I have my whistle,” I said. “Meet me back here at two.” I jumped out just as she was asking me if I had dimes for the payphone.

  Once I got inside the doors at Woolco, I dug in my pocket for the Christmas list I’d made out earlier that day. I had to get a tie for my dad (because that’s what I get him every year), a pair of silver clip-on earrings for my mom, a red and blue scarf for Nancy, a ten-dollar gift certificate for Uncle Ed from Sam The Record Man, and a pair of black leather gloves for Christine.

  Woolco was pretty busy with holiday shoppers, but I managed to squeeze my way through the crowds. First off, I went to the jewellery department to find my mom’s earrings. They didn’t have much of a selection and none of the earrings were on sale, so I bought her a necklace that was 50% off. At regular price, it was more expensive than the earrings, so I was sure she’d like it.

  Then I headed off to the ladies wear department to find Nancy’s scarf and Christine’s gloves. I couldn’t find any red and blue scarves, even though Nancy wanted something to match her new red jacket.

  “I got this at Suzy Shier!” she screamed when she brought it home.

  I picked out a purple scarf because it was on sale. Besides, red and purple go together, too. I’d have to remind Nancy of that when I gave her the gift.