by John Brooke
“That’s James,” says Bruce’s father, whose eyes are still quite sharp.
“You’re right,” says Bruce. Manon is with him.
The two teens appear to have arrived with the truck. They wait, industrial-toned hair vivid against the declining afternoon sun, as the man climbs inside the van. jimmie helps him align one steel ramp extending on a long angle from the edge of the van to the lane. Then another. In a moment comes the whine and crunch of a motor throbbing to life, reverberating ominously inside the van. jimmie makes guiding gestures: come ahead, come ahead…a little to the right…straighten out…
Gen has the cake ready. Bruce’s mom is urging people into the living room. But Bruce and his father and most of the guests remain crowded at the kitchen window, transfixed.
“Holy Mama!” says Bruce’s old friend Tom.
Because how could cake ever compete with a Junior Bombardier, its cab painted in Bruce’s clan tartan, a huge red ribbon tied around its gleaming plow? Mystified, Bruce jumps into his boots and leads his guests out the back door and through the garage.
“Happy birthday,” says jimmie with his usual minimum of emotional fuss.
Manon is more effusive. “Bonne fête, Bruce!” She hugs him and offers three kisses.
“What is this?”
“For your snow!” Giggling like a nine-year-old.
“I don’t believe it.”
“Better try,” advises his son.
The tag tied to the door handle reads: To Bruce from Manon and jimmie. For the second half of your life! Everyone is waiting, so Bruce pulls open the door and looks inside. The cab is bigger than he imagined. He climbs in and motions jimmie over. “Get in here and show me how this thing works.” Before he can say no, jimmie gets a slap on the bum from Manon and so hoists himself in beside Bruce.
Two sticks — gear shifts, one for each tread. Speed. RPM. Temp and Fuel. A lever for the plow. Brake and gas on the floor. Seems simple enough. Bruce shuts the door and starts it up. His guests cheer. As he tests the sticks he says to jimmie, “All right, where the hell did this thing come from?”
“She bought it off her dad.”
“Her dad?” Testing the plow lever: Up…down…up.
“He got a new one. With a sound system.” When Bruce turns to face jimmie with a hurt and hurtful look of absolute doubt, jimmie blurts, “She says he’s as nuts as you are.”
As intended, jimmie’s comment hurts straight back. What you get for not believing your son.
So Bruce looks past jimmie’s waiting eyes, his mind racing away from his befuddled soul.
Indeed, despite the paint job, the thing’s not new. He notices the Ici on parle français sticker the previous owner has affixed to the rear window. Something flares…something general anyone can latch onto, and he chases it — anything to avoid his son. He snorts his contempt. “That guy lives inside their pockets. There’s no way in hell he’ll ever know the snow like I do.”
“Sure, Dad.” jimmie’s head is bowed, his eyes closed as he rubs an invisible spot in the middle of his forehead. “Whatever.”
Bruce eases both sticks forward, pushes lightly on the gas. It jumps and stalls. The delivery man leans in and offers a few tips. Bruce tries again. Smoother this time, creeping forward. He brakes. “But how much?”
“Don’t worry about it!”
Then a few tentative metres in reverse. Jerk… Jerk… Stop. “Why do you have to play these games? And on my birthday?”
“What games? It’s her money! He gave her a good price. Jesus!”
“But what am I supposed to think!”
“I don’t know… I guess she likes you! What d’you want me to do?”
What does he want his son to do? Bruce can see that jimmie wishes he’d leave it. jimmie’s eyes are pleading: just accept it! That’s what his son wants him to do. So can he? He’s going to have to try. Because Bruce sees that jimmie is eighteen and just as perplexed as his father, who is today officially embarking on the second half of his life. “I don’t know,” he says. “…Help your mother with her snow.”
In the glove compartment he finds an orange vest with a Day-Glo X across the back.
“That’s from me,” notes jimmie. “I used my allowance.”
Bruce can think of nothing else except to embrace his boy and whisper, “Thanks!”
And jimmie accepts this, in his way. They share a final word in private there in the cab before he kills the ignition and they climb out. Bruce wears his birthday vest as he stands in front of Manon. “I don’t know what to say.”
Manon shrugs. They all shrug the same way, these kids. As if they’re asking, Why does everything always have to be explained? Or: Why are fathers crazy with snow? She says, “Do good work, monsieur.”
Then Pacci — who of course has come out to add his presence — and the delivery man are invited along as the party heads back through the garage and in for cake.
Snow. After a day spent clawing for an edge in global markets, it’s something to look forward to. More rewarding than his Canada First meetings, too. He leaves the Ici on parle français sticker on the back window. It might come in handy. Everyone gets a ride and anyone is welcome — apart from those times when he needs to be alone.
“Is good,” allows Pacci, climbing stiffly out. An endorsement from a professeur de neige.
Charlotte is beginning to see Bruce’s point of view about the dream. “Maybe.”
jimmie gets to drive sometimes and thinks, “It’s a gas! — totally, man.”
Manon and Gen are content to observe, amused.
The city being a place of rules and regulations, it’s mainly up and down the lane. (Manon’s high-powered père uses his new wired-for-sound two-seater on his country estate near Magog.) Still, the lane runs across to the park on Chateaubriand. And the park has a walk. The snow-bound basketball court is also an excellent place to practise spinning it around on a dime. Maybe next year he’ll appear on rue Godbout, one night when the street is all in chaos.
That summer it waits oiled and ready in the garage — his faithful car sleeps in the street. Manon leaves to study The History of Courtly Love in Aix. Bruce receives a postcard containing interesting information on the future of the franc now that Juppé’s government is sliding; but her departure effectively ends it between herself and jimmie. Well, Jimmie is growing too — has grown back into an uppercase J. And, as Gen says, in matters of love above all else, one must let nature take its course.
Nature’s course? The summer seems slow, meandering and aimless, as if lost inside some schoolboy’s mind. Yes…sitting in the garden, watching the sky; musing on how maybe next year he’ll dare to ride through the night streets with the rest of them, “…do the rinks in Jarry Park.”
Geneviève knows “them” includes the woman with the T-shirt and the cigarette. But she indulges him. It’s August. And Bruce only wants to work with the woman. Gen believes that, even if Charlotte might not. She believes Bruce won’t get anywhere if he doesn’t dream a bit.
“Are you happy?” inquires Gen.
“Mmm…” Bruce is restless, but he’s getting there.
Who can fight the snow?
Bruce can.
Unborn Twins
Hope and Love go together, but Carolyn is trying to live somewhere between the two. She sips beer from a can and tells Last Days, “Because Miko is beautiful and it’s a problem.”
It has to do with her mother — who killed herself, and the French-speaking father she never knew. Whenever she asked, her mother would say, “He was just another mill-town dog.” So what did that make her then? Carolyn had to leave because her mother was her enemy. The thing in her mother that had made her say yes to man after man after man… Carolyn had to fear it. Did she chase him away with her shameless need? Or did he just fuck her and run? Carolyn never knew the truth of it.
Last Days says, “Two sides to every life, C. Got to find the right one if you’re ever gonna win.”
Caroly
n believes it. But here’s Miko in her life and she knows she’s circling familiar territory. It’s like she senses the man who made her, a kind of man they say she’s bound to like. She has her mother’s ears — has trouble hearing the thing that can make her hope. And her mother’s eyes? She’s attracted, oh God, yeah. And she gets nervous from the pressure, knows she’ll say the wrong thing, is sure she’s going to blow it by being a bitch. Since she’s been with Miko, it’s the feeling she gets when she wears her leather skirt but Miko’s too out of it to notice.
Well, Carolyn will be out of it too, hiding from the bitch.
But when he babbles in that language of his — from one of those small places where everyone’s always killing each other, Carolyn can’t remember the name — it means Miko’s talking to his ma.
And now her enemy is Miko’s ma.
“Uh-oh,” says Last Days.
Carolyn has tried: clean hair, big smile, best manners — Miko’s girlfriend. Because it’s not like her own mother didn’t have her good days. She tried too, and she taught Carolyn, and when Carolyn finds Miko, she does the whole bit. But Miko’s ma thinks Carolyn’s beneath them. Carolyn can’t see what’s the difference between a girl working the street and a junk seller in her house. Just because a person’s got a house doesn’t mean they’re better. Not at all. She tells him, careful not to bitch, “I’m talking about love here, Miko. You can’t judge love by where somebody lives or what they do.”
Last Days says, “Right on, C.” Because Last Days is in love these days as well.
But Miko doesn’t listen. Maybe he wants to and maybe he can’t…Carolyn’s stuck in between.
Miko’s ma’s the one who runs the show. You just have to look at his pa to know it. Miko’s pa is somewhere else even when he’s there. She’s the one on the cellphone, standing out on her porch, all platinum and baggy-faced, arranging the pick-ups. She’s the one who cuts it up, portions it out and takes the money. Not Miko’s money. But Carolyn has to pay. It doesn’t matter that Carolyn’s the one who loves her son. And after she makes it plain what she thinks about Carolyn, Miko starts going in by himself. Carolyn gives him money for her share and waits in the car. Before he met Carolyn, Miko used to spend a lot of time in his ma’s kitchen. She’d give him his ration, then he’d sit there because he loves her and he loves to watch her cook. With Carolyn, Miko will go in and come right back out as soon as he can. But some days she keeps him there and Carolyn has to wait.
She’ll be giving him hell. Not about Carolyn; Carolyn doesn’t exist. Hell for being a junkie.
Carolyn can wait — as long as he comes back out. Then they tie off and go for it, first Carolyn, then Miko, because he likes to be the one in charge, even when he can’t put three words together.
Then they sit there looking at each other, thinking: We love it. And we love us!
It’s that crawling-back-into-the-womb effect they talk about.
Carolyn and Miko, they’re like unborn twins.
2.
Carolyn would never have met Miko if she hadn’t gone up to the north end of Montreal with her friend Last Days. She lives in a one-and-a-half down at St. Catherine and de Lorimier, practically right under the Cartier Bridge. It costs $185 with a TV and a hot plate. It’s all you need when you’re by yourself and only want to do a little work and get something to feel all right. And she was doing fine, working a stretch of St. Catherine over to Frontenac. If she gets busted and thrown in Parthenais for a week, she can walk home in ten minutes and her room will still be there for her. The people who run the place know how it is… But Last Days is in love, and so they get in a cab and go way the hell and gone up St. Denis looking for some chick called Claudia who almost jumped off the Cartier Bridge, except Last Days talked her down.
Last Days had read about her in the paper afterward. They said she lived near Little Italy. So once a month, when his cheque comes, he takes a cab up there and looks around — for Claudia, his heart’s desire. He’ll give Carolyn or her friend Josée a beer or a joint to ride with him because Last Days doesn’t exist from the bum down and he doesn’t trust taxi drivers to help him with his electric wheelchair. Friends are important when you’re on the street.
The first time she goes, Carolyn has no idea where they are. She’s from the Gaspé — Chandler, a mill town with lots of dogs. She’d missed Montreal the first time through and spent time in Toronto, and this town can still get her confused. But when she gets up there she can see that the corners are empty. No competition in sight. And the cops aren’t crawling around like ants like they do on her usual strip. Once she gets Last Days sorted out, she says tout à l’heure, walks up and down St. Denis and has a great day. Pays her rent in less than two hours. Finds two regulars who just can’t live without her — because Carolyn is good at what she does.
After a few beers Carolyn’s mother used to pat her hand and tell her, “Carolyn, get your suce down, darling, and they’ll be back, doesn’t matter what your ass starts to look like.”
Yes; and she keeps going back up there, with or without Last Days. She sees Miko circle by a few times before he decides to stop. She can see the wicked smile, sparkly kind of eyes, and a wolfy look all over his face. She always has a little smile to send back, just to say I’m here, ready when you are…When he finally pulls over and she gets in, Carolyn can see he’s a junkie, probably just as clearly as Miko can see that she’s one too. They go around behind the factory over by Jarry Park. Even that first time it’s more than business. She tells him, “You can stop and see me any time, Mr. Miko.” And she makes sure he wants to. And he does. But it’s not too long till Miko’s ma starts to wreck it. His mother, who is Miko’s connection, doesn’t want Carolyn around.
“We’ll go to my place,” says Carolyn, but Miko doesn’t like to get too far from home.
So his car becomes their pied-à-terre and their love is fragile. Some days, after he comes out of her kitchen, Miko will walk right past Carolyn, waiting in the car, and go down the lane behind the retirement home and sit in the little park. She finds him sitting there, hating everything. She tells him, “Miko, it’s not natural. No mother should do that to her boy, I mean get him so far down, so dark!”
He tells her, “Leave me alone.”
She worries it like a dog with a bone. He won’t listen. She gets edgy, snaps at him. “She’s evil!”
“Fuck off!” And when she asks for her share: “Go to hell.” He sticks his hands in his pockets and looks away. Which is really shitty, because she needs it.
Carolyn loses it…
No, it’s not easy.
Last Days sympathizes. “No, two junkies wrangling in the park’s not good.”
3.
Miko’s better at night. His sisters’ boyfriends Gerry and Stan take turns answering the late calls, those cabs that come at midnight. Gerry and Stan don’t care about Miko’s life; he’s back beside her inside of a minute. They get high. Listen to the radio. Make love. You don’t need sex when you’re high — you don’t need anything — but having it is blissful. Miko says it’s dynamite. He yells, “Oh, baby!” He bellows it like a man who’s been chained to the wall of a cave and hears a sound. It drowns the radio and shakes the windshield wipers. “Oh, baby!”
Miko’s passion can make the wipers bounce! People along the street open their blinds and look.
Carolyn lets him go for it. It’s good to know she’s getting to him. A girl needs to know it.
One night Carolyn is gliding, touching his hair. He’s getting grey in his sideburns and it’s cute.
“I feel free when she’s sleeping,” says Miko, fretting about his ma.
Carolyn thinks that when you’re gliding, you should be as far away from your worry as you can get. Miko’s fretting is getting in the way of their time together. So she glides down and gets serious for a minute. “I think your mom might have some kind of problem, Miko.”
He says, “Yeah, it’s like all I am is some kind of business problem. Some mo
ney thing that won’t work out. She always says, ‘Do you know how much money you cost me, Miko?’ I don’t see how she can say that. I’m her goddamn son.”
“Not with you or the business, Miko — with herself.”
He doesn’t want to hear it. “Yeah? What the hell kind of problem are you talking about?”
Just like that, he’s ready to fight her. He defends his ma and gives Carolyn hell.
She tells him, “You know when they bust us on the street and they send us to talk to these counsellors? Maybe there’d be someone like that for your ma. Just to talk, you know?” She stays cool; doesn’t tell him her own mother used to go see someone. Because it didn’t help her mother clean the kitchen or stop her from finally sticking her head in that dirty oven. But when she went she’d come home almost happy…for a while. And it’s the same whenever Carolyn goes. When the cops get sick of seeing you on the corner, they grab you and dry you out in Parthenais for a week or two, then they send you down to see one of those counsellors. The counsellors can get you feeling like you used to feel when you got a new pair of shoes. Like everything is going to change. That’s what Carolyn’s mother used to say when she came home from her counsellor, and that’s how Carolyn feels. She tells Miko, “It helps.” That’s all.
Miko says, “I love her. I wouldn’t send her to nobody. And even if I wanted to, I’d have to clear it with Pa and the girls. Stan too.” Miko idolizes Stan because Stan’s tough. Miko’s always hinting that Stan has killed, and more than once.
