by Thomas King
“Lots of single men in town and on the reserve,” I said.
“Pickings around Medicine River,” said Bertha, “would starve a vulture.”
* * *
—
TORONTO HAD SNOW FLURRIES that night. I sat up and thought about Susan and watched the flakes fall and melt. I called her the next day. “This flu is horrible, Will, but I’m feeling better now.” She sounded happy. “Well,” she said, “I guess you know I’m married.”
“I talked to your husband.”
“I was going to tell you. It’s all so silly.”
Susan saw the surprises in life as either silly or cute. Silly surprises were events that caught you flat-footed and out of breath. Cute surprises were the ones that left you angry.
“We should probably talk, Will,” she said.
We went to Queen’s Park and walked. The leaves had begun to turn and fall. Susan put her hands in her pockets and looked out across the park as if she hoped to see someone she knew just beyond the trees. I had expected she’d apologize or cry.
“You know,” she said, “we should take the ferry to the island. Go out to Hanlan’s Point. Maybe rent a couple of bicycles.”
“I was just surprised.”
“I like winter. Ralph and I used to go skating at city hall. You know what he bought me for Christmas last year?”
“I was just surprised.”
“A new washing machine. That’s cute, isn’t it?”
Susan began to walk faster, kicking at the drifts of fall leaves on the grass. “I’m glad you called, Will. I’m really glad you called.”
We waded through the leaves, around the fountain, past the man on the horse, until my toes and fingers began to burn from the cold.
“I talked to your daughter.”
“Was it Beth?”
“I suppose.”
“It could have been Meg. Meg is my oldest. Meg is Ralph’s favourite. I don’t believe in that sort of thing. They’re both wonderful girls. That’s the big question, you know.”
“The children.”
“No, Ralph. I worry that Ralph can’t raise two daughters on his own. Not when he likes one better than the other. Do you still want to see me, Will?”
“What about Ralph?”
“You’d like Ralph. He’s quite witty.”
“Does he know about us?”
“I love you, Will. I really think I love you.”
I suppose that’s what I was waiting to hear, what I was hoping to hear. And I came to the rescue, galloping across the grass, all sparkling and aglow in the autumn light. “I’ll be here.” I pulled Susan close to me and tried to find her body through the layers of clothing and coats. “When it’s over, I’ll be here.”
“When it’s over? Will, I want you here now.”
* * *
—
“DON’T WANT NO PRINCE CHARMING,” Bertha said. “I’ve had one of them. Want a regular man with a sense of humour. You know, someone who can make me laugh. You think those people in Calgary can find someone like that?”
“What about someone like Jack Powless?”
“That one’s too young. Never been married. Eats too much, too. Don’t want to be tied to no stove cooking all the time.”
“There’s George Cowley. He’s divorced.”
“Good reason for that, too. Betty says he was pretty mean to Lucy when they was married. You got any better ideas than that?”
Looking back, it would have probably been better if I had kept my ideas to myself. “How about Harlen?”
“Harlen Bigbear?” Bertha pulled her face up into a huge grin, and she started to laugh. She laughed until she cried, and then she laughed some more until her nose began to run. “Damn, Will, if Louise didn’t have you already, I’d give you a try myself.”
* * *
—
“RALPH HAD A HEART ATTACK, Will. We were in bed, and he had a heart attack.”
“God, is he alright?”
“It was bad at first. The pain. I had to take him to the hospital, and they ran all sorts of tests. Actually, it wasn’t exactly a heart attack. Ralph has something wrong with his stomach, and when he gets excited or drinks too much coffee or eats spicy pizza late at night, his stomach cramps up. He says it feels like a heart attack, that you can’t tell it from the real thing.”
“Did you tell him about us?”
“No. I didn’t think the time was right.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t see each other for a while.”
“Why would we do that?”
“What about Ralph?”
“He’s okay. He always feels foolish when it isn’t a real heart attack.”
“As long as he’s okay.”
“That’s sweet, Will. I wanted to tell him about the divorce, but he did have that heart attack. If you talk to him, it’s probably best not to mention it.”
* * *
—
DISCRETION WAS NOT one of Harlen’s many admirable characteristics. He kept secrets poorly and was more concerned with the free flow of information than with something as greedy as personal privacy. “People who keep secrets,” Harlen liked to say, “generally got something to hide.” And I didn’t know anyone who disagreed with that.
He came by the studio on Friday, his face flooded with excitement and news. He looked like a dam eager to collapse.
“You seen Bertha lately?”
“Saw her yesterday.”
“You take her picture?”
“That’s what I do.”
Harlen shook his head. “It’s embarrassing, you know. Bertha selling herself to that escort service.”
“Dating service.”
“We could turn up half-a-dozen names just here in town. Without even thinking hard.”
I had been through this with Harlen before and so, rather than waste time coming up with names that would just make Bertha cross, I told Harlen how good she had looked and exactly what she had been wearing. I even added a nice pair of earrings, a pearl necklace and the same expensive perfume I had bought Louise for her birthday.
“Course she looked good, Will. She’s after a husband. Women can do that when they want.”
“She mentioned your name.”
“Me? Why would she do that?”
“Well, you’re not married.”
“Hope you didn’t say that to Bertha, Will. That sort of talk will just get her thinking wrong and give her false hope. We got to protect her.”
“Don’t think she needs protection.”
Harlen pulled a chair up against my desk. “Will, she’s already made two mistakes. She married Jason Black, and then she married River Johnson.”
“Third time’s a charm,” I said.
“Jason was okay. Nice guy. Treated her like a queen. But he couldn’t beat the drugs or the alcohol. River Johnson used to beat on her. He’s still in jail, you know. Robbed a gas station, and the day he got out of prison, they caught him trying to lift a gun from Padfield’s Sporting Goods.”
“Bertha’s a lot smarter now.”
“Will, you’re not watching. Things aren’t getting better. Things are getting worse. The way Bertha’s going, the next guy she picks could be a mass murderer.”
I didn’t see Harlen for a couple of days, and I probably wouldn’t have known what was happening if Louise hadn’t called me to find out why I had told Harlen that Bertha was crazy for him.
“What?”
“Has Bertha been by to see you?”
“No.”
Louise started to laugh. “Then now’s the time to take that vacation you’re always talking about.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I’d go to Toronto, if I were you, or better yet, Halifax. Get a cheap room and watch television and hope that Bertha doesn’t have the air fare.”
Louise was still laughing when Bertha walked in the door. She was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. She didn’t look particularly angry, but then she wasn’t smiling either.
I hung up in the middle of Louise laughing and waved at Bertha. “Hey,” I said, “I’ve got those pictures. They turned out pretty well.”
“You tell that crazy Bigbear that I was hot for him?”
“No, I didn’t do that.”
“You tell him I was looking for a husband?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So why is that one hanging around wanting to take me out, all the time smiling like he knows something I don’t?”
“That’s Harlen. He wants to help.”
“Don’t need any help.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“What’d he say?”
“He said he thought you were a strong woman.”
“He said that?”
“Something like that.”
“You tell him to keep them opinions to himself. How much I owe you for the photographs?”
I put the photographs in a bag. “You know,” I said, “you could do worse than Harlen.”
Bertha glared at me. “Figure I can do a whole lot better.” She strode across the room, her thick arms swinging. She stopped at the door, pulled the photographs out of the bag and looked at them. “What else did he say about me?”
* * *
—
SUSAN’S HUSBAND was a phantom, a one-time voice on the phone. I tried to imagine him, wondered if I had passed him on the street or taken his picture.
“What’s Ralph look like?”
“My husband? Oh, he’s average.”
“I mean, is he tall?”
“Average.”
“He’s probably good-looking.”
“My secretary thinks he’s distinguished. It’s because he has grey hair.”
“Do you have a picture?”
“Do you remember St. John Rivers in Jane Eyre? He looks like St. John Rivers.”
* * *
—
THE NEXT THING I heard, Harlen and Bertha were going out together. Louise told me all about it over dinner. “You’d never believe it, Will: Harlen all dressed up in a suit and tie, Bertha in a dress and heels. At bingo. Betty saw them.”
“Wouldn’t get too excited about that,” I said. “Probably won’t last.”
Louise stopped eating and looked at me. “Harlen say something to you?”
“Like what?”
“You know.”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“It’s just that they don’t have much in common.”
“Neither do we.”
Louise and I didn’t exactly have a fight. It was more a discussion about Harlen and Bertha, though in the end, the discussion didn’t have much to do with them at all.
I saw Harlen the next week, and by then, I had decided to stop trying to help.
“Hey, Will,” Harlen said, “that was good advice.”
“What advice?”
“About Bertha. About taking her out. She signed up with that escort service only because she was getting tired of staying home. Wanted some excitement in her life.”
“You don’t want to give her false hopes.”
“No. Nothing like that. She understands. We’re just good friends, having some good times.”
“You tell Bertha that?”
“What’s to tell? She understands. Real practical woman.”
Bertha caught me in front of the bakery counter in Woodward’s. “You were right about Harlen, Will. Got no idea what to do with his life. Needs a woman around. That was a good idea.”
“It wasn’t my idea.”
Bertha winked and leaned in close. “We’ll probably get you to take the pictures of the wedding.” And she smiled and wandered off into the dress section, leaving me standing next to the doughnuts and the puff pastries.
I called Harlen that night and told him what Bertha had said.
“Marriage? I never said anything about marriage. You sure she said that?”
* * *
—
SUSAN CAME BY on Thursday. “I think it’s time we told Ralph.”
“You haven’t told him yet?”
“And I want you to come with me. Be there when I tell him. I want you to meet Ralph.”
“Maybe I could meet him later.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Maybe I should wait until after Christmas. It would probably be better just after Christmas.”
Susan bought me a new camera strap with maple leaves on it for Valentine’s Day. I asked her how things were progressing and she said there had been a few complications, and I told her it was probably time to be making some decisions.
* * *
—
I DIDN’T TALK to Bertha. There was no sense in looking for trouble. I talked to Louise. “Bertha said something about her and Harlen getting married. Bertha say anything to you?”
“Did you ask Bertha?”
“I don’t want to ask Bertha.”
“Did you ask Harlen?”
“Harlen doesn’t know.”
“How come you’re so upset?”
I wasn’t upset, and Harlen and Bertha didn’t get married. Harlen came by with the news. “She was only fooling, Will. Said she did it just to see your face. You remember that escort service?”
“Dating service.”
The Centre for the Development of Human Potential had sent Bertha a list of about a dozen names with photographs along with a glossy pamphlet advertising their “Executive Class,” the deluxe part of their service which provided you—for a small additional fee—with the names of professionals who made over fifty thousand dollars a year. According to Harlen, Bertha had said a few uncomplimentary things and had thrown it in the trash. In the end, though, she did find a couple of interesting men on the list who Harlen said didn’t look like criminals at all.
“She’s got a date next weekend with a tractor salesman from Nanton, Will. What about you and Louise?”
“What about us?”
“Bertha says it’s time you and Louise got married.”
“We’re happy the way we are.”
“Bertha says it’s because you’re afraid of commitment.”
“No, I’m not.”
“I know that. Bertha says you should give Louise an ultimatum.”
“That’s a dumb idea.”
“Not my idea, Will.”
“What does Bertha know?”
“Well, she has been married twice, and you got to figure she knows something about women.”
* * *
—
SUSAN FINALLY LEFT Ralph in May. “You can’t imagine how it feels, Will,” she said. “It’s like I just got out of prison.”
We spent that evening in bed with a bottle of wine. Susan couldn’t sleep, so she got up and sat by the window. “I feel so free, Will. It’s wonderful.”
“We’re going to need a larger apartment,” I told her. “Maybe one of those nice brick duplexes.”
On the way home the next day, I bought a paper and another bottle of wine. I was going to make a big pot of spaghetti and some garlic bread. But Susan wasn’t there. She had come by sometime in the afternoon, collected her things, and left.
* * *
—
LOUISE CAUGHT ME off-guard over dinner. South Wing was smashing peas with her spoon, and Louise was buttering an ear of fresh corn. “So,” she said, the cob held in front of her mouth so I couldn’t see what her lips were doing, “when’s the ultimatum? You know, the one Bertha tells me you’re working on. The one about marriage or else.”
“That’s just Bertha.”
“So, what do you think I should do with the advertisement for that dating service? Bertha gave me the address, in case I said no to your ultimatum.”
Bertha did all right with that dating service, I guess. One guy took her for a ride in a hot-air balloon around Calgary. Another fellow took her horseback riding in Waterton Park. But she didn’t get married. Harlen said she ha
d had several offers, but decided that life was complicated enough.
Louise said she knew what Bertha meant. The truth of the matter, she told me, was that marriage was always more of a burden on women than on men, that women always had to take on extra weight, while men just fell into marriage as if they were falling into bed.
I tried to stay away from talk like that.
14
Monday mornings, I usually tried to get to the studio early. It gave me a chance to straighten up the darkroom, vacuum the floors, look at the accounts. I didn’t have a routine, and some Mondays, I’d just sit in the easy chair by the front window and think.
So it was a Monday, and I was sitting in that chair thinking, when I heard someone knocking on the window. Without turning around, I would have guessed it was Harlen, but I never knew him to be up before eight and I was right. The guy at the window was wearing a red jacket. He was smiling and bobbing up and down like a fighter. He had an envelope in one hand. His hair was tied back in a ponytail. I didn’t recognize him, and I didn’t think he was from the reserve. It was his clothes, I guess, and his gestures. If I had been in the back room, I would have ignored the knocking, but I was caught sitting in that chair in the window like a department-store display.
So I opened the door, wanting to say something clever and friendly about the business hours which were clearly posted.
“You must be Will,” he said, and he glided past me into the studio, waving the envelope as though it were a wing. He stood in the middle of the studio and looked around, and I could see the back of his jacket, and I knew who he was. David Plume.
I had never met David, but I knew the jacket. It was an ordinary club jacket, red nylon with knit cuffs and waistband. Across the back in large white letters was the word AIM.
“Glad I caught you, Will,” he said as though we were old friends. “I need some photography work done.”
That jacket was famous. People who didn’t know David, like me, knew the jacket.
“Harlen says you do good work on photographs that are beat up a bit.” And he handed me the envelope.
