Spud in Winter

by Brian Doyle

  Two men in overcoats and no skates come into the change shack and go over and stand over Beefaroni. He’s finishing lacing up his skates.

  They give him a brown envelope.

  There’s sweat running down his face. It’s coming from underneath his big fur hat.

  The two men in overcoats leave.

  Beefaroni stands up, puts the envelope in his inside coat pocket, pulls on his gloves and heads towards the door. His boots are hanging around his neck. He’s leaving. He’s got the money. He’s going to skate off and escape. Where are the cops?

  I look over at Connie Pan.

  She looks at me. Then she looks at him. She calls out to her E.S.L. party.

  “Everybody ready?” she shouts.

  Then she goes over to Beefaroni just as he gets to the door. She slaps him on the back. I can’t believe what I’m seeing!

  “Hi, Mr. Faroni! ‘Member me? Your hairdresser! How the hell are you!”

  I’ve never heard Connie Pan talk like this before. Saying “hell” like that.

  “I have not seen you for a while,” says Connie, laughing. “You miss your appointment!”

  She’s still got her hand on his back, patting his back, as she’s talking, like a friend.

  “But then, too bad, beauty parlor burned down! Can’t fix your hair no more! HA! HA! HA!”

  I’m hypnotized by what Connie is doing. She’s sounding like her mother. She’s laughing away and talking like Beef’s her very best friend.

  Beef’s looking straight ahead at the door. He’s trying not to attract any attention. But he’s the center of attention here in the shack.

  Connie’s hand is still on his back. What’s she doing?

  She’s pinning the “Follow Me!” sign on his back! She’s closing the big safety pin with her fingers, pinning the sign on his coat, patting at the same time. There, the sign is on. Pat some more. Pat the sign. Some of the E.S.L. skaters are smiling. It doesn’t matter what country you’re from on this planet, pinning a sign on somebody’s back when they don’t know it is funny.

  Some of the E.S.L. skaters are laughing now. Connie Pan is saying goodbye to her friend, Beefaroni.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Faroni. Have a pleasant skate this evening. Maybe see you around some time!”

  One more slap on the back. One for the road.

  Beefaroni goes out.

  “Let’s go!” cries Connie Pan. “Follow me!” she shouts, pointing at Beef’s back.

  All the E.S.L. skaters are laughing now. This is going to be a good party.

  Just follow the guy in the funny hat with the fluorescent sign on his back!

  Everybody piles out and takes off after Beefaroni.

  Lucky for us, Beefaroni is not a very good skater. He can stand up OK and move along, but he has no style and he’s slow. When you have no style, you use a lot of energy skating and you get tired easy. Then your style gets even worse.

  At the other side of Dow’s Lake we move into the narrow canal.

  There are thousands of people along Colonel By Drive, leaning over the railings watching the skaters, cheering and laughing.

  A lot of people see the “Follow Me!” sign and point and laugh. You can tell when somebody doesn’t know he’s wearing a sign on his back. You can tell by the way he acts.

  I call Detective Kennedy again. I’m wondering did Captain Kirk ever use his communicator while he was on skates? They switch me to Kennedy’s car phone.

  She answers. She just got to Dow’s Lake.

  “You missed him,” I say.

  “Where the hell are you, Sweetgrass!” says Detective Kennedy. She’s starting to sound like Connie Pan.

  “We just went under Bronson Bridge,” I tell her. “We’re about ten minutes from the Bank Street Bridge. Beef’s not that great a skater!”

  “How will we see you? There’s thousands of people!” she says.

  “You’ll see us, all right,” I say. “Beef’s sort of the center of attention! He glows in the dark!” I press End.

  This is fun.

  We skate under the Bank Street Bridge. It is high above us. Hundreds of people are lined up on both sides of the bridge. They’re shouting down at the skaters.

  They’re dropping powdery snow down on us.

  The snow is shining in the lights floating down on us.

  It glitters in the lights against the black sky.

  We shout back at the people. Laughing and shouting. The people’s voices echo under the bridge. Everybody’s having fun.

  Except Mr. Faroni. He’s working so hard, he hasn’t got time to have any fun.

  His skating style is rotten.

  First of all, he pumps his arms too much. He pumps his arms about five times to take only one step.

  He skates like two different people. The top half of B. Faroni is acting like he’s skating at about the speed of light. It’s acting like he’s on a big breakaway with the puck in the last few seconds of a one-one tie in the seventh game of the Stanley Cup final.

  But the bottom half of Beefaroni couldn’t beat a turtle in a race. It is acting like a kid on double runners for the first time in his life.

  But one thing we can say about his skating is that he never falls down. He’s got very good balance.

  Probably developed this good balance by carrying all that hair around on his head for so long.

  I take Connie Pan by the hand. We just glide easy along. We’re good skaters together.

  In front of us, our E.S.L. party is struggling, but keeping together. The good skaters are buzzing in and out, going out in front of Beef, then skating back, coming close to him, dodging around him.

  Beef’s style is getting worse. He’s bent over a bit. Tiring.

  We’re with thousands of people but we’re starting to stand out.

  His plan was probably to get lost in the crowd, get to the other end, ditch the skates, slip on the boots, jump in a cab, head for the airport with his money.

  All along the sides of the world’s longest skating rink the people are laughing and singing and swaying. They’re happy because they’re with their friends and it’s winter and it’s so beautiful out tonight. The lights along the ice make it hard to see the stars in the sky, but if you cup your mitts beside your eyes, if you shade your eyes from the lights and then lean your head back, you can see the stars, some of them, and you can catch the moon, the hooked moon, looking cozy up there in the frozen sky, following along with you, cruising along, keeping part of an eye on you.

  If Beefaroni looks up he’ll see the same stuff.

  But he can’t.

  He’s got other things on his mind.

  And so have I.

  The laneway man!

  I call Detective Kennedy again.

  We’re approaching Pretoria Bridge.

  There are cops on the bridge. I can see Kennedy up there, talking to me on the phone. I tell her about the laneway man and give her the address. She says she’ll send a car over to his house.

  “He’s in there somewhere,” I say.

  She waves at me from the bridge.

  “We’ll pick Beefaroni up at the Arts Center,” she says.

  “If he makes it!” I say. “He’s starting to come apart!”

  There’s more than just the E.S.L. skaters following the “Follow me!” sign now. Looks like a lot of other people want to be in the E.S.L. party.

  By the time we get to Pretoria Bridge there are thousands of Winterluders along the banks of the canal. The gang behind Beefaroni is getting bigger.

  And the Beef’s skating style is getting worse.

  He’s bent over farther and moving his arms in jerky motions. The boots around his neck are bothering him and his ankles are starting to bend.

  Now we’re at the wide turn and the straight stretch where you can see the Chateau Laurier and the Arts Center and the old train station and the Peace Tower. The way it looks, it looks like a picture of Russia or Mongolia or somewhere. Somewhere where it’s beautiful. And w
here the buildings are shaped like ice and snow.

  Beefaroni is now alone.

  There’s a crowd of more than a thousand people following him.

  I phone ahead to Dink the Thinker to get him to order the beavertails.

  I explain the situation.

  “It’s crawling with cops around here,” says Dink. He’s finding it hard to understand all at once.

  “Just order the beavertails,” I say. “I’ll explain it all later! Order an extra tail. Beefaroni’s with us!” Before Dink can answer, I say, “Kirk out!”

  Now, Beefaroni is the star of the show! Everybody’s cheering him on!

  He’s not skating in a straight line anymore. He’s wearing down. He’s bent over and starting to look like a wind-up toy that needs to be wound up again.

  Now his big fur hat is on the ice and a monster roar goes up!

  Beefaroni is bald! He shaved his head!

  Nobody but Connie Pan and me know who he is. Everybody thinks this is a clown act, part of Winterlude, and they give him a big cheer while he tries to get his hat back on.

  There’s quite a bit of steam coming off his head.

  I’m starting to feel a little sorry for him.

  He looks like he’s finished. He looks like he’s not going any farther.

  He’s standing there, looking down at his hat in his hands.

  He’s so weak he can hardly lift it.

  But wait!

  He’s got a burst of adrenalin from somewhere.

  He’s going to take off! A last dash for freedom.

  He’s skating like a madman!

  His legs are pumping and his head is back and his arms are flailing and he’s sucking air.

  Trouble is, he’s not moving!

  He’s skating like a madman but he’s not going anywhere!

  He’s like an exhausted athlete running on the spot.

  But he’s skating on the spot!

  Everybody loves it.

  It’s the best clown act yet!

  But it doesn’t last. Now he’s finished for sure.

  The crowd goes “ahhh!” and gives Mr. B. Faroni a big hand. They like him.

  Connie and me, we skate up and take Beef’s arms. Some of the E.S.L. skaters crowd around to help. They’ve had a great time.

  “Come on, Mr. Faroni,” says Connie Pan. “Lean on us. We’ll soon arrive. Where’s all your nice beautiful hair gone?”

  My phone rings.

  It’s Detective Kennedy.

  They found the laneway man. He’s OK.

  He was tied with a rope in his kitchen where he could reach the sink and the fridge. Beef didn’t want to hurt him. Just keep him quiet till he got out of Ottawa.

  “An odd person, though,” Kennedy adds. “Soon as my cop untied him, he grabbed a shovel and went out and started shoveling his laneway!”

  I can see Detective Kennedy talking to me on her phone at the end of the world’s longest skating rink in a crowd of cops and Winterluders and photographers.

  As we glide in, holding up Beefaroni, the cameras start flashing.

  There’s Dink the Thinker.

  Time for a big snack of beavertails!

  That’s it, that’s all!