‘It never was funny,’ Birgit says.
‘I can’t do this,’ Milo insists, ‘this … this farce. He was a horrible father and a horrible man. Ask Wallace, he stole his pucks. So what if terrible things happened to him in the war and in camps and God knows where else, that doesn’t make him a better person. So what if he watched children burn, and bigger boys shoved things up his ass? I’m sorry he has nightmares and screams in the night but that doesn’t make it okay that he was a mean son of a bitch.’ He stumbles over some cables to Gus, who jumps out of his chair and backs away from him. ‘I’m not Mr. Mandela,’ Milo says, ‘or the Colombian hostage, or Sarah Moon Dancer, or Mother-fucking-Teresa, I’m Milo, and you fucked me up and I don’t forgive you.’
‘Once more with feeling,’ Wallace says.
‘And why don’t you tell your mother how you really feel? Why did I have to tell her that you haven’t fucked a woman in years and work in junk removal? Why do you lie to her all the time? Why can’t we be honest with each other? Why all this collusion and deceit?’ To Milo’s horror, he feels himself choking up as his losses mount: Christopher’s rejection, Tanis’s rejection, Robertson’s disinterest now that he has bonded with Gus, Zosia’s rejection, the clubbiness of the three musketeers and Gus – good god, even Tawny has taken his side. Everybody likes Gus. Everybody likes Pablo. Why is it that Milo is always on the outside? Not that he wants to be on the inside with the deadbeats but somehow, somehow he wants to belong somewhere; there must be somewhere. He starts to sing plaintively, ‘Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly… ’ They all look at him as though he has gone completely mad and maybe he has. He can’t remember the rest of the words to the song so he hums into the satisfying stillness around him, enjoying the slight buzzing in his sinuses caused by the high notes. His singing coach told him he had a range of two octaves. She was ancient with flame-red hair and a bulging diaphragm that she forced him to feel to comprehend its power. He hated touching her, and the songs she made him sing, upbeat show tunes about gals and fellas. ‘Smile when you sing,’ she insisted. ‘Show your teeth.’ Sometimes she took her foot off a piano pedal and kicked him to remind him to show his teeth. Cheese.
And then it clicks. None of it matters, and it doesn’t matter that none of it matters. It doesn’t matter that Milo doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. It’s all just an arrangement of atoms that will cease to exist. Amor fati. And he approaches his father slowly, carefully, because he is just an old man who has lost his marbles and wants to chow down on pigs’ knuckles. Milo puts his arms around him, inhaling the stench of pickled herring on his breath, feeling his fear and frailty and says, ‘It doesn’t matter.’
ll morning Gus and Robertson work on the patio. Neither of them respond to Milo’s ‘Hey, guys.’ Even Sal doesn’t bother to sniff him. When Milo sets fire to the box of Polaroids, Gus merely glances in his direction, untroubled by memories of burning children. It seems only his tormentors survive in his dreams. Bullies rule even in the subconscious.
Pablo hurtles out the back door. ‘Milo, you won’t believe it … ’
‘You’re being deported.’
‘Maria wants me back.’
‘Why?’
‘She loves me. She told me she can’t stop missing me even if I don’t believe in God Almighty.’
‘Go fig,’ Milo says.
‘We’re just going to have a simple wedding, like, at city hall, no priest or nothing. She’s downloading a licence. What are you burning?’
‘Garbage. What about Fennel?’
‘Oh she’s totally busy with Vitorio. Painting will always come first with Fenny.’
‘And you think you will always come first with Maria?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good luck with that.’
‘Oh, this is for you.’ He holds out a disk in an envelope.
‘What is it?’
‘Zosia left it.’
‘Zosia was here? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You weren’t here, Milo. It was when we were all getting ready for the show.’
‘I was in the basement, you dumbass.’
‘Before that, when you were out.’
‘Did she say anything?’
‘She said, “Give this to Milo.” Her number’s on it. Listen, are you serious about us having to move out, like, today?’
‘Dead serious.’ He isn’t but wants to be obeyed for once.
‘It won’t be easy for Vera.’
‘Vera can stay.’ He can’t have her passing out in some dank hotel room. ‘Until she goes back to England.’
‘She’s not going back.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since her and Wally talked. He’s going to find her a place.’
‘They talked?’
Pablo nods. ‘And Tawny don’t got nowhere to go. Her alcoholic mama shacked up with her alcoholic uncle and he don’t like teenagers.’
‘Tawny can stay too.’
‘What about Gussy?’
‘It’s his house. I’m leaving anyway.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Haven’t decided yet.’ He emailed Sammy demanding payment but doesn’t expect to hear from the head case. Birgit threatened to sue Milo’s ass while the crew decamped and Dina, the wild boar, tore down her ruffled curtains. Only Val seemed sympathetic and insisted that Milo keep the jacket. ‘You smoke in that,’ she said. ‘One of these days you’re going to want to look hot.’
‘Can I stay till me and Maria get stuff figured out?’
‘Did you not say, a mere forty-eight hours ago, that Fennel was all the stars in your firmament?’
‘Things change, Milo. Please. Just a few days.’
‘Whatevs.’
Flames lick Gus and his widows. The shot of Mrs. Cauldershot’s spider veins takes the longest to burn.
‘Vera?’ He can hear her packing. ‘Can I use the computer for a minute?’ He moved it to his mother’s dresser when Tawny took over his room.
‘Of course. Come in, Milo.’
‘You don’t have to leave.’
‘Wally’s going to find me a nice flat with a balcony, he says. I’ve always fancied a balcony. It’ll be splendid with pots of geraniums. I could have my tea on it.’
Milo boots up the computer. ‘Yeah, but he’s not going to find the flat right away, is he? Stay till he finds it.’
‘Are you sure I won’t be any bother?’
‘Quite sure.’
‘I must admit, the good thing about Wally not being the marrying kind is he’s got more time for his mum.’
‘There’s an upside to everything.’ He inserts the disk and waits for it to load.
‘Gus and the boy next door are the best of mates, aren’t they? Tanis says she’s not going to sell just yet.’
‘When did she say that?’
‘This aft. She said she’s never seen the boy so at ease with anyone. She’s going to home-school him till things get sorted.’ This should mean something to Milo but his feet remain set in concrete. Tanis will avoid him and he will avoid her, and Robertson will build with Gus. It doesn’t matter.
‘Hel-lo,’ Vera says, ‘whose is that?’
‘Whose is what?’ On the screen a grainy image reveals a trapped creature.
‘That’s a baby in its mum’s tummy.’
Milo leans closer to the screen and begins to decipher a head and limbs.
‘It’s sucking its thumb,’ Vera says. ‘Cheeky little bugger, finding his thumb already.’
A general trembling overtakes Milo. ‘What makes you so sure it’s a boy?’
‘A girl wouldn’t do that,’ Vera says. ‘It’s marvellous what they can see these days. My nieces always get videos and we all wager on the sex. Five quid that’s a boy. Who sent it?’
‘Nobody.’ Sweat trickles down his temples. He ejects the disk and staggers downstairs where Pablo is making a protein smoothie. ‘What did Zosia tell you?’
‘She didn’t tell me
nothing.’
‘Do you know what this is?’ He wields the disk, convinced they’re all in this together. One big fucking joke on Milo.
‘I don’t know nothing. We was busy getting ready for the show. She didn’t want to talk anyway. She looked tired.’
‘Was she fat?’
‘I don’t know, she was wearing a raincoat, Milo. What’s the matter with you?’
He walks fast, out of the house and into the ravine in search of muggers or anything that will offer distraction. What was she thinking? She who carries condoms on her person, the pragmatist, the problem solver, the career woman, the smartest person in the room, what was she thinking?
He clambers through the woods and undergrowth until he finds the debris shelter he built with Robertson. Though still intact, empty beer bottles and trash are strewn on and around it. Milo crawls into the hut, gagging from the stench of piss. A newspaper swats his head.
‘Who are you?’ a ragged voice demands.
In the poor light Milo is able to make out a man with matted hair, covered in blankets. ‘I built this shelter.’
‘Just because you built it don’t mean you own it,’ the man says. ‘It’s city property. Nobody owns it, just the city. You got no right.’
‘I just wanted some peace and quiet. I’ll go now.’
‘D’you have a smoke?’
‘No.’
‘Spare change?’
‘No.’
‘Gum?’
‘No.’
‘Cough drops?’
‘No. I have a disk.’
‘A disk?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What’s on it?’
‘An ultrasound of a baby.’
‘Yours?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘What you carrying it for then?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And I thought I was fucked. You can sleep here if you want. Nobody bothers you. And it’s pretty dry. Sorry I hit you, but you can’t be too careful.’
Bunking with the vagrant will not ease his mind. He crawls out and rushes on through the ravine, heedless of the branches and potholes. All his life he has taken precautions with women, even when they told him it wasn’t necessary. AIDS was big news during his teens. Emaciated men with scabs on their faces haunted the theatre world. His first summer job was working the box office for a gay theatre company. Pasquale, who ran it, believed that Milo was gay but didn’t realize it yet. ‘Always wear a rubber, pussycat,’ he advised. So this cannot be Milo’s baby. This is a scheme. Like Wallace said, she’s after his fucking wedding vows, forcing him to fix someone else’s mistake. Not this time.
Someone tugs on his arm causing him to spring into Bruce Lee mode. He will not let the fuckers flatten him again.
‘What are you doing?’ Tawny asks.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Following you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re freaked out.’
‘Who says I’m freaked out?’
‘Chill for a second. It’s peaceful here in the woods. It reminds me of home. Too much trash though. People shouldn’t litter.’
‘People shouldn’t do a lot of things.’ He trudges onward with no destination in mind. The effort required to climb over uneven ground shakes the numbness from his legs. Tawny keeps pace with youthful ease.
‘So I guess you think it’s your baby,’ she says.
‘How do you know about the baby?’
‘Vera.’
‘Which means she’s told the whole crew. Thank you so very bloody much.’
The wind picks up, bullying branches overhead.
‘I’d like to have a baby someday,’ Tawny says.
‘Why?’
‘To love. And maybe if I don’t screw up too much, it’ll love me back.’
‘If you don’t screw up too much. Ah, there’s the rub.’
‘This whole thing with your dad is a little retarded. I mean, everybody always thinks a miracle might happen and their parents will change into the people they wish they were, or back to the people they used to be. But that’s not going to happen. And even though everybody knows it’s not going to happen, they still hope it will. It’s retarded.’
Milo squats on a fallen trunk. She sits beside him while the city grumbles and belches beyond the trees.
‘Did you hear about that guy who killed his father with a crossbow?’ she asks.
‘What guy?’
‘A Chinese guy. He hated his father so much he drove all the way from Ottawa to kill him with his crossbow. Shot him in the library, right in front of everybody. That’s how much he hated him, he didn’t care if he got caught, he just wanted him dead. That would take a lot of energy, hating somebody that much.’
‘What did his father do to him?’
‘The usual. Physical and psychological abuse. Plus he beat his mother. They moved to Ottawa to get away from him, but I guess that wasn’t enough. The son had to come back and kill the guy. He shot him from behind. The father fell forward over a table with the arrow sticking out of his back. Now the son will go to prison for, like, forever.’
Milo imagines Gus flopped over a table with an arrow sticking out of his back. The image does not please him. Maybe he doesn’t hate him that much, or anyway, doesn’t have the required energy.
‘Could you show me the baby?’ Tawny asks.
‘Why?’
‘I’ve never seen an ultrasound. On the reservation only high-risk pregnancies get to have ultrasounds, and they have to go to Sudbury for them.’
High-risk? Is that what this is about? Is the trapped creature fighting for its life? Does Zosia fear she will die from complications in childbirth, leaving no one to care for her bastard? Has she turned to Milo because he is a nice guy, a suck, who will do the right thing? Whatever was propelling him is spent and torpor takes hold. Budging from the log becomes unfathomable.
‘A rabbit,’ Tawny says, pointing at bushes. ‘Did you see it?’
‘No.’ Another unsinkable memory bobs towards him. He was five and wanted a bunny. Dean Blinky’s sister had one. Since the moment he could talk, it seemed to Milo, he’d begged his parents for a pet and been told ‘maybe when you’re older.’ Annie was allergic to cats, scared of dogs and repulsed by rodents, so why not a rabbit? ‘Your daddy had a bad experience with rabbits.’
‘What experience?’
‘On his farm.’
‘What on his farm?’
‘Rabbits. They ate them.’
This dampened Milo’s enthusiasm briefly but he understood that farmers ate some of their animals, which was why he didn’t want to be a farmer. ‘So?’ he said.
She sipped more Bailey’s Irish Cream. ‘He loved those bunnies, gave them names and talked to them and stroked their ears. Every Friday night he had to pick one and hit it with a stick till it stopped moving. He always cried and sometimes barfed, but no matter what, he had to choose a bunny and hit it with a stick until it was dead so his mother could cook it. Otherwise his father would hit him with a stick. If he didn’t eat the bunny, his father would hit him with a stick anyway.’
Milo tried to picture his father as a boy, crying and barfing and thwacking a rabbit with a stick. Then being forced to eat the bunny.
‘Don’t tell your dad I told you,’ Annie said. ‘It’s just that rabbits upset him.’
‘He wouldn’t have to kill my rabbit,’ Milo pointed out.
‘Silly boy,’ she said, brushing hair out of his eyes. ‘You need a haircut, monkey.’
He loved it when she called him monkey, and didn’t want to alter her mood by pushing the rabbit issue. He never raised it again.
‘What are you going to do if it’s yours?’ Tawny asks.
‘It’s not mine.’
‘Why would your girlfriend send it then?’
‘She’s not my girlfriend. To force me to marry her, duh.’
‘Showing you an ultrasound of your baby isn’t forcing you
to do anything. It’s just letting you know about it, giving you the opportunity to be part of its life. Some men want babies. My cousin and his wife can’t have any. They’ve done all kinds of tests and she takes fertility drugs that make her even fatter. Every time she has her period she cries like her baby died. Your girlfriend’s lucky she got pregnant, especially if it’s yours.’
‘How is she lucky?’
‘Because you’re a decent guy. A little mixed-up maybe, but you’ll get over it.’
‘What?’
‘The father thing. I was pretty mixed-up about my mother hooking up with my dad’s brother. I mean, I thought it was just going to be her and me from now on. I mean, she’s old. She used to say, “I’m done with men.” Then she goes and shags my uncle. I was pretty upset but I got over it. Maybe being a father would help you get over your father thing.’
Of course they all want to see it and lean over him to peer at the screen.
‘Ten quid it’s a boy,’ Vera announces.
‘It’s dollars here, Ma.’
‘That’s a girl,’ Pablo insists. ‘Look at her little hands and feet.’
‘Why is its head so big?’ Milo asks.
‘They always have big heads,’ Vera advises. ‘Think of what has to be packed into that noggin before they pop out.’
‘I can’t get over her not breathing,’ Pablo says. ‘Can you believe that, Milo? I mean, everybody knows babies don’t breathe in the womb but to see her wiggling around like that and know she’s not breathing.’
‘It’s fucking mind-blowing,’ Wallace concedes. He is much more interested in the ultrasound than Milo would have expected. ‘It jerked, did you see that? It jerked.’
‘Those are hiccups,’ Vera says. ‘They all get them. And the mum can feel them, before she feels the kicks, she feels the hiccups.’
‘Fucking unreal,’ Wallace observes.
‘It’s like,’ Pablo elaborates, ‘she’s a fish and then suddenly she’s a human.’
‘It looks trapped,’ Milo says.
‘No way,’ Pablo says, ‘that’s her world, man, that’s her space capsule.’
‘That’s why you swaddle them when they come out,’ Vera explains. ‘Imagine how strange it must feel to suddenly have your arms and legs all akimbo.’
Milosz Page 29
