Picks and Sticks

by Michèle Muzzi

  “Calm down and listen a second,” Mike steadied her. “Was Leonard drunk?”

  “Probably.”

  “Was he flush with victory?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Has he always wanted to marry our mother?”

  “Probably.”

  “No. Definitely. But I’ll tell you this once, Jane. His cause is hopeless.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she-­does-­not-­love-­him.”

  Noticing George pop his head round the door, Jane broke down completely. “How do you know?” she wailed.

  “Because he’s an idiot. She just likes the attention he gives her. There’s no way she’d go for him. Ever.”

  “How do you know so much?”

  “’Cause I’m sensitive,” Mike quipped.

  “I can’t take it,” she sputtered through her tears. “Any of it!”

  “Shhh,” Mike soothed, taking her gently in his arms.

  “Here. Let me,” George interrupted. He squished himself against the two of them, sandwiching Jane in the middle. “Careful!” she said, but loved it anyway. In a moment, George had her laughing and clutching her rib.

  Jane wiped her tears away as Ivan and Irina arrived in the doorway. Irina’s eyes were also red, her face blotchy.

  “Congratulation, Jane,” Irina said. “I have not said to you how you skate so beautiful.”

  Jane nodded her thanks.

  “Where is medal?”

  “I left it back there on the floor,” Jane said, waving her hand in the party’s general direction. She took in Irina’s shocked expression. “Don’t worry about it. What’s going on? Why have you been crying?”

  The winter girl could not answer. Ivan spoke for her.

  “We hear talk all around, in crowd, that you will go to Moscow. So, I get excited. I know is selfish of me, but sometimes foreigners can get presents to people. Even though KGB have Ekaterina, we still hope she is in Moscow. And you, being Canadian champion, could see her.”

  “Wait a second. I thought you were Yugoslavian,” George cut in.

  “Shut up, George. I’ll explain later,” Jane said. “Go on, Ivan.”

  “I take risk. I call long distance. Just now. To Seva. Vsevolod Bobrov. Even though we know his phone is wired. He tell me they have … they have …”

  “What is it?” Mike asked, alarmed.

  “They take Mama to the Gulag,” Irina blurted out, and burst into tears.

  “The Gulag?” Jane asked. “What is that?”

  “Prison camps,” George answered when the Russians could not go on. “Political prison camps. In Siberia.”

  “The government say camps are all eliminated. But all Russians know this is not true,” Ivan said.

  Jane sat on the bench. The rest of them joined her, heavy with misery. “I’m so sorry, Ivan,” Jane said, after a moment. “I … I wish we could help you. And her.”

  “Thank you for your wish. But there is nothing you can do … me … perhaps. But, not you.”

  Irina looked critically at her father. “What can you do, Papa? We are stuck here.” Ivan stayed quiet, contemplating his hands. Their silence deepened. Mike moved closer to Irina. She let him hold her.

  “I just won Canadians,” Jane said. “We should be happy.”

  “Yes. We are thrilled for you,” Ivan said, trying to rally.

  From a distance, they heard a crowd approaching. Jane began to smile. “I know the only thing that will cheer us. The only thing,” she said.

  And at that moment, their boisterous hockey team walked in.

  That night, Jane found her mother in their hotel room packing for the morning flight. Deb made a show of wrapping the discarded gold medal in tissue and placing it in her own suitcase. Jane watched slyly. She walked over to her suitcase and lifted it onto the bed with a wince. The spasms were coming and going. Even though she didn’t feel it at the time, the Ina Bauer must have done her in. And all those people squishing her didn’t help either. She began to fold in her clothes.

  “I guess you picked that medal up,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “I guess I should thank you.”

  “Whatever you want, darling. You can thank me or not. It depends on how you feel.” Deb continued packing. “How are your ribs?” she asked.

  “Sore.”

  “And your heart?” Deb probed.

  “Sore, too.” Jane’s voice broke.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “… Okay.”

  Deb sat Jane down on the bed and held her shoulders so that they were facing each other. “I want you to understand something,” she told her. “I never want you to forget about your father. Never.”

  “Good.”

  “I feel like the person you need to let go of is me.”

  “What?”

  “I’m so lonely, Jane.”

  “I … I know that … I see you … Mike sees you …”

  “It’s been long enough. I need — ”

  “But everyone’s lonely, Mom, in some way. There’s no need to change our entire family just ’cause you’re lonely. You’ve got us.”

  “It’s not the same, Jane.”

  Jane stood up, shaking off her mother’s hands. “Well, there is no way I’m going to listen to Leonard as a coach and a stepdad. That’s just — ”

  “I thought you fired Leonard.”

  “Yeah,” Jane acquiesced, “I guess I kinda did.”

  “Nothing is decided between Leonard and me,” Deb confessed. “Not really. He got carried away. He has asked me to marry him a thousand times. Yesterday I refused to answer him with a yes or a no, and he took that for a yes.”

  “Make it a no.”

  “Jane. Please. I don’t know how I feel about him. I know, most of the time, it is hard to take him seriously. But we have a history. I feel safe with him.”

  “How can you feel safe with him? He can barely drive his own car.”

  “Well, okay. I feel comfortable with him. And you, my daughter,” Deb continued patiently, “need to let me figure things out. Don’t overreact every time you hear something and start flinging hard-­won medals around in front of important people.”

  “Then you need to tell me what’s going on between you and Leonard.”

  “Fine. I’ll be more honest. The truth is, I’ve been so afraid of your reaction, I’ve tried to hide things from you.”

  “So, okay,” Jane pressed. “Are you going to marry him?”

  “Wow. That was a ton of time,” joked Deb. “I told you I haven’t said yes yet, all right? We’ll see.” She got up and took the medal out of her suitcase. She offered it to Jane, saying softly, “Now will you please put this medal on, and stop this crazy nonsense?”

  Jane looked at it. “I’m not sure I can do that,” she stalled. “I need time.”

  “Okay,” Deb said. “Then we’ll just have to wait and see what happens. On both sides.”

  Jane pushed it. “You know I only won today because of the team. Otherwise — ”

  “ — You would have won, anyway,” Deb said. “You are that talented, Jane, that good. Imagine getting marks like that at your first Canadians. As a senior! And through an injury! It’s unheard of!” Deb didn’t wait for Jane to take the medal; she quickly wrapped it back up again and placed it under some of her clothes.

  Jane pressed on. “It was only the adrenalin rush. It was amazing to see them all there. They drove miles to support me.”

  “Yes. I’ll have to talk to Mike about that one,” Deb said.

  “They gave me a boost. Otherwise, I would have collapsed from the pain halfway through. Don’t you see, Mom,” Jane said, “I need them to support me. I want them around me. They have become my friends. The only true friends I have ever
had.”

  “Fine. Have them around. Invite them over. Have sleepovers if you want. But you can’t play hockey with them, Jane. You know that’s out of the question.”

  “Mom.” Jane breathed deep, felt her rib react. “If you don’t let me play hockey, there is no way I’m putting that medal back on again. Ever.”

  Deb’s mouth became hard. “Well, I, for one, am exhausted. I can just imagine how you’re feeling.” She shoved her suitcase off the bed and pulled back the covers. She got into the bed with her clothes on. “Put some ice on that rib. It’s clearly helping.”

  “I will.” Deb shut the light as Jane got up. She pulled out Ivan’s salve instead; she didn’t care if the room filled with the scent of honey. Then she noisily wrapped her ribs in hockey tape and got into bed with her clothes on, too.

  9

  Recoveries

  JANE GAVE HERSELF two weeks to repair her broken body; two weeks, and she was back on skates — hockey skates. Luckily, Leonard was not expecting her to start figure skating practice for another week. Also, luckily, her mother’s work schedule worked to Jane’s advantage. On the graveyard shift, Deb could not monitor her daughter’s movements like she did when she was on days. Every morning that whole week, as usual, Jane set her alarm for four-­thirty, trained herself to snap it off in order not to wake Mike, and was on the pond by five, testing her rib, her slap shot, and her wrist shot, in that order. In the eerie moonlight, she stroked among the glowing snowbanks, and conversed with her missing father and the trees. She was certain their one-­sided conversations helped her heal more quickly. By six-­thirty, she was back in the house, her brother never the wiser. When her mother returned at seven-­thirty, she woke a pretend sleeper for school.

  By the third morning, George had her pattern figured out. As he approached the pond from the road, his goalie equipment and net slung across his back, he said, “I knew there was a reason you keep falling asleep in homeroom. You can’t fool me, Matagov.” He brought extra blankets to warm her, hockey-­taped her ribs, stopped shots, and walked her home before dawn.

  “Is it tomorrow yet?” he asked her on the Friday as they approached her house.

  “What do you mean, ‘tomorrow’?”

  “Remember I was on the ladder at your place when you hurt yourself and you told me you would tell me tomorrow if you would go out with me? Well, I’ve been kinda waiting for that tomorrow to arrive.”

  “Oh.”

  “So …”

  Jane smiled sideways at him. “I’ll tell you tomorrow,” she said.

  George dropped everything and threw his hands up in mock exasperation. He ruffled her toque and pulled it off. She dropped her own gear and chased him down the road a little ways, but knew enough to stop. As they walked back to their abandoned mounds in the middle of the road, he said to the stars, “Where the heck is the gorgeous Irina? I need some good staring time.”

  That stopped Jane in her tracks. She realized she hadn’t seen Ivan or Irina since New Brunswick; she’d been so insular and into herself.

  Ten o’clock Saturday morning found her trudging across the wide expanse of field toward Ivan and Irina’s cottage. The snow drifts were difficult, but Jane actually enjoyed the cold and wetness down her boot; it distracted her from the twinges in her rib. She was pretty pleased with herself when she made it across; at least she did it with a minimum of pain.

  No smoke drifted out of their chimney; no light shone from the curtained windows.

  Jane pushed the newly fallen snow off their stoop to get to the door, and knocked. She waited. She knocked again; waited again. Finally, she heard some movement.

  Irina opened the door and gazed out at Jane. She was wrapped in a blanket, her white, shimmering hair unwashed, its colour faded. Even her eyes seemed dulled. Jane could see Irina’s breath. No warmth emanated from their dwelling.

  “Jane,” Irina said, and called back to her father, “Jane is here. What do you want, Jane? More salve?”

  “I want to talk to my coach.”

  “Oh,” Irina said. “Our house is mess. Can you wait?” Irina started to close the door. Jane jammed her foot in the entrance.

  “Why have you not been in school? Mike says he has been here a million times and you have not answered. He’s desperate. What is going on? Can’t you let me in?”

  “My father does not want to see world, right now.” But as she said it, a rumpled Ivan appeared behind Irina, embracing a rough blanket, trying to smile at Jane. “Won’t you come in?” he asked, strangely formal. “Maybe we could make fire from my chair.” He shuffled over to a rickety rocking chair by the empty hearth, and Irina sat beside him.

  Jane stepped inside and realized the room was as cold as the outside air. There was no wood stacked beside the fireplace. Now that she thought about it, there was no wood stacked outside, either. It smelled kind of funny in here, too — like bad breath.

  She took off her wet boots and socks and walked to the kitchen area. A pile of dishes needed cleaning, and there was very little food in the fridge. She marched to Irina and Ivan and peppered them with questions.

  “What’s going on? Are you starving or something? Can’t you afford food? Why didn’t you call us? Where have you been, Ivan? I’ve been at the pond every day this week at five in the morning. Where is the team, Ivan? I thought you said you were going to practise whether I could or not. I’m the only one who’s been practising all week: me and George. And Irina hasn’t been at school, and Mike can’t get you to answer the door — ”

  “You should not practise yet. You should not practise at all,” Ivan said hollowly.

  Jane looked to Irina. Her friend looked as broken as icicles fallen in a January thaw.

  “Please, Irina. Tell me.” Jane perched herself on the edge of Irina’s chair, preparing to listen when they were ready to speak.

  “We have no letter from Mama since you skate in New Brunswick,” Irina began, pulling her blanket closer about her. “Before, when we get letters, and words are black, at least then we know she is thinking. But now — ”

  “Is a great big blank,” Ivan interrupted. “She could be dead and we do not know. They are brutal at labour camps. Brutal. Every Soviet citizen know someone who has disappeared into them.”

  “You feel this cold in here? Add three times cold, four times cold for Siberia,” Irina said.

  “So you’re trying to feel her pain?” Jane asked, pointing at the unlit fireplace.

  Ivan emitted a coughing laugh. “No, Jane. I have lost job, remember? We have no money to buy wood. And is hard to find dead wood in forest under piles of snow.”

  Jane began to pace. “You should have told us. Why are you being so proud?”

  “We are Russian,” Ivan shrugged.

  “But that’s just dumb. You are famous. The Canadian government knows you are here. Why are people not helping? Or have you not even called?”

  “Oh, we call,” Irina said. “We call to see if government can help find Mama. Put pressure on Soviet Union. Use — what is word, Papa?”

  “Diplomacy.”

  “Yes, diplomacy. We are told if we keep a …”

  “Low profile.”

  “Dah, ‘low profile,’ they perhaps have chance to get her out.”

  “But they’ve done nothing,” Jane surmised.

  “We do not know this for sure,” Ivan said.

  Irina snapped. “The people in Canadian government do not want to bother with us! We keep low profile for many months now, just as they say. Nothing happen.”

  “Irina …”

  “Stop fooling yourself, Papa! Mama is in hell hole and no one here care. They forget us!”

  Ivan winced. “Their hands are tied,” he said. “No Western country can help get someone out unless that person defect there. They all pretend is possible … to make us hope.”

  Ir
ina paused. “I’m glad you finally say this, Papa,” she said. “I am glad you finally … how you say …?”

  “Admit it?” Jane suggested.

  “Dah.”

  “Only thing to do is go back and get her myself,” Ivan said broodingly.

  Irina stared at her father, then laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, yes. You go back, they blame you for many crimes, and they kill you.”

  Ivan nodded. “Or years in the Gulag.”

  “You cannot even think this way, Papa. Go back! Come on!”

  “No. You are right. I cannot.”

  “Okay,” said Jane, pacing again, her feet starting to freeze. “Enough of this. You got any dry socks, Irina?” Irina briefly left the room. Jane gathered her thoughts. When Irina returned, Jane sat, covering her freezing feet, and said, “I understand that you are upset. I understand that you are so, so sad. I have lost a parent, too, remember, Irina? But you cannot lose hope and you cannot starve to death, and you must motivate yourselves!” She stood up. “You chose to come here. Ekaterina gave you her blessing. She knew the possible consequences. So did you. You are living the nightmare of those consequences right now, but you’ve got to wake up!” They stared at her. “At least coach the team, Ivan! You said that it was more important to you than any job. Let’s pull the girls together. At least you’ll be doing something you’re good at. Something you like. Maybe you could get a job at Steve’s for now. At least you could eat leftovers for breakfast!”

  Ivan cast Jane the first real smile she’d seen since coming into the gloomy room.

  “How is it you practise hockey without your mother knowing, Jane?” Ivan asked. “And what about your figure skating?”

  “Number one, I’m sneaky. Number two, I don’t start figure skating again until Monday. We could practise this afternoon and tomorrow at least. In two days, our improvement could be drastic!”

  Ivan looked to Irina. Wan though their smiles were, at least there was a little sparkle in their eyes.

  The afternoon was mild, the snow just on the edge of stickiness. Jane arrived at the pond at four o’clock and put on her hockey skates.

  She lifted her face and waited for the first arrivals to come down the road. The sky was steel-­grey, the light around the pond dulled by the closeness of the clouds. Weather was looming. She felt a snowflake land on her nose and she crossed her eyes and watched it melt. Another one landed on her eyelash and she let it melt there without brushing it off. A bit of moisture worked itself under her eyelid and made her tear. Now bigger snowflakes were arriving — defined, individual. They started landing on her bare hands, and she watched each intricate design sink into her warmth. She pressed her damp eyes as close to these wonders of winter as she could, trying to study each one before it disappeared. She mourned the passing of each snowflake, its uniqueness swallowed by her heat or damaged by the gathering of others on top: silent destruction in nature.