Nina, Pavel and Marko arrived at the Green Witch’s door and knocked.
“Thanks for coming with me,” said Marko. “I’m always scared about coming here. She scares me.”
“She’s not that frightening.” Pavel’s eyes searched the street behind them. Not all the children in New Denver could be trusted. The small, like Marko, and the young were easy targets.
The door opened. A woman, short, stooped and rounded, stood silhouetted by the light of the room. Grey hair escaped from the bundle tied at her back. Pavel envied the simple comforts he could see. A fire, cloth-covered furniture, a cushion and a few pictures reminded him of home. A dull light came on over the door. She wore multiple layers topped by the green sweater that gave her her name.
The woman said, “Go ahead. You know where to go. Don’t touch anyone else’s box, now, will you?” The Green Witch turned to Nina. “You’re new.”
“I’m Nina.”
“Good for you. I hope you’re not here long enough to go mean.”
Nina said, “I won’t be mean. I’m not mean.”
The Green Witch glared at Nina. “Remember you said that, young lady. You remember it. Let me know if you want a box.” She turned and closed the door.
Pavel said to Marko, “We’ll wait here. Don’t be long.” He peered again into the darkness. Figures moved in the street and it was only a matter of time before others came.
Nina felt the tension and began searching the darkness without knowing what she was searching for.
Pavel tried to explain to Nina what was happening. “She lets us keep boxes of things, so they don’t get stolen by the matrons. Some of the children keep food here to stop them taking it.”
In her own gruff way the Green Witch loved the Doukhobor children as she had loved the Japanese children interned at New Denver two decades before. They all needed comforting, and the Green Witch defied all their captors in providing a little of what the children needed.
“Don’t you want to get to your box?” Nina asked.
“Don’t have one.” Pavel put his head into the cellar. “Marko! Hurry up,” he whispered hoarsely.
“What are you doing with the girls, Pavel?” The unwelcome voice of a boy called Sam came from behind Pavel and Nina, and they turned to face him and three others. “Have you stopped being one of the boys? You’ve never been one of the gang, have you?”
“Not your gang, no.”
Sam had arrived in New Denver in 1955 in the first days of the raid on Krestova, or Operation Snatch, as it became known. Angry and frightened, he quickly learned how to use his size to survive. He and his group of friends developed their own idea of sharing among the children. It amounted to taking what they wanted. Everyone was terrorized by the tax he demanded on everything the children had. Now Sam and a group of boys stood between the house and the dormitory, while Marko rummaged in the cellar for his food.
“Who’s this?” asked Sam, gawking at Nina.
Pavel said, “She’s new. I’m showing her around.” He felt sudden anger for explaining himself to Sam.
“It’s Nina, right?” Sam said. Nina nodded. “The girls say your English is so good, you must be a spy. Is that true?”
“No, it is not! Who says that?”
Marko emerged from the cellar. “I’ve got chocolate!” he said, holding a thick bar in his hand. He stopped when he saw Sam and the three other boys.
Sam stepped forward. “I hope you have some for me.”
“It’s Marko’s stuff,” said Pavel, bracing himself to fight the larger boy.
“It’s okay,” said Marko. “I’ll give some to anyone who asks.” Marko broke a piece from the bar and offered it to Sam, who took another step forward, reached past the offering and snatched the remaining bar from Marko’s hand.
“Give it back!” shouted Pavel, now in the fight, gripping the hand with the stolen chocolate. Sam’s three friends shouted and cheered the larger boy, who pulled, yanked and pushed Pavel into the snow. Sam and friends stood over Pavel, giggling and sneering at the ease with which Sam shook Pavel off. Pavel began to stand but a push stopped him. Again he tried and a push tumbled him down.
The door of the house opened suddenly and the Green Witch emerged with a wooden spoon raised in her hand. “Get away! I’ve told you before not to come here. I’ll paddle your backside next time I see you.”
Sam and his friends were already backpedalling as the door opened and began running toward the dormitory as she approached.
The Green Witch returned the few steps to her door and asked Pavel, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Thank you,” he said, getting up and brushing the snow off.
“You?” she asked of Nina and Marko.
“Yes, thanks,” said Marko, and Nina nodded.
“What did they get?”
Marko said, “Just a bar of chocolate. It’s okay.”
“Wait here,” said the Green Witch.
The three waited outside the door like carol singers while the Green Witch went inside. When she returned, she said, “Be careful when you come here after dark. That mongrel and his pack of wolves are always about. Here, fresh today.” She gave each a round biscuit and a yellow-toothed smile.
“Thanks,” said Marko, grabbing the biscuit and recoiling from her. In surprise and horror, he began running.
Pavel took his, saying, “Thank you,” before chasing after Marko.
“Nice to meet you,” said Nina. “And thank you.” She raced to catch the others.
None of them understood why they were running and stopped two blocks south at Galena Avenue.
Marko bit into his biscuit and said, “She still scares me. Nice cookie, though.”
“It’s not her you should be scared of. She saved us that time,” said Pavel.
“She saved you!” said Marko. “I wasn’t gonna fight Sam. He can have the damn chocolate.”
Nina was surprised to hear Marko swear and said to Pavel, “You were very brave.”
“Brave enough to get your teeth knocked out,” said Marko. “I’d feel terrible if you got your teeth knocked out for a bar of my chocolate.”
Marko was ungrateful but it was not that causing Pavel’s sudden irritation. Once again he had chosen a hard path, putting himself in the way of harm for reasons that were obvious to him and yet unseen by others. Why don’t they see? It was never “just” a bar of chocolate.
“It just made me so angry,” said Pavel, “having to stand there while he took things from us. He might as well be one of them. We might as well burn all we have, if it’s so easy to take things from us.” The image of burning belongings was too close to the long history of their people to let pass. It surprised them and they fell into an awkward silence.
“Mind you,” said Marko, grinning like an ape, “you did impress Nina!”
Pavel’s hand reached out and snatched the toque from Marko’s head as he ducked and bolted, still grinning.
From five yards away Pavel threw the toque back to Marko, who said, “Thanks for coming with me. I’m still hungry. I’m going in,” and stuffed the last of the biscuit in his mouth. “See you inside.”
Nina stopped with Pavel as Marko walked on. “Why don’t you have a box in the cellar like the others?” she asked.
“We should be sharing things, not hoarding them for ourselves. It’s just selfish.” Pavel felt the discomfort of knowing that explanation would not do. “We just end up fighting if some have more than others. Like with Sam.”
“Is that what the green woman meant when she told me to not be mean?”
“Maybe,” said Pavel. “It’s hard not to be selfish here. I guess that’s where the meanness starts. They’ve turned us against each other.” That explanation, he thought, was enough. He had been accused of being too high and mighty and wanted to avoid that with Nina.
>
He said, “You’ve survived your first school day. How was it?”
“Not too bad. Thanks for showing me around.” Nina’s voice faltered. “You don’t think I’m a spy, do you?”
“No, I don’t. Don’t listen to anything Sam says. He’s a bully. Only says things to look tough.”
“You stood up to him.”
“It was stupid.”
“No, it wasn’t. Brave, not stupid. Someone has to stand up. It’s important. Not everyone can do it. Just try not to get your teeth knocked out.” She smiled at him. Even though it was near dark, he could make out the colour of her sharp blue eyes. They saw more than his appearance. They saw through his frustration and anger to what was important. She was without challenge or criticism of him. There was nothing to defend against with her.
“See you tomorrow,” he said as she turned away. Something changed in his breathing. The next breath filled his lungs with cold fresh air, and he let the weight of his shoulder and chest clear it all out. The tension of the day left with it.
* * *
Constable Flanagan rounded the final bend at the end of Union Street next to the dormitory. Nearly all the children were back. The others would be back soon enough. He could make out a group of four boys crossing Galena heading for their building. Ahead, a small security hut, usually occupied by Mr. Nori, the Japanese security guard, stood in isolation next to the eight-foot chain-link fence. He stood outside greeting each child with a wave or smile. Two children approached him with excitement. The prospect of cadging a nickel from him was on their faces. Mr. Nori looked around as if keeping care of a secret and pulled off a glove to find his pocket. The children waited.
“Shh! Mustn’t say anything,” Mr. Nori said with a stern face and then pressed a nickel into each of their palms. Flanagan turned away. Only Matron MacDonald would object to his charity.
It was easy to see why the children loved Mr. Nori. On weekends small groups of children would surround the hut, urging him to come out and simply be with them. Sometimes they were rewarded with the change from his pocket, before rushing to spend it at the candy store. He gave what he had and accepted each child without question.
February 22, 1957
“Arina! Wait for me.” Nina saw her cousin ahead near the bridge on the way to school. She ran to catch up. “How are you? We haven’t really spoken since I got here.” Arina’s eyes moved up and down the street, avoiding her. “What’s the matter?” asked Nina.
“I can’t talk with you,” said Arina.
“Why not? We’re family.”
“Everyone says you’re a spy.”
“You know I’m not a spy.” Nina emphasized the word to mock Arina with the absurdity of it. “We lived together and spent hours in the forest together. I looked after you. How can I be a spy?”
“Keep your voice down. We did live together, but I was caught and you weren’t.”
“So what?”
“So, why was I caught and you stayed free?”
“Arina! What have they been saying to you? I was in the wardrobe and you were in the mattress when the police came. It could have been you or me, or both of us.” Arina was ten years old but had become older, more cynical than Nina could ever have imagined her becoming.
Nina continued, “I’m shocked at you. Who’s been saying these things?”
“It’s what everyone’s saying.”
“Well, it’s not true. You know it’s not true.”
“What were you doing in Matron’s office this morning? You were seen going in and talking a long time with her,” said Arina.
Nina scrambled to connect the pieces. “She called for me after breakfast. Your mother and father brought my clothes. She told me they all had to be cleaned before they would give them to me, and some things I wasn’t allowed. That’s all.”
“You won’t see any of those again.”
“What do you mean?” asked Nina.
“Tell your people not to send you anything like clothes or shoes. If it’s good, they won’t give it to you.”
“They’re not ‘my people,’ they’re your mother and father! What would they think of you?”
Arina’s eyes watered. It was enough, thought Nina, to jolt Arina out of the crazy notion a group of younger girls left alone had conjured.
“I’m sorry,” said Arina. “They’ll be mean to me if I go against them. I know you’re not a spy, but you have to be careful. Don’t talk to the matrons.”
“It’s a good tip, but what must I do to stop them from thinking I’m a spy?”
“I don’t know. Don’t give them anything to talk about.”
Nina thought for a moment. “We better not talk again until it’s safe. I hope it’s not long. I’ve really missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
The two girls risked walking near enough to each other to rub shoulders for a few steps. It connected them without giving too much away. They had reached the small white church and turned the corner of Union onto Seventh Avenue. Opposite the school a car stopped. A girl got out and began making her way into the school.
Nina asked, “Who’s that?”
“She’s one of the matrons’ daughters. Why do you ask? Don’t make friends with her, will you?”
“No, I won’t make friends with her, but …”
“But what?”
“She’s wearing my jacket. The one your mother made for me.”
“See what I mean?”
February 25, 1957
It was nearly time for lights out. The end-of-day hubble-bubble of a dozen boys decompressing from school, clattering mealtimes and raucous playground noise rose up from the dormitory, drifted over the lake and was lost. There was nothing to contain it. No comforting advice for tomorrow’s trials or making sense of a confusing day. All that happened, good and bad, had equal, unmodulated volume. Only the older children mitigated the blizzard of noise, helping the younger ones to find stability in routine and anticipate what was to happen next.
Years of residential schools for Indigenous children across the province had equipped New Denver with the skill of occupying the time of children in custody. There were chores, demands and expectations, allowing only the time before sleep for contemplation. For some there were too many idle moments, allowing heads to fill with lost family. For others it was a time to restore fading memories, of reclaiming what had been bullied out of consciousness with the fear of being strapped with the length of rubberized canvas hanging in every classroom, with national anthems, flags and someone else’s history.
Pavel began walking between the beds, speaking quietly in Russian, encouraging the boys to get out of their winter clothes and into pyjamas before the night matron, Matron Cody, came to turn off the lights. It fell to Pavel to anticipate her displeasure and get the dorm moving toward bedtime.
In winter, it was an easy task to get everyone to bed. No one stayed out of bed very long. The boys would make ready their pyjamas, undress at the speed of light and pull them on before scrambling into bed. For the slow, it could mean a quicker hand whipping away a pyjama top, leaving the victim naked in the cold, chasing his thin cotton covering as delighted children hurled it from bed to bed. The slow would learn to be quick, and the game would remind children they were on their own.
Marko braved the cold and rushed barefoot to the toilet one last time. Yuri asked if his wash bag had been seen in the showers and everyone groaned. There was always something Yuri had lost. Others wriggled and rubbed their limbs between the sheets to brush away the chill. The volume began falling steadily before the night matron’s arrival.
The door opened without a knock and in she came. Karen Cody smiled broadly at the doorway, made up and on the edge of middle age. No one was sure of her. She spoke nicely, smiled always but dished out too many punishments to be trusted. Often it was the whole dorm puni
shed for the misdemeanours of one or two.
“Everyone ready for lights out,” she said. “Where’s that one?” She pointed to the empty bed just as the toilet flushed behind her and then Marko appeared. He tried to skip by Matron but she managed to swat the top of his head as he scampered toward his bed. “You know what time you have to be in bed!” The rustling stopped. All was quiet. “Remember, there’s to be no talking. You all have school tomorrow and need your sleep. Don’t keep each other up. Good night.” The lights went off and she stepped out, closing the door behind her.
The children waited to hear her footsteps move from behind the door, but they did not. Pavel knew the night matron was outside listening for a reason to come back in. All the boys listened to her stealth, waiting for the creaking floor to give her away or the door to fly open and lights to be turned on. Finally she moved away and the whispering began.
After a whole day spent struggling in English, now the sound of their mother tongue floating from pillow to pillow consoled everyone. Pavel let the whispered Russian comfort him and thought of Nina. Nearly every minute not taken by something else was spent thinking of her and how he might arrange to see her: an accidental encounter, a game in the yard, a moment in class. Mostly, he was concerned with what she was thinking.
In the darkness, a boy’s voice was heard. “Pavel, will you tell us more of the story?” he asked in Russian.
Pavel struggled to connect to the tale he had been telling by instalments. The stories of their past were known in part by the children, and Pavel would fill the gaps in his knowledge with made-up links in order to hang on to the fragments of their history. The stories they could not remember and the songs they could not sing eroded in memory.
“Not tonight. The guard’s patrolling outside and Matron is keeping an eye on us. We better be quiet.” He tried to return to Nina. Her face came to mind, her smile, the hair, those eyes. It made him long for morning and feel guilty about it. He should be worried about his father and be upset with no longer having him visit every two weeks, but now only Nina occupied him.
The Kissing Fence Page 9
