“William, please understand. You must do what must be done. Shall I ask my colleagues to help you?” He nodded toward the lean, quiet men who had stopped ten metres behind.
“No. Let me deal with it.”
“Good, William. We have confidence in you.” He smiled. “We are still partners and I will tell the others that there is a small problem, but everything will be taken care of. Now, give me the sprocket.”
“Don’t worry, I got rid of it,” said William, adjusting his bike to set off.
Uri’s hand reached William’s arm. “William, I asked you to find the sprocket and return it to me. I must have it. You must get it back.”
William felt the urgency in Uri’s grip. “It’s fake, useless, weighed four times a real one. What does it matter?”
“It’s true. It weighs more than four times what a real sprocket weighs, but it matters.” The smile had gone from Uri but making sense of what was being said was still difficult. “Let me help you understand. This piece has value to us.”
“What is it?”
Uri had William fixed in eye contact and appeared to be calculating the implications of what he would say next. “Gold, William, ten ounces of gold. Each of our special bicycles has twenty ounces, in various parts, worth about four hundred thousand Canadian dollars, in each shipment. We use the special packaging and false bicycles many times because together, with the gold, they weigh exactly what originals weigh.”
“I agreed to help you clean your money for a cut. Nothing was said about gold.”
Uri shrugged. “What is gold, if it is not money? Surely you understood that we would not be taking such risks for a few thousand dollars. There are bills to pay. Did you not ask yourself why we’re paying you so much each month?”
William could not respond. The full knowledge of what had been going on had evaded him and the implications could not be settled in his mind. He tried to calculate the amount of gold that may have trickled through his warehouse in three years. His ears buzzed with fear of the calculation but the amount was in the millions, tens of millions. It was enough to send him to prison forever and take everything from his family.
Uri allowed him time to absorb the magnitude of his involvement and recover. “You see why the sprocket has value, not just because of the gold, but because if it is found, it will be known how it moves.”
“Yes. I see,” said William.
“And the manifest? You understand why we must have it.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Good, William. Thank you.” Uri shuffled a little closer, steam rising from him like smoke from a demon. “You have taken a step today, closer to the centre of our circle of trust. Everything is more important now, there is more responsibility, and you must be more careful to do exactly what you agree to do. The stakes are higher for all of us.” He offered his hand and smiled as if congratulating a graduate.
William shook the hand before Uri adjusted himself onto the bicycle seat.
“One week. We will meet in one week. Enjoy the new year, William.” Without a sign between them, the three left William standing and slipped down the hill.
One week, he thought, was not very long. He watched the red lights of the trio sink into the darkness.
6
New Denver, April 13, 1957
New Denver was not what Nina had imagined. She was still a spy in the eyes of the girls and therefore alone on a Saturday morning, shunned by the others without redress. Only Pavel and some of the younger ones risked talking to her. There was much to contemplate in passing the time. Green shoots and early daffodils gave the impression of summer coming, but not yet. Snow still lingered on the slopes and chill could be felt as quickly in shade as the sun felt warm in the open. At night the temperature fell to near freezing.
From the lake a brisk spring wind whipped the BC flag. Nina watched it furl and unfurl. English school had instructed her on the meaning of it. The flag, she had learned, was a British ensign: a Union flag on a blue background with the provincial shield of arms in the middle. At the top of the shield was another Union flag with a golden crown in the centre. At the bottom of the shield the sun radiated, depicting the age-old maxim that the sun never sets on the British Empire. It revealed what had been said many times in her hearing: that British Columbia was for the British.
More disturbing to Nina were the words and symbols like arms, shield, crown and empire. They struck horror in the hearts of Doukhobors in a way that she had not understood until coming to New Denver. The ideas were simply incomprehensible. They were a perplexing, reviled anathema of everything her people stood for. It was the reason Doukhobors turned away from the Orthodox Church in Russia, with its icons and grandeur, and from the czar’s nationalist imperialism nearly two centuries before. Nina’s spirit had been soaked in this history even before she was born.
Pavel had taught her to question what people said and trust the evidence of her own eyes about the world they now lived in. It was a history repeating. She could now understand why her parents could not tolerate sending their children to English school, refused military service, and declined to register anything with government authorities. Before, it was a childish acceptance of religious mantra, but now it was real and she was alive to it. She was fixed to the bedrock of her people’s struggle. Even the language of her childhood teachings had new meaning. Governments, she now understood, served only worldly interests. They preferred the symbols and strength of their authority to all that was important to her people.
The cackle of the flag in the wind, mocking all but the British, became irritating. That flag and all it stood for was the cause of her people’s hardship. It was the reason she was separated from her family, the cause of all the children being taken and of the divides among her people, and why she sat alone in a place where she had thought her friends would welcome her. It all started with the laughing flag they were told to cherish. Anger grew quickly and Nina searched for a target on which to vent the frustration foaming within, but she was alone, completely alone in the courtyard. Her disappointment spawned another thought.
* * *
A few children saw Nina walk to the shoreline, gather several medium-sized rocks in a large piece of blue cloth, push a simple rowboat into the water and begin rowing. No one knew her purpose.
Arina arrived as Nina’s boat pulled out of reach. “Where are you going?” she asked. “It’s too cold to swim.”
Nina smiled, put a finger to her lips and lifted a corner of the flag into view. Arina’s eyes bulged in alarm.
The dormitory buildings south of Galena Avenue sheltered the shoreline from the bitter wind from the north. For twenty-five yards into the lake there was calm on the water. Nina rowed close to the wind line, where the ripple began, and shipped the oars. Between her feet she pulled the corners of the flag together and settled the stones at the bottom before using the flag’s lanyard to tie the corners together. The last thing she wanted was for the flag to be found floating at the surface, implicating her unexpected paddle. There would be terrible consequences, but the fear was lost in the strength she felt surging through her.
As Nina finished the knot, there was a moment of doubt. What would my parents think of me? She had always been a dutiful child, helping others, doing her chores without complaint. Her mother and Auntie had often told her that she was a good girl. Now she was a thief, a vandal, no longer the sweet child her Auntie smothered in kisses. The thought of leaving that behind mattered more than anything that might happen to her in the dormitory. She looked left and right along the shore. Pavel could not be seen. At least he would not be involved if it all went wrong. In any case, she thought, this must be done alone. Only Arina was watching.
She lifted the sack over the gunwale and let it go. It was gone in an instant. On the shore Arina’s arms were held high in excitement. Nina stood in the rowboat, lifted an oar over her head and
roared. Her defiance and exultation crossed the lake. She was thrilled with the sound of growing up and shouted again for good measure. Arina celebrated with her, the two howling at the top of their lungs.
Mr. Nori heard the shouting and arrived at the south side of the compound in time to see the boat ease across the wind line and wobble. Nina bent her knees to stop it, but too late. She was in.
Surprise came with shocking cold, and then the inability to breathe. Once back on the surface she could neither inhale nor exhale. Her chest seemed only to be squeezing the life from her. The fall had pushed the boat away toward the southern edge of the lake. Her shoes were dragging on her, and her clothes restricted the movement of her arms. She struggled to pull free of her jacket but managed only to trap her arms behind her. She kicked to stop from sliding under again but could not prevent it.
From under the surface Nina saw the light of the sky. She kicked with desperation and then, with great sadness, thought she would never see Pavel again.
* * *
Nina woke suddenly. She was in a bed in the sick bay: a few rooms smelling of disinfectant, with sagging mattresses and crisp white sheets. It was dark outside and quiet, save for the distant after-supper bustle in the dining room across the courtyard. An office light was on where the nurse normally sat, but Nina was alone. Recalling the shoreline, to where she had been dragged just hours before, caused her to shudder. It was bad enough to have nearly drowned, but to be rescued, and then vomiting out all that was inside her, in front of the children was nearly too much. But now she was hungry and climbed out of bed to find food. Mr. Nori, the Japanese guard, had laid her face down on the stony beach, leaned heavily and repeatedly on her back, and pushed the water from her lungs. Now her ribs ached with each movement. With a blanket over her shoulders Nina made her way to the dining room, hoping she was not too late, passing the flagpole on the way.
From outside the door, Nina saw a meeting in progress. Matron MacDonald, the principal and an RCMP officer stood with their backs to the door. The children sat at tables in front of them.
“Children,” Matron MacDonald began loudly. She waited for the clamour to end. “Something very serious has happened today, so I have sent all the younger children to bed early to talk to you.” A buzz began. They would be taking the boats away, or some suggested Nina might have gone to hospital, or she might have died. “Children!” The buzz stopped. “Today is Saturday and tomorrow, you all know, is visiting day. But I have decided to cancel all visits because of what has happened.” Another swell of noise began and stopped as Matron MacDonald continued. “Someone, or more than one of you, has stolen a flag from the flagpole in the courtyard.” The children were quiet, knowing how serious this was to these people. “Stealing, in this country, is a crime. Anyone found guilty of stealing will be punished, and the RCMP are here to see that they are.” She lifted the strap from the dining table beside her and put it down again. “Unless whoever has done this owns up right now, I’ll strap every child in this room before you go to bed, and all visits will be cancelled until we discover who it is and the flag is returned.”
Nina had stopped breathing. Through the glass panels of the door the words were muffled but unmistakable. She watched the silence hang on the children, their faces slack. Without expression they told the story of accepting punishment and disappointment as generations of Doukhobors before them had done. Some of the families had already begun the journey to New Denver. It would be too late to advise them to turn back, even if someone was inclined to do so. They too would accept what had happened and return home, no less committed to the next trek to visit their children. The children were helpless, without the chance of making their case with reasoned argument, asking for justice, leniency for the guilty or mercy for the innocent. Nothing would change what Matron MacDonald was going to do. It was what the English did.
Matron said, “Does anyone have anything to say? If you don’t own up now, it will be because of you that visits are stopped and your friends get the strap.” She waited. “This is your last chance.”
Nina opened the door. “It was me.” Her voice was softer than intended, but the effect was electric. The room hummed with excitement.
“You!” said Matron. “Why would you do such a thing?”
Nina said, “You stole the coat my auntie made me, so I took your flag.” The children erupted.
“I did no such thing. Come here, young lady.” Matron grabbed Nina’s arm, dragging her forward.
“Where is it? Where have you put the flag?” asked Matron.
“At the bottom of the lake.” There were stifled giggles and tittering among the children, who did not know if fear or excitement was right. “I put stones in it and dropped it in the lake.” The room gasped.
“I’ll deal with you right now.” Matron lifted the strap, and the children cowered. “Give me your hand.”
Everyone got the strap sometime, Nina had been told, and everyone cried, even those who said they did not. It had become the common dread that boys denied, while girls huddled around each other for support. It would be terrible to cry in front of all the now silent faces before her. It was as bad as them watching her vomit through her nostrils. Pavel was also watching. It made her feel stronger, but why was he smiling? She smiled back at him and thought he must be proud of her for taking the flag and standing up to them. Other children were smiling. They were all proud of her, wishing her well and hoping she would get through this. She was no longer the spy in the camp. She had become the girl who fought back.
“This is no laughing matter, Nina,” said Matron. “You’re a thief and I’ll take that smile off your face.” The anger reddened Matron’s face.
Nina obliged Matron and offered her hand. She watched Matron hold her by the wrist, straighten her back and lift the strap over her head. The room waited for the cruel slap that would arrive in the next second. Nina thought, in that moment of hesitation, there was nothing she should be punished for. The strap fell toward her hand with the weight of Matron’s anger. Nina pulled her hand away and let the strap continue, clapping hard on Matron’s thigh. The sound was softer against cloth than against a child’s hand, but Matron yelped and jumped back in shock as the children caught their breath and began shouting and laughing as if Christmas and birthdays had all arrived.
Matron rushed forward, gripped Nina’s wrist with the strength of the enraged and whacked her hand three, four and five times in quick succession, before Constable Flanagan held her raised hand.
“That’s enough,” he said, stepping between them and covering her hand with his.
Matron’s fury turned on him. “Let go of her hand!”
Flanagan said, “She nearly drowned today and should be in bed.”
“You will leave this to me.” Matron raised the strap again.
He said quietly in Matron’s ear, “End this now and I won’t investigate her stolen coat.”
The tension of Matron’s anger eased and she released Nina.
“Go to your beds, all of you.” She turned to Nina. “You come with me.”
With Nina in tow Matron stomped across the courtyard, past the flagpole, toward sick bay. Constable Flanagan followed them. Matron turned to him as she walked.
“You won’t be needed anymore, Constable.” Flanagan continued walking. “I’m in charge here, not you.”
They reached the door of the small single-storey office building and sick bay. “You can’t come in here,” Matron said. She held Nina roughly by the wrist.
“That’s fine,” Flanagan said. “I’ll wait outside the door awhile.”
Matron yanked Nina into the office block and pushed the door firmly closed.
April 19, 1957
Constable Flanagan began the after-lunch walk to school. He followed the children past the security hut, out of the dormitory compound, through the eight-foot wire mesh fence and on to Galena Avenue. The
compound, lifeless without the children, fell silent behind them. Once he had finished escorting the children to school he would not be needed again until the end of the school day, less than three hours away. At the corner of Union and Seventh Avenue, the children turned toward school. Nina was just ahead, walking with a group of girls as he had not seen her do before. As they went through the school gates, she dropped off the group and turned to Flanagan.
“I hope you didn’t get into trouble for Saturday.”
“No trouble. Are you feeling better?”
“I am, thank you. Thanks for what you did.”
“Don’t mention it. It was pretty wicked of you to move your hand away.” He could not help the amusement in his words. “Caused quite a commotion. Matron was sure to lose her temper with you.”
“No,” said Nina, “I didn’t mean that. You stayed at the door until Matron went home.”
Flanagan turned his head. “I thought Matron was upset by you nearly drowning, and then when the flag was taken, it was never going to be an easy night, now, was it? And then you moved your hand.” Flanagan adopted a serious face, shook his head and looked grimly at Nina. “She needed someone to make sure she was all right, just for a little while.”
“So you were looking after Matron,” said Nina.
“That’s what my report says.”
“No need to thank you then.”
“Definitely not. No need of thanks. You better get off to school before the bell rings.” He watched Nina set off for the schoolhouse. “And keep your hands off those flags.”
She looked back along the path. He had seen her like that years before in Perry Siding, running away from him with two children dragging behind her, but now the blue eyes gleamed with amusement.
On the way back a figure waited for him on the Union Street bridge. The smirk on his sergeant’s face was a bad omen.
The Kissing Fence Page 13
