Bishop's Road (26 page)

From behind Ginny Mustard looks the same as she always has. Side on you can see she's pregnant. When Joe Snake comes to visit he brings oranges and they eat them together. Count the seeds. He puts his big hand on her belly to feel their baby move and though it's too early for that, they all three smile anyway. There is nothing to say.

Ruth has called the store and told them she can't work tomorrow. Locked her door and won't answer the bell. Unplugged the telephone and pulled the curtains to block out the world. Now it's just her and the secrets and the knowing. And if she can somehow find the right place and time the pieces will meld. She waits. She will not sleep. She stands on a chair. She sits in a corner. And now here's her mother telling her what a dirty filthy creature she is. Cringing each time she must touch her. Rough when she washes her little face, scrubs her hair. Hurting her always hurting her with touch and words. And here's her father. And she's a tiny girl standing in her crib and crying. And she can hear the sound of his shoes on the stairs and he's coming to her and she screams for her mommy who hears but will not move from her bed. And her father is beating her brother. With his fists. With his belt. And her mommy is just standing there. Just standing there.

For two days and a night Ruth is haunted. Now and then she tries to stop it but it's too late. She has to see it through. And she howls into her pillow and hollers at her parents with all the strength she has and when she finally allows them back in their coffins, slams the lids shut, there is some peace. And now she wraps her arms around herself and laughs for a very long time.

“Well, bitch, letting that man at me with his dirty fingers and his ugly mouth. I guess it explains a lot of things. Like my
entire fucking life, for instance. And I don't know who is worse off but I'm guessing you two because you're long dead and rotten and I'm still kicking. Okay. Okay. Okay. It's done. It's done. And if I can't make it go away at least I know what it is. Good for you Ruthie girl. Good for you.” And she gets up off the kitchen floor where she had landed some time earlier and fries a couple of eggs. Eats them sandwiched between stale bread and watches the watered-down light of the setting sun through her living room window.

Eve is restless. Dear God, she is restless. Too long in one place and missing what she's left behind. And she prays for another earth walk. Just one more time around. Wanders her garden but only at night so as not to frighten anyone. And Joanie Harris looks at the footprints in the backyard of the house on Bishop's Road and can't figure out why the grass is green in each one and every-thing else frozen solid. Thinks the old lady in the red sweater must be wearing some kind of heated boots though she's sure her feet were bare the last time she looked. Walks her own feet through the path of prints and would swear she smells lilacs. She wants to tell someone but she still doesn't know a soul in this place except for that man who used to come around looking for his dog. When Mrs. Miflin shows up at her door she is lonely enough to invite her in and puts the kettle on.

“That old Eve had a garden out back. Used to get a hedgehog every summer to eat the slugs, you know. I told her she was crazy, wasting good money like that but would she listen? Not for a minute. None of them ever listened to me which is how I ended up in this sorry state after all my hard work.”

Joanie has no idea what Mrs. Miflin is talking about. She
had assumed that one of her neighbors had finally come by to say hello. Not the Welcome Wagon exactly but better than nothing.

“She got that no-good Judy to build a bin for her garbage compost too. If you don't have rats yet you will soon, mark my word. I wouldn't let them youngsters anywhere near that thing if I was you. What did you take that nice paper off the kitchen walls for? That was there for a long time. I put it up myself, you know. I really liked it with them little roosters and grapes all over it. And now you got it painted blue. And what in God's name possessed you to hang all your pots and pans off the ceiling? Sure they'll collect dust like nothing else and you'll have to be cleaning them every time you want to make a meal.”

While Mrs. Miflin tells of her trials and tribulations all because of her wicked tenants, Joanie half listens, half dreams. It's been a long time since she met anyone who strayed over the line that defines normal, unless you count her husband, but she's not ready to do that. The women Mrs. Miflin is describing, the things they did. Joanie's mom used to bring home people like that. She gathers that the man with the dog is the heathen Indian that Ginny Mustard married. She wishes now that he would come back. Perhaps if she keeps the dog long enough, he will.

“Are you after hearing a word I'm saying?” asks Mrs. Miflin, bringing Joanie back to earth. What was she going on about? The house. Something to do with the house.

“I want it back. I've still got all the money. I never spent one penny of it, you know. It's as good as the day I got it. Now what do you say to that?”

And Joanie who hasn't said anything really since she offered Mrs. Miflin a cup of tea and shortbread, looks confused for a minute until her children come running in for lunch and she ushers Mrs. Miflin out the door. Not without difficulty. She doesn't want to go and is sitting on the steps when the children leave for their afternoon classes.

Joanie would call John at work but she is only allowed to do that if something happens to one of the children and even then it had best be a life or death situation. She has a car that she can use if one of them breaks a leg or she has to pick up groceries. John checks to see how much gas is in the tank without warning. She used to walk back and forth to the store, saving up for a secret rendezvous with the highway but he noticed once that she couldn't have driven anywhere because the gauge read full and caught her in the lie.

Joanie has no clothes to speak of. A suit to wear for emergencies - a trip to the hospital perhaps - as if she would actually stop to change when one of the children comes to her broken. Hurting. She has a pair of good pants and a pair of everyday pants and two shirts. She washes her underwear every night. John figures she'll never have an affair if it means stripping down to graying cotton. He buys the cheapest panties for her that he can find - three for five dollars - and keeps two tucked away until she can show him holes and elastic beyond repair. She has evening gowns which John keeps under lock and key. He takes them out when it's time to entertain clients. Always says, “Maybe you should wear the purple one this time.” The one with no sleeves that makes her feel so beautiful, and he watches as her eyes light up before saying, “No. I think the gray. We don't want every man in the place staring at you, do we sweetheart?”

Joanie didn't care one way or the other about the move to this place. She stopped caring about most things just after she and John married. What was the point? The only things she wants are her children and the purple gown.

You never know the half of it, really. The old woman
shoving to pass you in the grocery check-out line was your mother's kindergarten teacher. The men in hardhats, over there, hanging off the scaffolding, sandblasting that building, grew up in the same town as someone who knows your uncle. If you follow your gut and take the long way home today you'll see the car your brother sold last year in Edmonton and what's it doing here? If you slow down when you pass the school you'll hear little girls singing the same skipping songs you sang once upon a time. But first you have to get that look off your face and let your eyes roam free.

When Judy stepped out of her hotel she sniffed the air and smiled to no one in particular but Artie Mason was testing the new video camera his wife gave him for his birthday and set his sights on the most pleasant thing he's seen yet. When Judy attacked the man with the kids Artie kept right on filming.

He brings his tape to the local television station. They show it on the six o'clock news, further proof that the young people today are totally out of control, but Opal Freeman sees it and calls her friend Jenny Watson up north who has been trying to find her babies for six months.

The cops can't understand why the man with the children doesn't want to press charges and go to see him. When he doesn't answer his door and they hear small crying they break in. The sight of those two little ones dirty and hungry and bruised is enough to make young officer Carter quit the force and take up truck driving.

By the time Jenny Watson's bus arrives her babies are safe and sound and Judy is some kind of hero. And in the flurry of radio interviews and television appearances that naturally follow, everyone forgets that she is a runaway and she never is sent back to where she came from.

And Simon Grace of the Simon Grace Model Agency doesn't have to fire any of his staff for their apparent lack of
imagination when three of them independently decide that Judyhas the next fabulous face, showing up one after another during her most recent talk show appearance and hauling her off to meet the great Simon. All she does is sniff the air and smile. He signs her up on the spot and sets about making her over. Takes the rings out of her ears and nose and eyebrows. Dyes her hair and dresses her up. Teaches her how to walk and declares her beautiful. Puts her on parade. And all of the other pretty girls have to learn not to pout so hard at the camera and work on smiling though they never quite get that look in their eyes that Judy has, that magic fox thing that lurks way back and takes you off guard. Makes you look twice and then again.

Joanie Harris finishes her chores for the day. Puts on her flannelette nightgown and washes her panties. The children are asleep and John is away. A business trip to Montreal. She sits at the kitchen table and drinks tea. She would love a glass of wine but John keeps it locked in a cabinet and has taken the key with him. Harvey comes down from the attic. Stares at her a minute before going to the back door. Whimpers to be let out.

“Oh dog. I wish you would stay.” She goes to the basement. Returns with a rope that she fastens around Harvey's neck to keep him from leaving. Puts on her old boots and coat. Takes him outside to do what he has to do. The rope reminds Harvey of Howard James and he balks on the stairs. Pulls back. But more interesting than his sad doggy memories is the sight of dear Eve who used to give him snacks from her plate and rub his head whenever he went to her room. He leaps away from Joanie, rope and all. And Eve is just as happy to see Harvey. Bends to pet him and stroke his silken ears. Joanie asks, less bravely than she had hoped, “What are you doing here? This is private property, you
know.”