Black Feathers (4 page)

“Over there,” Skylark said, pointing with the soup bowl at a spot along the wall. “Come on.”

They threaded through the loose crowd. As Skylark greeted people she knew, Cassie kept her eyes down, not quite staring at the ground, but not looking around.

“And here,” Skylark said, setting her knapsack onto the ground by the wall, “we shall stake our claim.” A couple of people sitting nearby smiled and slid over a little, widening the space a bit.

“Sit, sit,” Skylark said, gesturing.

Cassie set her backpack carefully on the ground, then lowered herself beside it, leaning against the brick wall.

Every part of her ached. It was like being crushed and twisted, minute by minute. The weariness was a physical weight—she was buckling under it with every step. Sitting down should have been a relief, but it was almost worse: every joint screamed, every muscle throbbed.

Now that she was sitting, Cassie worried that she might not be able to get up.

And it was only going to get colder.

Skylark folded herself effortlessly from standing to sitting with her legs crossed, facing Cassie, smiling.

Why was she always smiling?

Cassie realized that she didn’t know anything about this girl; she just knew that she was different somehow. Not like most people she had met on the streets. Not like those guys at McDonald’s. Or the ones at the shelter.

Cassie glanced around the crowded breezeway, suddenly alert to everyone surrounding her. She had let herself relax: She couldn’t do that. She needed to keep aware. She needed to keep safe.

“Who are you looking for?” Skylark asked.

“No one,” Cassie said, too quickly.

Skylark didn’t say anything, just passed her the soup and
handed her a plastic spoon. A silver ring glinted on her finger, a cat’s head with green stones for the eyes.

Cassie cradled the warmth close to her. The soup was thick and rich, with chunks of vegetables and lots of barley.

She took three hurried spoonfuls, then extended the bowl back to Skylark.

Skylark took a deliberate bite from her bagel and waved the bowl away. “Have some more,” she said, her mouth full.

Cassie forced herself to slow down; she could have emptied the whole bowl without even thinking about it.

“So, are they from a church or—” She looked at the van.

“Sort of,” Skylark said, tearing another chunk off her bagel. “I think a church runs the shelter. They make food in the kitchen, bring it out in the van. Breakfast and dinner. I think most of the people working used to be on the street. Now they get training, a place to sleep.”

Cassie shook her head.

“What?”

“I don’t like shelters.” She took another spoonful, like it might prevent her from saying anything else.

Skylark nodded. “Okay,” she said. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to talk about it.”

Cassie felt her relief as a softening in her chest, a loosening of her spine.

“Thank you,” she said, looking down into the soup.

“Our stories are our own,” Skylark said. “Like our names.” She grinned when Cassie passed her the bowl, now more than half-empty. “That’s what Brother Paul says.” Her eyes took on a wide, glistening look when she said his name.

Cassie took a bite from her own bagel. It was warm, and the butter coated her fingers. “So, Brother Paul …”

Skylark looked around the breezeway. “That’s him,” she said finally, pointing to the far corner where a man in a long coat was talking with a small group of people. He didn’t seem like much to Cassie—not tall, not fat, nothing special about him at all—but as he spoke to one woman, her eyes took on the same faraway look that Skylark had shown. And when he touched the woman on the shoulder, she looked like it was all she could do not to burst into tears.

Cassie turned back, about to speak.

“Come on,” Skylark said, bursting to her feet.

“What?”

But Skylark wasn’t the only one in motion. All around the sheltered space, people were standing up, shifting to sit in a large, rough circle in the middle of the breezeway, leaving spaces for the pillars that held up the roof. People smiled and greeted one another as they sat down.

Outside the circle, Brother Paul was crouched, talking to an older woman next to one of the pillars. She bowed her head as he spoke, clutched his hand when he reached to touch her shoulder.

Cassie ended up sitting between Skylark and a young man about her age. His hair was long, and his wispy beard made him look a bit like the pictures of Jesus in the storybooks at Sunday school.

They glanced at each other, but they didn’t say anything.

Cassie was about to ask Skylark what was going on, but a silence fell over the group before she could speak.

“Happy evening, brothers and sisters,” Brother Paul said, stepping into the middle of the circle.

“Happy evening, Brother Paul,” the group answered back.

“We’ve all eaten, I hope,” he said, and there was a scattering
of responses. “I’d like you to join me in a short offering of thanks.”

Brother Paul closed his eyes and held his arms at his sides as he spoke. Cassie glanced around the circle as everyone else followed suit, closing their eyes and bowing their heads.

“Mother Earth,” he started, his voice low and echoing in the silence and concrete. “We wish to thank you for the blessings you have graced us with and the people who have come along with them, the sun, the earth, the sky and the sea. We wish to thank you for these blessings and this small place on this earth to call our own. Thank you, Mother. Blessed be.”

“Blessed be,” the people repeated, and Cassie found herself moving her lips.

As the people around her opened their eyes and raised their heads, the air seemed different somehow: Quieter. Gentler. Warmer.

“Thank you, brothers and sisters,” Brother Paul said. His voice had changed too, softened. “Our blessings are truly rich, even as we struggle for a small handful of coins. We join together”—he paused, turning to look around the group—“as a true community, brothers and sisters of the street, brought together to build a better future, not just for ourselves, but for the world around us.”

He rocked slightly on his feet. “It brings me such joy to see all of you together here, after so long alone. To see all of you safe in this company, after lives of such danger.” He took a small step forward. “The Bible talks about salvation, of finding the path through Christ, a heaven that would take all comers. The sick. The lame. The poor. The hunted. But we have found that paradise together. We have built this community, this family, open to all.”

There were mutters of agreement around the circle. It felt like people had been moved to speak, to join their voices.

“I see a few new faces here tonight. First, I’d like to welcome you all.” Cassie glanced at Skylark, but the girl was completely focused on Brother Paul. “Perhaps we should go around the circle and introduce ourselves? There are no strangers here.”

Brother Paul turned slowly, looking around the entire circle. “Maybe we should start with—” He pointed at an older woman almost directly across the circle from Cassie.

The woman—heavy-set, with a fraying toque over a tangle of red hair—started slightly at the sudden attention. “I’m … I’m Sarah,” she said, faltering on her name. “I’m from all over, I guess. I came from Edmonton about a month ago. I wasn’t expecting it to be so chilly here. Chilly chilly beans.”

This drew a small laugh from the crowd and a muted chorus of “Welcome, Sarah.”

As it faded, the man next to Sarah—skeletally thin, with a long, wispy black moustache—spoke. “I’m Simon,” he said. His voice was low and breathy. “I’ve lived here all my life. My disability ran out …” His voice faded away to nothing.

“Welcome, Simon.”

They went around the circle, everyone saying their names, offering glimpses of their stories. Joni, who had lost her job due to PTSD after she was raped. Bill, an alcoholic, who had lost everything when he crashed his car. Stu, who had gone broke when the mill shut down.

Cassie was getting more and more anxious as the introductions got closer to her. What was she going to say? What could she say?

“I’m Ian,” said the boy next to her, clearing his throat nervously. “I’m from down East. My dad … I had to leave home
when I told my dad I was gay.” For a moment his voice was thick with sadness. “But I met this guy.” He leaned in affectionately into the boy sitting next to him. “And he makes the world an all-right place.”

As people oohed and sighed at the sentiment and welcomed him, Cassie felt everyone’s eyes shift to her. Everyone was staring, waiting.

“I’m Dorothy,” she said slowly, not making eye contact with anyone. “I grew up on the mainland. My family … I don’t have a family anymore.”

She stared hard down at the pavement. She didn’t hear the welcome. She didn’t even hear what Skylark said, or any of the people on her other side. Her face burned, and she breathed deeply:
in two three four, hold two three four, out two three four.

“Thank you, brothers and sisters,” Brother Paul said when everyone had finished speaking. “Thank you for joining me. Thank you for helping me make this place our place. Our home.”

From the inside pocket of his coat he drew out a battered black book, its spine raggedly bound with duct tape.

“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Brother Paul. In another life, I was ordained in the Catholic Church. I gave my life over to God, but he and I … stopped seeing eye to eye. Too much ritual, not enough action. Too much piety, not enough wonder.” He shook his head heavily, dramatically. “Thankfully, I had this.” He lifted the book high in his hand. “The true word. The true teachings.” He looked down at the cover of the book. “The people I worked alongside, my superiors at the Church, they said that I had lost my faith. That I had lost my way. They said—” He cut himself off, turned partway around. “They didn’t understand. They could no longer see the truth that was right in front of them.” He gestured
with the book again. “God doesn’t believe in earthly riches. He doesn’t believe in the Church. He believes in people. His children. And we are all his children.” He looked meaningfully around the circle. “God didn’t create money. Man created money, and those men, those men who have it, have been using it as a club to beat down everyone else ever since.”

A scattering of boos and hisses came from the circle, and Brother Paul shook his head, as if he couldn’t understand it himself. “It’s a measure of how far we have fallen, how corrupt our world has become. It’s all about money, all those buildings, all those people in suits, all those churches.” He sneered the word, stretched it out. “They have forgotten that this is our garden.” He spread his arms wide, as if to encompass the square, the block, the world. “And that we are all his children.”

Around the circle, people applauded.

“We may not have money. We may not have a roof over our heads or one of those fancy condos on the waterfront, but this is our home. This is our home. Anyone is welcome. Everyone is welcome. Living together, we are not poor: we are richer than we have ever been.”

This got a cheer that echoed out into the park.

“People, though …” He let his words hang in the air, and his eyes swept around the group. When he spoke again, it was with difficulty, as if what he was saying caused him a deep pain. “People don’t understand what that means. There are people who would see this community destroyed, stamped out, simply because it’s different, because it’s something they do not understand.” His voice had risen, not angrily, but defiantly. Then it fell. “We’re not going to give in to the forces of darkness, of ignorance. This is our place, as God intended. This
is our garden. This is our home. We will stand together, and we will protect one another. Alone, we are small, but together …” He smiled as cheers rose around him. “Together we are mighty.”

When Cassie realized she was cheering, she didn’t understand why.

The two girls returned to their spot near the City Hall wall. He watched as the one who shone the brighter laid out a tattered old comforter on the concrete, spreading it wide.

Wide enough for two.

The flame inside the second girl flared at the offer.

They sat together a while on the blanket, the nimbuses of their lights weaving as they talked. The second girl, Dorothy, was showing off her books, passing them to Skylark.

When they stood up to walk across the square together, he moved more deeply into the shadows.