Colette and the Silver Samovar (9 page)

I nodded.

“Your grandfather tells me you are staying with him and your grandmother right now. How do you like that?

I shrugged.

“It must be strange for you to meet your grandparents under these circumstances.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Your grandfather has told me that your grandmother is angry about what has happened to her daughter. She is having a difficult time accepting the situation.” He waited for me to speak, but I couldn't think of anything to say. All I knew was my grandmother seemed angrier at me than anyone.

“How are you and your grandmother getting along?”

“All right.”

My grandfather stirred in the seat beside me.

“Do you know what happened to your mother?” asked Dr. Maluk.

“She was hit by a car,” I said.

“Do you know what a coma is?” said Dr. Maluk.

“Kind of like a sleep,” I said.

“That's right. In your mother's case, she is asleep because she has had a brain injury. We are waiting to see how long she will sleep. She might wake up in a few days.”

I listened closely.

“And then again, she might stay asleep for a longer time,” Dr. Maluk said.

“Will she be all right?” I asked.

Dr. Maluk studied me very carefully. “We don't know, but we hope so.”

“Can I come to visit her?”

“Of course you can.” Dr. Maluk looked at my grandfather. “It's good for the patients to hear voices and have their family with them. We don't always know how much they hear, but it's usually most helpful. How do you feel about coming to visit, Colette?”

“I want to come every day!” I burst out. Inside, I wasn't so sure. The beeping machines and the strange expressions that flickered across my mother's face were scary.

“Are you sure?” Dr. Maluk asked.

“I think so,” I said. Tears sprang to my eyes. “It's just that she looks so different.”

“It's okay to have mixed-up feelings,” Dr. Maluk said. I liked his quiet voice.

“Why don't you start by coming a couple of times a week and see how that goes?” Dr. Maluk suggested. “We'll take very good care of your mother, and if anything changes, you'll be one of the first people we call. And if you ever want to talk about anything, just tell your grandfather, and he'll bring you to see me.”

My grandfather stood up and shook Dr. Maluk's hand. We walked back out into the corridor and along the white hallway toward my mother's room. Grandpapa asked me if I wanted to say goodbye. My grandmother had come back, and she glanced over her shoulder when we came in. My mother flinched as if she was having a bad dream.

Grandpapa said, “I am taking Colette back to the house, Emily.”

Grandmama nodded. “There's some stew in the fridge.” She got up and came to the door. “Did you talk with the doctor?” Her hair was flattened on one side as if she'd been sleeping with her head pressed against the chair.

“He thinks I should come to see my mother all the time,” I blurted out.

“Did he?” Grandmama looked at Grandpapa. “Well, let's see about that.” She smoothed down her skirt and turned back to the bed. “Don't stay up late, Colette,” she added. “We don't want you to get sick.”

Grandpapa was silent until we pulled into the driveway. Then he asked, “Are you hungry?”

“I guess,” I said.

The house smelled like cooking, and I followed my grandfather into the kitchen. Elena was dishing out the stew my grandmother had talked about. She put a bowl on the kitchen table.

“Thank you, Elena,” Grandpapa said. “It was good of you to stay.”

“Happy to do it,” she said. “Now eat.” She squeezed my shoulder as she put a glass of milk in front of me. “I'll be off now,” she said as she hung her apron in the closet.

Grandpapa sat down and stared tiredly at the wall. The giant clock over the stove ticked off the seconds. When I had eaten as much as I could, I asked if I could go to my room. He just nodded.

It was like living in a morgue. A morgue is a place where they take dead bodies. I know about morgues because my father used to tell my mother and me stories at the dinner table about taking people there in his taxi. In downtown Toronto, there are lots of accidents, and people need help going to the hospital or to the morgue. My mother used to tell my father that this was a grisly subject for the dinner table, but my father always said that dying was part of living and we shouldn't be afraid to talk about it. My mother would roll her eyes, and then we'd have another big discussion about the differences between what my father believed and what my mother believed. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I thought of my mother's face twitching in her hospital bedroom.

I decided I would go to visit my mother every day and talk and talk. I would tell her about Ethelberta Jarvis and how I had met Grandpapa and Grandmama. She would think it was funny, and she would want to tell me so many things that she would come back from the strange land she was in and everything would be all right.

I heard voices. Grandmama had come back from the hospital. I crept down the stairs. They had moved into the den. My grandmother was sipping tea from a china cup. She placed it into her saucer and drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair.

“She can't go back there, Richard. I won't have it,” she said.

My grandfather stared into the flickering flame in the fireplace. “I think it might be good for Alice, Emily.”

“No! I agreed you could take her there today, but that's the end of it. You can't subject our daughter to any more stress.”

“Dr. Maluk said it is helpful for coma patients to hear the voices of people they love.”

“Our daughter wouldn't want anyone to see her like that!”

“Emily, Emily. Colette is her daughter. She has a right.”

“She has no rights! She is a child, and she will do what we tell her. Look what happened to Alice. Did your permissive attitudes help her? No! You were the one who agreed to let her go to art school. You supported her crazy idea of working in that neighborhood where she was exposed to all those street people and foreigners! And then when she married that man, you refused to stop her! You always took her side against me. Now you are doing the same thing with Colette, and I won't stand for it, Richard! I won't stand for it, do you understand me?”

My grandfather ran his hands over his face and stared at the fire.

“So while she's in this house, she will do what I tell her to do, Richard,” my grandmother said. She leaned forward and stared at him until he looked away from the fire and into her eyes. “And I say she will not go back to that hospital. I will take care of Alice and make sure that she's getting all the stimulation she needs. I am her mother!”

“All right, Emily,” my grandfather said. His voice sounded so tired. “All right. You win.”

I backed away from the door. No, no, no! I had to go and visit my mother. But how was I going to get there if my grandfather wouldn't take me? I would find a way. I didn't care what Ethelberta had said about helping my grandmother. My mother needed me, and I would run away if I had to!

Chapter 12

The next morning my grandfather's car was gone, and there was a note on the kitchen table from my grandmother.
I am at the hospital, and will be back by 6:00.
Your grandfather had to go to his office this morning.
He will be home by this afternoon. Elena will look
after you. Do not leave the house.

Elena was washing dishes. After I read the note, she gave me a giant hug and then poured some cereal into a bowl.

“It will be okay,” she said as she patted my back. I sniffed.

“Eat,” Elena said. “I go change beds now.” She left the room.

The cereal tasted like straw, so I pushed the bowl aside. I started writing in my journal. I wrote about my grandmother and her cold heart and how my grandfather looked like a bent branch that couldn't grow straight anymore. I wrote about Elena's kindness and how Ethelberta was my only friend in my new world. I wrote that I was going to run away so that I could see my mother whenever I wanted.

Writing about Ethelberta made me think I'd better check on her just in case she needed anything before I left. I ran down the stairs, out the back door and across the wall, landing on Ethelberta Jarvis's back porch in what seemed like only two seconds. I let myself into her big empty kitchen. Amos was whimpering, and Ethelberta was trying to soothe him.

“Thank goodness you've come, Sprite,” said Ethelberta when she saw me. “Something seems to be wrong with Amos.”

“What's happened?” I asked as I knelt beside them.

“I think he's hurt his eye,” Ethelberta said. “Maybe he did it when we were in the ravine.” She pointed at Amos's right eye, which was swollen shut. “I do remember him pawing at it yesterday,” she said.

“Will he be all right?” I asked.

Ethelberta sniffed. “When I was a girl, I had a dog named Sullivan. One day he gouged his eye with a stick. We didn't realize it until it got infected. And Sullivan died,” said Ethelberta. Her voice wobbled. “I think Amos needs to go to the vet,” she said.

“I'll help you take him,” I said.

Ethelberta shook her head. “I can't move,” she said. She pointed at her swollen ankle. Amos pawed his eye and whimpered. He wedged himself under the stairs where no one could get at him. “I can't afford a vet for Amos,” Ethelberta whispered. “I guess I'll have to call my niece and her husband. Maybe I should stop fooling myself that I can keep living like this.” She looked around her almost-empty house.

“What if I take Amos to the vet, and then we can think about how to pay him?” I asked.

“I don't think they'll treat him unless they get paid, Sprite. That seems to be the way it works.”

Amos had helped me to not be afraid of dogs. He was gentle and had the softest tongue in the world. He was Ethelberta's only friend, except for me. I knew I couldn't let anything happen to him. I would just have to run away later.

“I have to go,” I told Ethelberta. “But I'll be right back, and I will help Amos.”

“Where are you going?” Ethelberta said. “I wouldn't want anything to happen to you. You must take care.”

“I will,” I said. As I ran back across Ethelberta's yard, I remembered the story of Bahram. He had given his last dirham to help an animal. I hoped my mother would understand if I was just a little late today. Then I thought, where would I find the money to pay Amos' doctor?

I looked around my grandparent's house. Inside a cabinet with glass windows, silver serving dishes glowed against the dark wood. I lifted a beautiful silver bowl. Would my grandparents even miss it? It wasn't really stealing if I was taking it to help someone else.

Was it?

Chapter 13

I looked around to see if Elena was anywhere nearby. I heard her vacuum running in another room at the far end of the hall, so I took a deep breath and moved a platter over to fill in the space left by the bowl. Then I ran upstairs to my room, wrapped the bowl in one of the red-and-white-striped towels from my bathroom and stuffed it into my backpack.

Ethelberta had told me that she had sold her furniture to an antique store on Yonge Street, so I knew I only needed to go three blocks. The heavy bowl banged against my back as I trudged through the gloomy streets. Rain pattered on the leaves above my head and, even though it was ten o'clock in the morning, the skies were dark.

When I reached Yonge Street, I spotted a shop with a sign that said Rosedale Antiques. There were beautiful old tea sets on silver trays, old-fashioned paintings framed in golden wood and giant china pots in the window. It seemed like a perfect place to sell the silver bowl. I put my hand out to open the door and stopped.

It wasn't right. Even when I had taken the bowl out of the cabinet, I knew it wasn't right. A lady came out of the shop, gave me a funny look, opened an umbrella and hurried away. A little dog barked, making me jump. I thought of Amos, whimpering under the stairs, his eye swollen shut.