Liar (3 page)

China and Sam were duly married on June 1
^st
in Sarah’s back yard by a Unitarian Minister. Sam’s mother, Anita, attended and China decided she liked her a lot. She was very charming and still retained signs of her youthful beauty. Sam was obviously the apple of her eye but he seemed to be very awkward around her.

China’s mother and father couldn’t attend as her mother was recovering from hip replacement surgery, so China gave herself away. A friend of Sarah’s played the wedding march on his violin and when the wedding party was gathered and waiting, Tina and Jane walked sedately across the patio followed by China, who looked ravishing in pale gold peau de soie. She had eyes only for Sam who waited tall and handsome and fiercely impatient at the bower of beautiful flowers that Sarah and Jane had fashioned out of white lilies, daisies and pink carnations.

Tina looked like a little doll in a violet dress with a white lace collar that made her caramel skin glow like a candle. She took her role of flower girl a bit too seriously and insisted on holding China’s hand throughout the ceremony and only let go reluctantly when Sam had to place the ring on China’s finger. Jane’s big brown eyes were full of tears when China handed her the bouquet of flowers and China had to blink to hold back her own tears. Jane was dressed in a sophisticated sheath, the same violet shade as Tina’s. Her long dark hair curled softly around her beautiful face and China wished that her daughter was getting married instead of her. She deserved so much and had so little and for a moment China felt terribly guilty for abandoning her and Tina in order to follow Sam. Then she turned to Sam, promised to love him forever and raised her lips to his.

~ ~

China opened her journal to record the beginnings of married life with Sam. It was the first time she had a moment to herself since the wedding.

June 3/96

We’re in a hotel in Thunder Bay. The view from the window is incredible and Thunder Bay is aptly named. In honour of my honeymoon, the sky turned dark and the thunder and lightning show is a dramatic feast for my lonely eyes. Is there any place lonelier than a hotel room?

Our stuff is being shipped to Grimshaw Island. Sam said the house we rented is really big and only two years old. The owner is living in Halifax while her daughter finishes high school there. His cousin Bear has the key and will supervise the unloading of the truck. It’ll be fun to open all the boxes and set up our new home. Sam wanted me to sell my furniture but there were a few pieces I refused to part with, so I decided it was just as well to send the lot. Sam sold his stuff to Larry and we’ll take a trip to Halifax to buy what we need later.

Sam and Larry are downstairs in the restaurant alternately flattering and intimidating a pretty, power-suited client. Sam with his energy and sexuality and Larry with his pomposity and prissiness. One of them at a time is bad enough. The two of them together must be a truly gothic experience when they both have their headlights on.

China shut her journal and went for a walk. She felt restless and rootless and was anxious to start her new home. She walked unfamiliar streets and looked at the strangers who belonged. She walked faster needing the exercise and the wind in her hair but after a half hour she returned to the hotel hoping that Sam would be hers again.

Meanwhile Sam had finished his meeting and returned to find the hotel room devoid of China. He saw her journal on the bed and idly flipped through the pages. He stopped at a poem that soon had him aroused.

Eagle

If you were here I’d devour you,

strip your bones, fuck you,

make you beg for gentle and then

I’d turn and melt you, form you,

take you in my arms

and stroke your feathers,

press my lips to your wounds,

heal you with my tongue...

Sam heard the key in the door, looked up and saw China staring at him in horror. He quickly shut her journal.

“Sam, were you reading my journal?” asked China with a horrified voice.

“I just got here. I didn’t read anything. I didn’t know what it was,” lied Sam weakly.

“You know bloody well that’s my journal!”

“Well, you shouldn’t leave it lying around if you don’t want me to read it. Maybe you have a secret desire for me to read it,” said Sam with a little grin.

“That’s bullshit! I usually put it away. I just forgot. Don’t you ever read it again! It’s private, and I’m appalled that you don’t know that.”

“All right, all right. I won’t read it again.”

China grabbed her journal and headed for the bathroom.

“I’m taking a shower,” she stated angrily.

Christ almighty,
she thought,
I’d better keep this thing under lock and key. I guess it is rather tempting, but that doesn’t excuse Sam’s behaviour.

Sam watched China disappear into the bathroom in a huff.
Why does she scribble all the time? If she’s got so much to say, why doesn’t she just talk about it? It’s really weird. What’s so great about describing a hotel room, or writing a poem? Why is it such a secret? She writes some pretty erotic stuff. Now that’s one side of China I do know about,
thought Sam as he undressed. He stretched out naked on top of the bed, turned on the TV and stroked his penis, waiting for China to come out of the bathroom all moist and warm and willing.
She’ll forget her anger when she sees what I’ve got for her,
thought Sam, smiling smugly.

~ ~

China wondered if anyone else had ever had a honeymoon with two lawyers.

June 11/96

We’re now in a quaint motel on Manitoulin Island while Sam and Larry finish up a land claim battle. Grimshaw Island next stop. I’m looking forward to starting life with Sam, without Larry. This cabin is a bit too cozy because Larry is without a wife and I'm a wee bit tired of playing housewife to two men. One is quite enough. Yesterday Larry went to his cabin for lunch and said he'd be back in half an hour. So we raced upstairs for a quickie. Five minutes later Larry was back. A little too quick for us.

It's miserably cold and raining today. I look at the rumpled sheets and wish my man was rumpling me. The warriors are going to be working day and night (some honeymoon!) and Larry decided it was best to move the office to his cabin even though it’s smaller. I don’t think Larry believes Sam will get much work done in our cabin.

I am quiet

midst the thunder of men

knowing full well

they wouldn't be the same

for me;

I am not as quiet

as I seem

My thoughts are thunderous,

as I ignore their need

to not hear me.

Poor Sam, he seriously needs a secretary but can't yet afford one. I wisely refused when he offered me the part-time job. I can't be a wife and a secretary to the same man. It’s just too much responsibility for one woman.

China lay on the bed and listened while Sam instructed her on how to budget using the accounting system in his computer.

“Sweetie,” said Sam, “just record all the transactions in the computer. It’s simple.”

“Sweetie,” said China patiently, “I don’t see the sense in having to get home, turn on a computer and spend half an hour fiddling when I can write my transactions in my record book in my wallet in five seconds, and it is eminently portable. I've kept accurate accounts for years and have only bounced three cheques in my lifetime, and then I knew they were going to bounce.”

“That might work for you but it won’t work for us.”

“You mean it won’t work for you,” said China. “Look, how about a little compromise? If you promise to keep all your receipts neatly organized instead of strewn about on every surface, window ledge, and tucked into every pocket and orifice you own, I’ll keep the household accounts in the computer with my own system as backup. By the way, how are you going to keep track of the business accounts when you’re on the road?”

“I’ll get a laptop,” said Sam.

Right,
thought China
, he'll need a tank to carry around all his equipment. A laptop indeed. A lollipop would be more effective.

“Sam, what if I don’t like Grimshaw Island?” asked China nervously.

“You will. It’s a lot like Newfoundland.”

“Yeah, but I left Newfoundland. I’m not saying I prefer big city life. I don’t. But maybe I should have taken a look at my future home.”

“You’re not having second thoughts are you? It’s a bit late for that.”

“No, Sam. I love you, but I just need to know that there’s a Plan B in case Plan A doesn’t work out.”

“Well, if you really don’t like it, we could eventually move to Halifax and spend summer on the island. A lot of people do that.”

“Really? That sounds like the best of everything.”

China was reassured that as long as she loved Sam and had Plan B in reserve on the reserve, all would be well. She kissed Sam and left him in front of the screen communing with his higher accounting self while she wrote a honeymoon poem.

June 12/96

Honeymoon

We fucked all night

ate breakfast, fucked again

ate lunch, were sore

so we went canoeing,

put the bed on the balcony,

fucked again, but were soothed

by the cool breeze

fanning our arses,

slept in the lovely fresh air

and guess what? Fucked again!

I'm tender and drinking tea,

He's working and drinking beer,

Now he's yelling at me

over the fucking budget;

I love being married.

~ ~

When China finally arrived on Grimshaw Island, she was thrilled with the endless beauty of the sandy beaches, thick forests and the sea, everywhere. The house they had rented was situated on a slight rise on the second road up from the beach. China would have been able to see the sea from the windows on the second floor if the trees behind the house hadn’t been so tall. She and Sam vowed that when they were ready to build, only a house on the beach road would be acceptable. What was the point in living on an island, surrounded by water, if you didn’t have a view of the water? There were still a few tracts of land available on the long inlet that protected the village from the dangerous Atlantic beyond. The Grimshaws literally rode the tide out of the inlet. They waited for the ebb tide to carry them easily out to the fishing grounds.

The white population, who used the name “Grimace Island” amongst themselves, lived semi-harmoniously with the Grimshaw Indians, but basically kept to themselves. Some were rugged individualists with misfit, or downright criminal backgrounds. Some were gentle hermits, leftover hippies, or artists, and some had recognized opportunities to start small service industries like gas stations, clothing stores, and restaurants. Of course right in the middle of the white part of town was the ubiquitous Chinese restaurant run by a hard-working family who smiled politely, served excellent food, kept strictly to themselves, and closed the restaurant for two months of every year to travel back to Hong Kong.

Sam had told China that Grimshaw Island was a lot like Newfoundland. She soon discovered that Sam had been a bit sweeping with that statement. Newfoundland was full of rocks, very little sand, stunted trees clinging to sparse topsoil and huge boulders left behind by ancient glaciers. Grimshaw Island, further to the south and protected by the land mass that was Nova Scotia, was gentler. It had fewer rocks, mostly wetlands, and long sandy beaches, but here too, they had the frequent rain and howling winds. China didn’t mind. She loved the rain and fog. She was closer to home, would have almost felt like being home, except that Newfoundland might as well have been on the other side of the world for all the time and money it took to get there.

It was cheaper and took less time to go to Europe. A six hour ferry ride to Sydney and an over-night stay. Then a fourteen hour, gut-lurching journey by ferry to Argentia. Or an eight hour ferry to Port-aux-Basques and a ten hour drive across the island to reach St. John’s, China’s birthplace. Even off-season, the best price by ferry and car, with an overnight stay in Sydney, or Halifax, was at least six hundred dollars. The same price by air. Three days of traveling by ground and sea. That’s if, and a big if, there was no fog, or surging seas, or hurricane winds, to delay departures and arrivals.

When Sam had first made the journey to meet China’s parents, China arrived in St. John’s from Toronto in five hours on a seat sale ticket of five hundred dollars. Sam left Grimshaw Island the same day and arrived in St. John’s four days later, and a thousand dollars poorer, and he also went by plane, from Halifax. Unfortunately the ferry run, or rather, crawl, from Grimshaw to Sydney took twice as long, due to a storm that forced them to turn back and wait it out for ten hours. Then, fog in Halifax grounded the plane overnight. Fog in St. John’s caused the plane to land in Gander and a four hour bus ride to St. John’s was the last addition to a horrendous journey.

Sam had considered taking the small seaplane that made the trip from Halifax to Grimshaw once a day, but high winds had canceled that escape for two days. There was also an airport that allowed small airplanes to land but so far only charter flights full of wealthy sports fisherman and Medivac planes used the runway. None of the bigger airlines were interested in providing regular service to such a small population. The latest fatality was a Medivac plane that had crash landed at sea, no survivors, on its final approach to the landing pad. The pilot, co-pilot, doctor and nurse all perished. The patient they were trying to rescue managed to survive, safe on Grimshaw soil.

~ ~

On Saturday, China waited until she thought Jane would be awake and called her.

“Good morning Mother,” said Jane sleepily.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, we’re just in bed snuggling.”

“Who are you snuggling with?”

“Tina, of course. No one believes me when I say I’m celibate.”

“Well, that could change overnight.”

“No. Not for a long time. Ever since you know who left to go you know where, I’ve become very fussy. I’m enjoying the quiet life, thank you very much.”

“Does Tina miss you know who?”

“She seems to be fine. Tina, wait a minute. Let me finish...”

“Hi China,” said Tina with her bright little voice.

“Hi my treasure,” cooed China. “What are you doing?”

“I got my own tap shoes. I don’t have to rent them anymore. Mommy bought them for me. Wait, I’ll get them.”

“Mom,” said Jane. “I’m allowed to talk to you until she comes back.”

“I’m assuming Daddy is prompt with the support payments?”

“Yes, at least I can count on him in some ways. Here’s Tina. I’m going to make breakfast. I’ll call you later.”

“Hi, Granma! Can you see my tap shoes?”

“Sure I can.”

“Okay then, what do they look like?”

“Ummmmm, shiny and black with silver taps.”

“Right! Can you hear me tapping?” puffed Tina.

“Not very well.”

“I’m putting the phone on the floor by my tap shoes.”

China laughed when she heard the clunk of the phone and a great clattering of noisy shoes.

When China hung up a half hour later, she wondered at the foolishness of men. How could Tina’s father have left her and her beautiful mother? So he wasn’t ready to be a father when Jane got pregnant. So what? Thank God Jane had been ready to be a mother and she’d done a fine job of raising Tina to a feisty, talented, five year old.

She wondered why her daughter seemed determined to follow her erratic footsteps. Jane was pregnant with Tina and unwed at the tender age of twenty-one. At seventeen China was pregnant with Jane and unwed. She had believed in her goodness and suddenly, she was wicked, a daughterly disappointment. Her body was exhilarated and knew for certain it wanted this child. Little electric tingles sparkled in all her cells. Her mind was appalled, and raced on a wheel of confusion, one moment ecstatic with promise, love and nesting, the next moment all was dark and forbidden.

China still remembered with vivid clarity the day she had stood at the top of the basement stairs and pictured herself thumping down, lying stunned at the bottom, a pool of blood heralding an abortion. She quickly discarded such a dumb idea. The baby would be safely cushioned in her gentle womb. Not so the dancer's legs, broken, probably paralyzed and there she'd be, both crippled and pregnant.

China had helped a lot Jane a lot with the raising of Tina but now she was out of the loop and fretted often about the distance between them. She pushed back the tears and got to work and cleaned the house from top to bottom and changed the sheets on the bed. She always did this when Sam left so that she could have a few days of clean harmony before he returned with his rude mess. She went to bed exhausted but couldn't sleep. She watched TV until she was suicidal and then went back to bed resigned to pillow dance until the morn. The best pillow dance she'd ever seen was Margie Gillis twisting around the stage wearing a short nightie and polka dot panties - sheer brilliance.

~ ~

China awoke at dawn, burning with purpose. Freshly painted walls, clean and intimidating stared at her. Her life a newly stretched canvas waiting for the brush. This house would be a home even though her only companion on Grimshaw Island was her husband, and he wasn’t there. She was an artist, her life anywhere, everywhere, conjured with tools and paints. Sam was not a fisherman living in a place where everyone fished. He was a businessman needing bustle and hustle. In order to survive on Grimshaw Island, he’d have to find a hobby, something other than China.

She looked out the window and the sight of the low lying fog threading through the tall trees brought a grin to China’s face.
Ahhh,
she thought,
it looks like home.
She grabbed her jacket, pulled on her hiking boots and walked happily to the beach, welcoming the fog of remembrance. In Newfoundland she had grown up with fog, knew the shape and shift of it, the soft caress of it on her skin. She removed her boots and socks and reveled in the cool crunch of the sand under her feet. Driftwood reared out of the fog and sand like ghostly friends rising to greet her. She saw a face in the fog, reached out and touched the hidden features in the bleached and sand-smoothed wood, and shivered with recognition. She would follow the hollows and curves of the wood to shape the face that stared at her from the driftwood. She would carve and smooth and then stain and burnish the face, leaving the surrounding wood and bark as a frame of flowing hair.

She dragged and pulled the large piece of driftwood further up the beach, then walked quickly home to get the car. When she returned to her waiting friend she pulled and pushed until the wood fell into the trunk of the car. She felt strangely guilty that she was somehow stealing something that didn’t belong to her. She finally managed to maneuver the driftwood into her shed and rubbed her aching back. She vowed she’d get Sam or some other hefty male to carry the driftwood from now on. China felt the need for some food and a coffee after her morning’s exertion. She grinned with satisfaction, felt the tingling in her hands, and left the shed happily aware that her afternoon would be filled with discovery.

Later that night China opened her journal and forced her aching fingers to record her tired thoughts.

July 20/96

My hand is so tired I can barely grip the pen. Had a great day of carving my new idea out of a beautiful piece of driftwood I found. I’m going to call my new series “Drifting Faces.” I had a bad night missing Tina and Jane. Missing Sam. But I’m proud that I managed to have a good, productive day.

Grimshaw Island is so beautiful, but very isolated. It feels like I’ve moved to another planet. Can we build a life here? We know too much for such a small town. True acceptance may take years. They're waiting to see if we'll fit in or leave, feeling too strange without our city boundaries.

We've been apart now for two weeks and we are aching from distance. I'm used to being alone and must be alone to survive, to work, but for him, being alone is not a good way to be. He can be absorbed, oblivious, even as I talk to him, but still, he wants me there. He listens with half an ear as I chatter, lecture, question, probe, philosophize.

I plan A

plan B

plan C

He nods quietly,

seeming to agree,

when all the while

he's thinking...

plan Z.

However, I'll persevere. It's not in my nature to give up easily. No doubt some of my words of wisdom sink in to avert total disaster. This boat will weather any storm. I'll organize and think ahead. He'll steer an erratic course and use brute strength and stubbornness to overcome. And love...lots and lots of love and laughter. And when we are becalmed, the winds of fate asleep, we'll curl and cocoon and dream together, secure on a mutual sea.

~ ~