Prairie Ostrich (12 page)

She grabs her rubber ball and crashes it into her dinky cars.

Boom boom bomb.

Lego smash.

History is a once upon a time. The bad wars were a long time ago. History is about things getting better so the horrible things are worth it, just like Newton's equal and opposites. That is why you must grin and bear it, why there is a great and Heavenly plan. Egg knows that God demands sacrifices but at least Anne Frank is alive. If one good thing survives, then it is worth it. That one good thing she can hold onto.

She jumps on the bed again, and swings back her arm, like Albert taught her for the killer pitch. Albert's curve ball, the secret in the finger split. Egg remembers his photograph in
The Bittercreek Bulletin
, as the Bittercreek Athlete of the Year, with Douglas Fisken sulking beside him.

Yes, Egg thinks. Now she knows where to go.

…

With the magnifying glass in her back pocket, Egg scoots down to the vertical drawers of the school library where the newspapers hang through the bars.
The Bittercreek Bulletin
is a four-page weekly that Mrs. Heap from Heap's Hardware churns out (weather, cattle, and canola) but bigger news usually goes to the
Calgary Herald
. The hanging sheets are too recent so Egg roots under the shelf for the stacks.

She finds the date:

Calgary Herald

May 26, 1974

Tragic Accident Claims Two in Crash

Two residents of the town of Bittercreek, Alberta, were killed when their vehicles collided with a Canadian Pacific train late Saturday evening. Another occupant of the colliding trucks was taken to hospital with non-life threatening injuries.

Thomas Earle Granger, 54, of Bittercreek, Alberta, and Albert Henry Murakami, also of Bittercreek, were both killed when their trucks were struck at the rail crossing by the Langhorn Trestle Bridge.

Police report that the trestle bridge has not been damaged. CP spokesman Ronald Greschuk says there are no injuries of the CP crew.

Mr. Greschuk says a full investigation into the cause of the crash is under way, although an initial review has determined that all the CP systems were functioning as intended.

Shock rippled throughout the small community as news of the deaths were announced. Thomas Granger was an upstanding resident of the Bittercreek community, son of Louis Granger who established the new Bittercreek United Church on Main.

Prominent resident Harold Fisken commented, “It's a very unfortunate event. Our thoughts and prayers are with the families.”

Alcohol has been ruled out as a factor in this tragedy.

Egg gasps. Albert was not alone by the trestle bridge. Evangeline's father was also in the accident. Two trucks struck at the rail. How did that happen? Is this why no one came to Albert's funeral? Was the accident his fault?

Egg looks around her to see if the coast is clear. With one firm tug, she rips the article from the page and stuffs it into her pocket. Evidence, she thinks. But for what, she does not yet know.

…

In church, Reverend Samuels went over the Ten Commandments and Egg is pretty sure Thou Shalt Not Take the Lord's Name in Vain was up there. But she also heard Mr. Geary swear “Goddamnit” when he smashed his fingers. The whole school heard. It was on the PA system. And then there was a string of words that she can't even remember.

From the pulpit Reverend Samuels crows about how prayer is the answer. Beside Egg, in the last pew, Kathy folds her hands and whispers, “Dear God: about this war business. Not the greatest invention.” And, “Famine. Your point is?” Egg is scared when Kathy says, “Earthquakes. Not the best way to rearrange the furniture.”

Kathy is going to burn in Hell.

Egg knows it's bad to steal but Mrs. MacDonnell has a whole bowl of itty bitty plastic Jesuses in her drawer at Sunday school. Egg scoops them out when Mrs. MacDonnell is not looking. It's not that she's stealing. She's just borrowing them to save Kathy's soul. She'll put them in Kathy's lunch bag and under her pillow. Kathy can't find them all, Egg figures, so maybe one of them will stick. Kathy needs all the help she can get. And God is there to help, isn't He?

All her life, Egg has heard about the three-in-one God, the everything, all-you-can-eat God. God is Great. God is Good. Mrs. MacDonnell says you can see God in a beautiful flower. A flower's a flower. Egg thinks, shouldn't you see God in all flowers and not just the pretty ones? Mrs. MacDonnell says not all prayers get answered and that's just God's Way and then Egg wonders, what is the point? Does it mean there are some Commandments we can skip?

God is vengeance, God is love. Kathy says God has a multiple personality disorder. Egg is still looking that up in the dictionary.

As she gazes over the congregation, she can see that all of Bittercreek is here, even Mrs. Biddle from Four Corners who uses her cane to smash ankles and plough through crowds like Moses parting the Red Sea. Mrs. Biddle, who prays for the Apocalypse, for God's Cleansing Wrath. Egg shivers, thinking about the Ouiji board. Egg saw a picture of the frozen people of Pompeii in her
Young Reader's Guide to Science
. They were turned to stone, like Lot's wife. Did they look back? And what did they see? And then she thinks, what kind of God would do that?

She feels a sudden thrill of fear and wonders, maybe she is the one who is cursed. Maybe she is the one who is going to Hell.

Surrounded by heralding angels in Sunday school, by Jesus healing the Leapers, Egg thinks of all her sins. The mints from the drawer. The coins she pinches from her Mama's purse. All the lies she tells Papa. She thinks of Kuldeep, of a wrong wrong wrong she doesn't have a name for. She thinks of how she makes Mama sad, how she makes Kathy tired. She is useless. She is selfish. Egg slips her hand into her pocket, her fingers curling around the crumbled page, rubbing the rough sheet torn from the
Calgary Herald
. Now she is a vandal and a thief. Egg raises her hand and asks Mrs. MacDonnell, “If you do one thing bad, one thing, does it rub out all the good things you've done in your life?”

Egg has heard Mrs. MacDonnell say that to teach is a holy calling. Mrs. MacDonnell looks thoughtful. She takes out her handkerchief, white as dead lilies, and lays it on the table. “I'll leave it up to you to decide,” she says and she raises her fountain pen and flicks it at the immaculate cloth. Black ink splatters the white. Droplets that stain and grow.

Mrs. MacDonnell holds up the handkerchief with the tips of her fingers. “What do you think? Wouldn't you say it's ruined?”

Egg looks at the blotted cloth. She says nothing but a part of her shrivels. Egg can feel the poison in what Mrs. MacDonnell has done, she can feel the mean and the ugly and she takes it inside her. Egg's soul is tainted, the inky blots growing. It's all there in front of her, there in black and white. White is good, white is holy, that's what Mrs. MacDonnell is saying. Egg thinks of Kathy, and her mother, her father, and Albert. Albert must be burning. When you fall, you burn.

Egg puts up her hand. She has to pee but instead of ducking into the washroom, she sneaks up the stairs. She can hear Reverend Samuels preaching his sermon through the thick oak doors of the vestibule. His words aren't clear but she can tell his voice is booming.

Egg turns towards the nave. The mural above the doors is of Isaac bound at the altar, Abraham's hand stayed by the angel. It's always spooky, that mural, like a test that no one can win.

The doors swing open and Raymond charges through, followed by Reverend Samuels's taunting to “Remember Romans and Leviticus! Let not the judgment of Sodom and Gomorrah be upon us!” The oak doors swing closed and Egg can see Raymond's face, his tears as he runs down the stairs and out the entrance of the church. It happens so fast, Egg doesn't know what to do. She wants to call out, Hey, Raymond, are you all right? Are you okay? But she doesn't.

Egg walks to the door and catches it before it closes. With one push she can see that the clouds have come in low and grey. Raymond weaves through the parking lot, stopping, finally, at his car door. A thin-shouldered boy with a mop of dark hair. She thinks he must be crying. Reverend Samuels's bark echoes harshly behind her. Bad, she feels it in her bones. Bad, like Martin Fisken's knuckle sandwich, like Glenda Wharton's pinches, the nail-crescent marks deep and bloody.

Egg doesn't understand. Raymond with his penguin dance, who tried to make her feel better. She looks up at the oak doors of the vestibule. No. This is wrong. But wrong against God means she is the Devil.

…

Later, in the afternoon, Egg rides out to the trestle bridge on her banana-seat bike, her hockey cards clicking through her spokes faster than a snake's rattle. She puts Evel on the railway tracks. She can feel the rumble through the steel and earth. The train is coming. Standing back, she waits as the engine approaches, the shrieking whistle that sets her teeth on edge, the quake all around as if the train were bursting through the air, rending the fabric of space, and Evel, on the track — she can't even hear the crack of plastic as the wheels roll over him.

The train thunders on, its speed deceptive, like some kind of lumbering beast. Egg crouches. She could almost touch it. Almost. She wonders at the momentum, such relentlessness. As the rumble in her blood drains away, the wind falls.
Chu-ga chug-ga
, the click-clack echoes across the plain.

Evel Knievel, split right in half.

She blinks back the dust in her eyes, her throat dry. Smoted, she thinks. Just like in the Bible.

Yes, she thinks. For Albert. Let the bad be over.

December

Christmas is coming, all the school a-carolling, Joy to the World, and Mr. Geary staggers from his office, reeking of liquor and Old Spice. He crashes into the lockers and everyone looks away. Because everyone knows, like the shiner Mrs. Ayslin sports after Christmas. She wears long sleeves throughout the year and no one ever says anything. Mama runs around the house with tinsel and bits of red and green, hauling out the tree from the attic and in the end she falls into the armchair with a glass of whiskey in her hand and a candy cane hooked over the rim. Everyone so fiercely, frantically jolly, Peace on Earth and Goodwill Towards Men. Egg wonders about the women, though, as Mrs. Ayslin wears sunglasses in the dead of winter. Mrs. MacDonnell says when you say men, you mean men and women but Egg is not so sure.

It is the last day before Christmas vacation and Egg wants to retrieve her Callard's candy tin (fruit drops), stuffed with buttons she has found, and pins, a hockey card of Bobby Orr creased at the edges, all stashed behind
William Shakespeare, The Complete Works
. No one takes
The Complete Works
, it is way too heavy. It is late in the day so she must be cautious and the library will be closing early because of the Christmas pageant. Egg tries ducking under the counter but Miss Granger is too quick for her.

“Egg?”

Miss Granger has big eyes like the ostriches and pretty pretty lashes, only ostriches don't hide their heads in the sand. That is just a myth. When Egg looks up, Evangeline Granger's eyes go wide like she sees something, but then it's gone. She holds out a present, wrapped with a golden ribbon that bounces with curls. “Here you go, Egg. Merry Christmas.”

Egg is surprised. She can only squeak out her thanks. She feels suddenly shy and flustered because she does not have a present for Evangeline.

Miss Granger smiles. “You can open it now, if you want to.”

Egg pulls away the wrapping and holds a Thesaurus in her hands. It says in gold letters. It's a grown-up book, a hardcover.

“I've seen you with the dictionaries. I thought you might like a change. Do you know what that is?”

Egg opens the book. “It's a kind of dictionary for words that are extinct.”

“Not quite.” Miss Granger smiles, an odd twitch. Her hand reaches out, strokes down Egg's ruffled hair. Her smile slips and she retreats into her gingham. “It's for synonyms, words that mean the same thing.”

“A whole book for that?”

“A whole book.”

Egg stands for a moment, one foot pressed on the other. She feels a strong urge to hug her but thinks that Miss Granger would not allow it. Grown-ups have their separate rules, a language all their own.

“When I'm big, I'm going be a writer,” Egg blurts, an offering of sorts.

“When you're big,” Evangeline smiles, “but you can start small.”

“I want to start when no one can tell me what to do.” Her secret out, she bounces on her toes.

Evangeline smiles. “Good luck then.”

Egg shuffles off, book in hand. At the door she pauses. “I'm going be a writer, just like Anne Frank.”

Her face, Egg can't read her face. It's like Evangeline's smile has melted, like Egg has said something wrong. Egg wants to take it back but she doesn't know how to, she doesn't know what she has done. Egg closes the door behind her and in a moment she hears the buzz of the radio dial. Evangeline has her music, like Egg has her dictionary and there is no way they can talk to each other.

There is a boy in a plastic bubble. He lives there because he has no immunity. That means all the regular germs that float in the air can kill him, so he has to live inside some kind of barrier that the germs can't get into. It sounds sad because no one can hug him or touch him. Egg thinks that every one of us has a plastic bubble but it is invisible. We can't go inside each other; we don't know what someone else is thinking.

The boy in the plastic bubble is alone.

Egg stands in the hall, her hand on the door. She could go back into the library and say “Evangeline, I love you,” or ask “Evangeline, why are you so sad?” but she can't because she is too afraid. She doesn't know why she is afraid. She holds the Thesaurus in her hands but she doesn't have any answers. She thinks of the Moral of the Story, the brave knight battling the fierce dragon, the black and white of it. But real life is not like that. “Evangeline,” she wants to say. “Evangeline?” she wants to ask her, but Egg stands, mute; she does not even have the words.

…

The Christmas pageant trots out the star, the manger, and a plastic Jesus (a Baby Blue Eyes) and almost all of Bittercreek crams into the school gym as if it is the Second Coming. Long tables line the walls of the gym, with baked goods, holiday baskets, the church raffle — all jostling for attention. The hockey team's in their tinfoil (Roman soldiers), the angel choir in their robes (bedsheets), and Principal Crawley pulls at his thin mustache. Egg's on the scaffold and she can see the entire town, the McDougalls, the Stubblefields, the Kennedys, and Gustafssons. She is not a part of the pageant because Mrs. Syms hand picks the angels and she is not among the chosen. On stage, the papier mâché star swings precariously over the Baby Blue Eyes. Evangeline is holding the props in her hands, as Mrs. Ayslin corrals the Three Wise Men for their entrance.

Tonight will be
Uncle Vanya
, with Stacey Norman and Jonathan Heap. Every year Mr. Parkinson stages
Our Town
for the Christmas play but since he ploughed his car into the stockyard, a Pabst Blue Ribbon bottle jammed beneath his brake pedal, Miss Chapman has stepped in with the Russians. Miss Chapman is swigging Mrs. Crawley's fresh eggnog, so innocent in a tiny Dixie cup. Mrs. Crawley is never skimpy when it comes to the rum, her flask tucked in her purse. Mrs. Crawley is the wife of Principal Crawley, and even if her table is beside Reverend Samuels and the Bittercreek United Church she can do whatever she pleases.

Mrs. Biddles has a stack of Dixie cups in her hand. Egg takes note of this and thinks maybe it is best that Mama couldn't come. Rum is not her drink anyway.

Egg sees Miss — no,
Ms
. Chapman — by the door, her arms crossed, behind a cloud of smoke. Ms. Chapman's cigarette glows, like an all-seeing eye. Egg doesn't know what to make of Ms. Chapman. Ms. Chapman has come from Outside Bittercreek. Surely things must be done differently there. But Ms. Chapman saw Martin Fisken push little Jimmy Simpson from the swing set and she didn't even give him a glare. Didn't that say something about right and wrong? Egg thinks of all the bad things in the world. Maybe God is like that — a lunch monitor who doesn't really care.

From her perch on the scaffold, Egg can see Kathy and Stacey below her, by the girls' basketball table. They lean together, their foreheads almost touching. Egg scoots down and slips behind the curtain. It's not spying if you are just there, hiding from the bully gang. It's not spying if people talk so loud you can't help but hear.

Kathy groans. “It's like that
Twilight Zone
where the kid holds the entire town hostage and no one can get out.”

“No, no, no. We're the one where everyone else is pig-ugly and no one understands that we're the beautiful people.”

“We're still stuck until the end of the year.”

Stacey lights up. “Then Paris. Or New York. Or —”

“Coal River. Or Calgary.”

“We'll get out of here, Kathy. The scout from the east, maybe even a basketball scholarship — remember what Coach Wagner said.”

Egg's ears prick up. What could they mean? Kathy leaving? But Mama and Papa…Egg feels like someone is standing on her chest.

Egg peeps out between the curtains. Stacey's hand is on Kathy's shoulder.

As she gazes across the auditorium, Egg catches sight of Pet Stinton and the townie gang by the edge of the assembly. Pet is staring at Kathy but Kathy doesn't see. Kathy and Stacey stand close, too close, and if Egg can see this, so can Pet Stinton. Kathy is not careful. Kathy is never careful.

Egg pops between Kathy and Stacey. “Martin's after me!” she cries, and she tells herself this is only half a lie. Martin is always after her. It's not like crying wolf at all.

Kathy looks around, bristling, as Stacey's arm slides around Egg. “Then you stay with us. You'll be safe.” Egg catches the scent of Stacey's Love's Baby Soft.

With relief, Egg sees that Pet Stinton has turned her attention to the stage, to the Shepherd who has knocked over the Baby Jesus cradle and conked Mother Mary on her head with his curly staff.

For the rest of the pageant, the angels sing off-key, heralding the coming Kingdom as the papier mâché Bethlehem star crashes onto the stage. Mr. Jolean conducts his motley orchestra, his arms frantically windmilling in a desperate attempt to keep the chaos at bay, but Egg's thoughts are elsewhere. The scholarship, the end of high school for Kathy. And Stacey. The thought comes unbidden to her, of Reverend Samuels's last sermon, his fists slamming on the pulpit, quoting Leviticus and Romans. When Egg went into Gustafsson's for Kathy's Christmas surprise, she heard Mrs. Gustafsson say that Raymond was chased out of Bittercreek by Douglas Fisken and his gang.

The curtain falls and the lights come up to a collective sigh. Stacey must make her way backstage to the dressing rooms for her
Uncle Vanya
, where Kathy will be helping with the pulleys and winches. Egg watches Kathy follow Stacey to the stage. Stacey is pretty and kind, her shoes come all the way from Toronto from the Eaton's catalogue. Egg knows that Stacey is taking her sister away, away from her family, away from Bittercreek. She wants to call Kathy back but as she opens her mouth, she sees Martin Fisken by the edge of the steps. Egg tucks in her shoulders and runs — behind the stacked chairs, behind the pageant sign, down the long hallway, rushing past Miss Granger and Mrs. Ayslin who whisper by the fountain. A panic stitch digs into her side. Everything is changing too fast.

Egg rushes to the heavy outside doors, the big heave against her chest and her wince at the slap of air as they slam solidly behind her. The Chinook wind is warm against her face and she can see the arc of clouds above the horizon, the bare concrete and the balding patches of snow on the distant green.

The trees that line the street, so naked, claw at the sky.

Egg takes a deep breath.

The sky is big today. Sometimes Egg can feel it, the curly clouds and the wind, like something tugging at her, the push and pull of currents, something so big that can swallow her up, swallow her like she was nothing at all. Sometimes she can see it, chasing streaks across the sky. With a sky like this she can't help but want to spread her wings and fly.

She tries to think of how the world must look from Heaven, all blue and shiny, perfect even. From Heaven everything must seem just right, swirling clouds and green rainforests and sandy deserts all balanced together. But up close you see the ugly. Up close is where she lives.

Egg hears a metallic rattle from the edge of the schoolyard, like the scrape of an empty pop can when she crushes it on her heel, the drag against the hard pavement. The baseball diamond is empty; there is only the rustle of leaves caught in the mesh. But — Egg cocks her head. The echoey
tin tin rattle rattle
raises the hair on the back of her neck. Egg turns but they've already got her, two Mary-Margarets, one on each arm, and Chuckie grabs the scruff of Egg's neck. Her glasses are knocked askew. Her hand goes up to catch them but it is too late, she's lost them now. Her Mama will be so disappointed! Chuckie laughs, his breath smelling of sour peanut butter. Egg hates peanut butter. But that metallic rattle creeps up her spine. The sound unnerves her. What could it be?

Martin Fisken rolls the garbage can towards her. His grin is wide like the cat in that spooky story
Alice in Wonderland
. Martin does not even quicken his pace; he just casually kicks the dented can towards her. Egg twists. She tries to run but they've got her, her feet barely touch the ground. They toss her into the can, headfirst, thud against the bottom, a sharp pain on her head, like her brain splitting open, and then the world starts rolling.

Tumbling, her stomach heaves, the sky turning over, the grind of concrete and metal so loud,
bang bang bang
as they smack the tin, the sound booming inside her ears, from the back of her eyes, inside her brain. Her head hits the can, her hands scraping the metallic sides for some kind of hold. And the smell — that wet, sweet smell, so rotten — she feels that lurch in her stomach, that bitter acid burn in her throat.

“Egg?”

Kathy's voice, her arms reach out, she lifts Egg, holds her. Egg clings to her through a wave of dizziness, eyes spinning, clutch in her belly, clings to her as if she is the only solid thing in the whole entire universe, as Kathy gently picks the trash from Egg's hair, and wipes away the filth.