The Waterproof Bible (21 page)

“Who wouldn’t?”

“But you’re lying to me.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. It was me who stole the cookies,” Rebecca said. “And I’ve been caught and I’m very frightened. It’s me who’s being punished; you get to choose first.”

“Maybe.”

“And I’ve never learned to speak because I’ve never had to. Everyone feels my feelings, so they already know what I want.”

“But not me.”

“No—I’m still broadcasting, you’re just not listening.”

“Well, I am five,” Heather said.

“I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re too preoccupied with your own feelings to have anything to do with mine.”

“Then why would I ask you which one you want?”

“Because you don’t know what you want. You’re not sure which cookie is better. You’ll want whichever one I want. And I’ve just figured that out.”

“So which one do you want?”

“Coconut.”

“So do I,” Heather said. She held up the chocolate chip cookie. Rebecca reached out, took it and began to eat it. Heather started eating the coconut cookie. Both were happy with their decision.

“See, that’s the thing, Rebecca,” Heather said, her mouth full of cookie. “The only reason you learned to talk was to lie. And this is where it all started, where you started trying to hide what you really feel. I can’t believe you’ve forgotten it. You gotta wonder about that.”

“Yes. It does feel important.”

Heather nodded. She turned and walked away, and in a dozen steps she was gone.

Rebecca looked down. She was standing in two inches of water, and the water was rising. Soon it was past her hips, up to her neck. Rebecca breathed in, her lungs filling with water. She shut her eyes as the water covered the top of her head.

Rebecca woke up coughing. She listened to the world around her, which felt much too still. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she looked at the clock. It was 9:00 a.m., but Rebecca did not realize it was Sunday, not Saturday, and that she’d been sleeping for thirty-four hours.

Just after 3:00 a.m., two members of the Winnipeg Police Service spotted Lewis sitting on the lawn of the Legislative Building. They assumed he was a vagrant who needed to be moved along, but changed their minds when they saw how well groomed he was. But when Lewis failed to respond to verbal prompts, they each took hold of one of Lewis’s arms and forced him to stand.

“My name is Lewis Taylor. I cannot see or hear. I’m staying at the Fort Garry Hotel. Please help me.”

The hold on his arms did not loosen, and Lewis was led to the back seat of a car. He was unable to tell how much time passed before the car stopped. He continued to wait without speaking and then felt a hand on his elbow. The hand didn’t let go of him until he was out of the car and had been led up steps and into a building. He could smell lilies. Remembering the large bouquet that routinely sat on the front desk, Lewis assumed he was inside the Fort Garry. The hand let go, and soon he smelled perfume, and another arm, a woman’s, linked through his.

“Is this Beth?” he asked, unaware that his voice was very loud. His question was answered by a gentle squeeze, which he considered a yes. She led him forward and stopped. Running his hand along the wall, he realized
he was at the bank of elevators. “Floor sixteen, please!” he shouted, just in case Beth had forgotten.

When he felt the elevator stop, Lewis shook off the hand that held his elbow and walked forward. Knowing that his door was the first on the right, he raised his hand and took tiny steps until he felt the door frame. He pulled his pass card from his wallet. After trying it a number of different ways, he managed to unlock the door.

It took Lewis some time to find the bedroom because he had walked into the bathroom by mistake and didn’t realize it until his fingers felt something cold and smooth, which was the mirror. Following the cold granite of the countertop, he left the bathroom and stepped forward until his knees hit the king-sized bed. He took off his shoes and socks, got under the sheets and pulled his legs up to his chest. He experimented with opening his eyes and keeping them closed. But it made no difference. The darkness was just as dark, and this is what terrified him the most.

When Margaret awoke, she did not recognize the landscape, the car she was travelling in or, for a moment, her daughter. She remained silent but unfastened her seat belt and turned sideways in the passenger seat. The sound of the windshield wipers filled the car. After looking at her watch and establishing that a little less than thirteen hours had passed since she’d been sitting at her kitchen table drinking stryim, Margaret stared at her daughter.

Aberystwyth kept her eyes focused on the wet road. She had been strong enough to steal the white Honda Civic, drive it across the country and drug and kidnap her mother. But one thing she couldn’t bring herself to do was tie Margaret up. Whether this was from weakness or compassion, Aby still didn’t know.

Aby struggled to keep from showing her panic. She’d thought the drug would keep Margaret asleep for much longer, another fourteen or fifteen hours at least. This would have allowed Aby to get past Toronto, which she’d hoped would be far enough to convince Margaret to continue on to the ocean. As it was, Aby had barely passed the Ontario–Manitoba border. Not knowing what to do next, Aby stared straight ahead. Her gills flicked open and closed. She knew that her mother might attack her at any moment.

Margaret continued staring. They travelled another twenty-seven kilometres in silence. Then Margaret folded her hands in her lap and smiled. Her smile was broad. “Did you think about gas?” she asked.

“What?”

“Did you think it through?”

“Don’t underestimate me, Mother.”

“But did you think about the gas? Your car—”

“It’s not my car.”

“Cars need gasoline to operate.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Well, how much do you have?”

“The tank is almost full.”

“Is? Or was?”

“Was.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About three hours.”

“And how long can you go on a full tank?”

“I’ve done the math.”

“How long?”

“Six and a half hours.”

Margaret turned in her seat, away from her daughter, her eyes focusing on the drops of rain hitting her window rather than on the scenery. “When your car—”

“It’s not my car.”

“When this car runs out of gas,” Margaret continued, turning again to stare at her daughter, “I will get out and make my way back to my hotel. If you try to stop me, I will punch and kick and bite and scratch. If you continue to try, I will explain to those around me that this strange, green-skinned woman has kidnapped me.”

“You’re green too.”

“Not like you. I’ve been out of the water so long that my green has faded to almost nothing. I bet you still scare people.”

Aby looked in the rear-view mirror.

“I’ll tell them you drugged me and took me from my home. You will be prosecuted by their law and confined to a very small box, where you will spend the rest of your life unwatered. You will die, on land, with air in your lungs. Do you understand this?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know that I will do this?”

“I do.”

“Will you turn around now?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so,” Margaret said.

The rain continued to fall. The windshield wipers seemed loud. Aby’s grip on the steering wheel was very tight. She had discovered one thing she did not like to do in water, and that was drive in it. The rain seemed to be falling more heavily with every kilometre. Aby had to pay close attention to the road, although she continued to steal glances at her mother.

Margaret leaned forward and extended her index finger to the windshield. Starting in the upper right corner, Margaret traced the crack. When she reached its origin in the centre, she turned towards her daughter, but kept her left fingertip pressed against the glass.

“This is the part of you I’ve always liked best. I like you bold. I like your stubbornness. You certainly didn’t get it from Pabbi,” Margaret said. Looking down, she noticed for the first time that there were several bottles of water at her feet. Aby had put them there for her,
knowing her mother would be thirsty when she woke up. Opening one of the bottles with her teeth, Margaret pulled three-quarters of its contents into her lungs. Tilting her head back, she pushed the water out of her mouth and through her gills. Making a fountain of herself, Margaret let the water land on her face and eyes and spill down the back of her neck.

“This is what we’ll do,” Margaret said. “You may keep travelling east. From now until your car runs out of gas, I will listen and you will try to persuade me. You can use any argument you want. I will keep an open mind. Should you succeed, I will willingly return to the water.”

Aby turned and studied her mother’s face. Her mother was not lying. The deal Margaret was offering was much more than Aby could have hoped for. She knew that her mother, working within the limits of her personality, was being more than reasonable. Aby looked at the fuel gauge; the needle was just below the halfway point.

Zimmer studied all seventeen video monitors until he was sure he was alone in E.Z. Self Storage. He looked at his watch—7:05 a.m. It was rare for anyone to come in this early. Reaching into his right pocket, he pulled out his large set of keys. He flipped through them until he found the one he was looking for: a silver key, slightly smaller and thinner than the rest.

Holding it between the thumb and index finger of his right hand, Zimmer left his office and walked to the first floor of the storage units. Extending the index finger of his left hand, Zimmer tapped each lock as he passed it, leaving a hallway of swinging locks behind him. At the end of the hall he got into the elevator and took it to the third floor. He walked directly to unit #387 and used the silver key to open the padlock.

Once inside, Zimmer began to open boxes. He opened one that was full of winter clothes and wrapped six scarves around his neck. In another box was a cowboy hat, which Zimmer put on his head. He opened boxes filled with antiquated kitchen appliances, textbooks with uncracked spines and children’s toys. Then he found ski boots and a pair of cross-country skis in a tall bag and put them on. He clumped down the hallway and back.

Zimmer took off the skis and boots and stepped back into the storage unit. He removed the scarves, the
cowboy hat. He put everything back exactly as he’d found it. Leaving the unit, Zimmer looked over his shoulder to make sure he’d gotten everything just right. Satisfied, he turned off the light and locked the door.

Taking the stairs down to the second floor, he found that he was unable to resist stopping at unit #207. He already had the slightly smaller, thinner key between his thumb and forefinger when he saw that the lock was missing. Quickly, Zimmer pulled open the door of unit #207 and discovered that it was empty.

Having not yet eaten breakfast, Rebecca peeled three bananas and sliced them on the table. When she opened the refrigerator to get milk, she saw a carton of eggs. Taking out two, she set them on the table and opened the cupboard to get a bowl. Inside the cupboard she saw granola. After pouring the granola into the bowl meant for the eggs, Rebecca returned to the refrigerator and saw a tub of yogurt. With the yogurt in her hand, she turned back to the table and froze, unable to decide if she should add it to the sliced bananas or the granola.

The plastic yogurt container in her hand began to sweat. Rebecca remained where she was, the refrigerator humming behind her. She saw that fruit flies had already found the peels. She knew all she had to do was decide: bananas, granola or eggs. Still she stood there, frozen with indecision, until the phone rang. Picking it up, Rebecca pressed it against her ear.

“Rebecca? Is this Rebecca?”

“This is Rebecca.” She recognized the voice but couldn’t place it.

“It’s Edward.”

“Edward Zimmer?”

“That’s right.”

“Hello, Edward.”

“How are you, Rebecca?”

“I’m not so sure, Edward.”

“I saw that you cleaned out #207.”

“I did.”

“How does it feel?”

“I was just trying to figure that out,” Rebecca said. She thought about the ways she could answer this question. She was almost positive that she felt very different, but she couldn’t be sure she accurately remembered what she had felt like before.

“Rebecca? Are you still there?”

“I’m here,” Rebecca said. Her grip on the phone was hurting her hand, so she dropped it, watching it fall to the carpet. She picked up the phone, placed it back on the charger and returned to the kitchen table. Seeing that the refrigerator door was open, she closed it. The phone rang again. She waited until the third ring, then picked it up, although she still did not speak.

“Rebecca?”

“Yes?”

“Maybe we should have a talk. You know? Maybe you should swing by and we can talk. Can you do that for me?”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Edward.”

“Edward Zimmer?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I’m doing very well, Edward.”

“Then you should come see me.”

“Where?”

“E.Z. Self Storage.”

“Yes. I can do that.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“142 Broadview Avenue.”

“Do you need directions?”

“I’ve been there a million times.”

“That’s true …”

“Well, maybe not a million.”

“Rebecca, maybe you could just do one thing for me?”

“What’s that?”

“Will you take a taxi?”

“Why?”

“Picture turning left, against traffic.”

“Oh. Yes. It doesn’t matter anyway. I left my car somewhere.”

“Do you want me to call a cab for you?”

“No. I’ll be okay.”

“Can I just make one other suggestion?”

“Yes.”

“Wear what you wore yesterday.”

Rebecca looked at the peeled and sliced bananas, the box of granola, the eggs and the yogurt.