Unhooking the Moon (7 page)

‘You know your father was proud of you, kids. And you always did him proud. You were the only thing that kept him going after your mother died.'

‘What are we going to do, Mary?' I asked.

She sat forward, her face glowing in the fire. ‘Maybe you could go to your uncle.'

‘We have an uncle?' I said.

Even the Rat looked amazed.

‘Your father had a brother, a bad brother by all accounts, and his name was Jerome, Jerome DeBillier.
And he still lives, as far as we know, in the city of New York.'

‘He's the man in my dream!' said the Rat.

‘Maybe,' said Mary.

‘Was he really bad?' I asked.

‘He had some hard bark on him, that's for sure. He was twelve years younger than your father and twice his size. He went to sea at fifteen. Joined the French Foreign Legion at nineteen. When he came back he was always in some sort of trouble, fights and whatnot. There was even a rumour he'd killed a man in a bare-knuckle contest on the coast of Africa somewhere. He always had the ladies around him too. Every time I saw him he was with someone different. Your mother was in New York with him when she died in the car accident. Your father went there to bring home her body. When he returned he told us that Jerome had become a drug dealer and that he was responsible for your mother's death. He told us never to mention his name again, not to him and not to you kids.' She took a photograph from her bag and handed it to me. From the light of the fire I could see a portrait of a young, mean-looking man. He had a small scar on his right cheek, like the sickle of a quarter-moon, and his eyes were as black as his hair.

‘I can't see any resemblance to Dad,' I said and passed the Rat the picture.

‘I can!' said the Rat. ‘That's Dad's brother all right!'

Mary looked at me. ‘I've known Jerome since he was a small boy. And, bad as he was, I believe he'd look after you.'

Chief White Cloud stood up and threw some logs on the fire.

‘What do you say, chief?'

‘I do not agree with Mother. Maybe you could live with foster-parents. We would take you in ourselves but I am too old to adopt, and now that my daughter is dead I have to take care of Little Joe and Running Elk.'

‘I'm not living with foster-parents and I'm not going in a home,' said the Rat.

‘I was thinking we could ask the authorities to locate Jerome,' said the chief. ‘But they would never let you live with him, not if he sold drugs for a living.'

‘We'll go to New York and locate him ourselves,' said the Rat. ‘And we'll leave tomorrow. Right, Bob?'

When I looked at her she looked worried. I didn't want to go in a home and I didn't want to live with foster-parents, but I could if I had to. The Rat couldn't. She needed space, at least twenty acres, to go crazy in.

‘We'll leave tomorrow,' I said.

The Rat looked relieved. ‘Thanks, brother. I knew you wouldn't let me down.'

‘Can you help, Chief?'

The chief made a grim face. ‘I have already broken the law by helping you bury your father. But, as Mother pointed out, the law is not always right. But I'm sorry, Bob, I can help you no further.'

‘We can get the train to Toronto and cross the border!' said the Rat.

‘Two kids travelling alone on a train will look suspicious,' said Running Elk. ‘And you'll need money for the tickets.'

‘Freight trains leave every day for Toronto,' said Harold. ‘I don't like to think of you travelling in that manner, Marie Claire, but if you want me to I'll—'

‘Of course!' said the Rat. ‘Harold will put us on a freight train!'

Mary White Cloud rocked in her rocking chair. ‘I feel that someone in the spirit world watches over you, my little Marie Claire. And I believe that your destiny, like ours, was painted on the walls of caves long before you were born. And so, what will happen will happen. But I can't help but feel that you are in danger.'

Chief White Cloud looked concerned. ‘On that I
agree. You are only children. New York can be a dangerous place. You might not find Jerome. He might not want you if you did. For all we know he may no longer be living there.'

‘He's there,' said the Rat. ‘I can feel it!'

‘Wait a day or two,' said the chief. ‘I will try to find a family to take you in.'

I could see that going hobo-style to New York appealed to the Rat's sense of adventure. In her mind she was already on that train and I was on it with her. The chief's words fell on deaf ears.

When I woke the house was silent. No trumpet sounds blasted up the stairs. No crooning came from the kitchen. The smell of pancakes and coffee had been replaced by a fresh breeze. It even seemed cold in the house as though winter had come to Winnipeg overnight. I got dressed and, making my way downstairs, I entered the kitchen. Everything was wiped clean and bare. I stood there for a moment looking at the spot where we had found him and then, pushing open the screen door, I went outside. There I saw the Rat kicking a soccer ball in and out of the orange cones.

‘It's exciting, isn't it? We might meet celebrities! My acting career could take off!' She blasted the ball into the back of the net and ran to retrieve it. ‘The others left early this morning and they took Harold with them. He said to be at the Symington Yards before
midnight. That's when the train leaves.' She placed the ball at the beginning of the cones and started over. ‘We'll have to take care in Toronto. It's a dangerous city. And the people are a bit snobbish. But don't worry about them. We'll just be our pleasant selves and if they're not nice to us we won't speak to them.' She came to the end of the cones and kicked the ball hard. She missed and it rolled off towards the garden.

‘Are you OK?' I asked.

‘Sure, Bob,' she said looking slightly surprised. ‘But I haven't had breakfast yet. Can you make me some pancakes, like the way Dad makes them?'

‘Dad's dead, you know that, right?'

‘Of course, Bob. That's why I'm asking you to make them.'

We went in the kitchen and I made her pancakes. She frowned at them at first, but she ate them quickly once she got started, and then she ran upstairs. ‘I'm going to get started on my packing.'

I didn't like being left alone in the kitchen. It felt empty without the Old Man. But I filled up the sink and started the dishes.

‘How much stuff can I take?'

I dried my hands and went upstairs. She had two suitcases open and all her clothes were laid out on
her bed. She had all her shoes, soccer kits, and coats. She even had a swimming costume. It was as though she was going on vacation. I felt weary and sad and so I sat down on the bed. ‘We can't carry suitcases on the bikes and we'll need them to ride to the railyards. We can even use the bikes in Toronto if we can get them in the boxcar.

‘You're right, Bob. Good thinking.'

‘We'll just take our rucksacks. They're not very big and so we can't bring a lot of stuff. We'll take a change of clothes and our rain jackets. We can take a towel and some toiletries, and a flashlight, but that's all. We can tie our sleeping bags to the top of our rucksacks and put our cellphones and their chargers in the side pockets. We'll need them in case we get separated. The only other thing we should take is our birth certificates. It's best if we have some ID.'

‘What about my Armani dress and my soccer kits? I might want to play soccer.'

‘You can put a soccer kit in my rucksack. You should have enough room for your dress.'

‘OK,' she said. ‘But we have to dress the part for the journey. Let's wear our bib and brace jeans.'

I agreed just to keep her happy.

We packed our rucksacks, tidied our rooms, and
put everything away that needed putting away. We took the $150 from the cookie jar and split it between us. And then we made ourselves sandwiches for the journey. The Rat pumped up the tyres on the bikes while I took care of Dad's room. I took the sheets off his bed, packed away his things, and wiped around with a duster. Then I took his clothes from the chest of drawers and put them in a box. He never had many things and what he did have was old and worn.

I remember bumping into him in town, this one time, when I was out with the guys. I felt ashamed of him because he was so raggedy. Now I felt ashamed of myself. He would have dressed a lot better had he not given all his money to us kids. He even got drunk on the cheap: homemade wine and homemade whisky. Nothing was too cheap for the Old Man when he was buying for himself. And nothing was too expensive when he was buying for us.

Hidden away at the bottom of the chest of drawers I found a photograph of him and Mom. It was taken outside St Boniface on their wedding day. Dad looked proud and Mom looked beautiful. She had long blonde hair and green eyes and she smiled like a movie star. It was a nice photograph. I wondered why he kept it hidden away.

Sometimes I imagined having conversations with my mother, especially when I was feeling down. She was kind and patient and she always gave me good advice. Then she would ruffle my hair and carry on with the ironing. I always had my imaginary mom ironing for some reason.

After I had taken care of Dad's room I helped the Rat clean downstairs. We did a lot of things around the house, just to keep busy. We vacuumed the carpets, wiped the windows, and dusted wherever it needed dusting. We even cleaned out some of the closets. When we were done we made our way down to the prairie garden, which had now become a cemetery. The silver crucifix that the Rat had used as a headstone caught the sun and blinded us as we came.

‘Omens don't get much better than that!' said the Rat.

We planted a nice mixture of prairie flowers over Dad's grave and then we each said a silent prayer.

‘Amen,' said the Rat when my lips had stopped moving. Then she looked up at the sky. ‘He's not here any more. His spirit has flown the coop. Bye, Dad!' she shouted. ‘Have a pleasant trip! And say hello to Mom!' She looked around the sky as though expecting
a voice to shout back, and then she looked at me. ‘What do you want to do now, Bob? You wanna play soccer? I need someone to go in goal.'

‘Come on, then,' I said, just to keep her happy.

It was late when I switched off the lights. Stepping out on to the front porch, I locked the door and put the keys in the flowerpot. Then I looked through the window at the lifeless living room. It was dark and ghostly as though no one had ever lived there. If we never made it back, I thought, it would be like we never existed. Suddenly I felt like going back inside. I felt like turning on all the lights and the stove. I felt like cooking and baking so that warm smell would fill the house again. I felt frightened.

‘It'll be OK, Bob,' said the Rat.

I turned to see her sitting on her bike with her rucksack on her back. I always felt I had to be brave in front of the Rat because I was her big brother. But right there and then I could have burst out crying. But I didn't. I put on my rucksack and mounted my bike. ‘Let's ride,' I said like some Western hero and we rode off towards the river.

Everything seemed strange that night. The land was so deserted we could have been on the surface of a
barren planet. And the moon was so bright it gave us shadows as we rode. What's more it had a pink tint. The Rat kept looking at it, no doubt trying to decipher what sort of omen it meant. But I knew that pink was almost red and red would have been a bad omen according to anyone's way of thinking.

We rode until we came to the trees and then, dismounting our bikes, we made our way down to the river. We never needed our flashlights, with the moon being so bright. But it went dark as we passed through the trees and the darkness always looks darker when you're feeling down. I was glad when we reached the river and, putting my bike in the
Marlin
, I untied the ropes.

The Rat rustling in the bushes sounded louder than it should. ‘Shush!' I told her. She froze as she lifted her bike into the boat and then she lowered it gently. Getting in, we pushed away from the bank and paddled downriver. I didn't want the neighbours in the nearby houses hearing the engine. We were never out on the river that late. If they heard the engine they might think the
Marlin
was being stolen and call the cops.

Once we were at a safe distance I started her up and pulled back on the throttle. The cool foamy air
put goose pimples on my arms and made me shiver, but it didn't seem to bother the Rat. She looked back at me every now and again, her mousy-blonde hair blowing in the breeze. I swear she was smiling.

I slowed down as we passed the imitation lighthouse that lit up that part of the Forks, and we cruised towards St Boniface. As we neared the jetty I switched off the engine and we drifted alongside it. The Rat jumped on to the jetty and tied us fast. I got out and unloaded the bikes.

‘Bye,
Marlin
,' said the Rat. ‘The
Marlin
's spirit is unhappy that we're leaving.'

She seemed more upset over leaving the
Marlin
than she was over Dad dying.

‘She'll be OK,' I told her.

‘It's a he, silly.'

We put on our rucksacks and pushed our bikes up the ramp. When we got to the road I looked at the Esplanade Riel. I thought about all the times we had gone under it on our way to school, and I thought of Miss Gabriela Felipe Mendez. I would have given all the land that Dad left us just to talk to Gabriela. To tell her how bad I was feeling and to have her put her arms around me. It would have been so nice to have her put her arms around me!

‘Come on, Bob. What are you waiting for?'

We cut through St Boniface like criminals on the run, and took every back street we could to the Symington Yard. When we got there we lifted the bikes over a small fence and scurried behind a signal box. The place looked dismal in the moonlight and the stench of diesel wafted in the warm air. And there were so many freight trains, containers, and boxcars. How Harold was going to find us I'd never know. And the more I thought about it the more I worried. How could Harold, who had difficulty walking, leave his house in the middle of the night and make his way down here? And then find us when he got here! And to add to my worries a guard was coming towards us. His flashlight found the doors of the boxcars and the seals on the containers. It searched the wheels of the trains and the windows of the passenger cars.