The Carpenter Read online

  Donna scooted into the chair Luke had vacated. She examined what the boy had been writing in his notebook. Lee forked off a piece of the pie.

  — To tell the truth, I don’t know so much about the treatments, Ma.

  — The doctor says it’s going good, said Irene. He uses words I don’t understand, but. He’s foreign. Coloured.

  — Chemotherapy and radiation, said Donna. They can’t just remove the tumour at her age. You want to know, you take one look at all the pills in the bathroom. And you see what the chemotherapy does?

  Irene grinned and said: I won’t win the beauty pageant at the fall fair.

  Donna looked hard at her son’s notebook.

  — You got the same thing as that kid, said Lee.

  — Kid?

  — That one-legged kid who tried to run across the country. I’m betting on you, Ma. We’re a bunch of survivors is what we are.

  He reached across the table and grasped her hand.

  — How is work going?

  — Couldn’t be better, said Lee. You should just see the size of this place going up out there. It’s bigger than the boarding house where we used to live.

  — People with money are buying up and down the lake, said Donna.

  — I’m starting to make a buck or two myself. Before long I’ll buy a big godda- a big G.D. place like that and we’ll all move out there.

  — Listen to you.

  — You and Barry can have the east wing. We’ll send the boys to private school. Is that-Ma, take a look-is that Donna cracking a smile?

  — Oh quit, would you?

  But Donna was smiling. It changed her whole face.

  The next day, Lee went to see the boarding house where he and Donna had grown up. It was a Saturday and the fall air was crisp and the sky was off-white. He walked up Union Street breathing in the smell of creosote from the rail crossing. Cars passed him trailing radio sounds. At the Owl Cafe he stood at the window. He cupped his hands around the sides of his face to block the light. He looked inside until Helen spotted him, as did a number of the patrons. She gave him a little wave. He waved back and went on his way.

  The boarding house was on Merritt Street, on the north side of the river, a half-hour’s walk from downtown. It was a timber-frame structure from the turn of the century, and it had been variously added to over the years. There had been six rooms to rent when they lived there. Tenants had to share the bathrooms. Now, while the house retained its old exterior look, it appeared to have been renovated for business interests. He read a sign for LUCKY TAILORING amp; DRY CLEANING in a main floor window and a sign for CHAPMAN SOLICITORS on the second floor.

  Lee was only six when George King died. The boy had been confused by what was going on, and so he’d wandered away from the house, from the policemen who’d come, from his mother lifting her cigarette and trying to light it, asking over and over how she could be left like this, how he could do it, leave her alone with these two kids. George’s heart had seized fast in his chest in the early hours of the morning when he had gone to open the store. The driver of a delivery truck had found him. And by noon his widowed wife, Irene, sat demanding, first from the policemen, then from her meagre surroundings, how it could be so.

  The boy could go anywhere, he knew, with his mother so distraught. He could go to the lumberyard or to the river. But he didn’t even end up going across the street. Instead, he went to the back of the house and down the basement steps. It was understood that the basement was not to be ventured into, particularly by the children of tenants. The boy went anyway, pushing at the solid wooden door and finding it unlocked and watching it swing open into a place he had lived above his whole life, yet never glimpsed.

  The basement floor was packed dirt and the walls were brick, once whitewashed. Knob-and-tube wiring was tacked into the cavities between the overhead joists. The basement smelled of earth and wood-rot. Against one wall was a cabinet choked with items: pipefittings, light bulbs, copper fuses, an ankle boot with a busted heel. The boy picked up a ball-peen hammer from the cabinet and turned it and felt its weight in his small hand.

  He was drawn to the furnace, to see what made the noises in the vents at night. He was curious about the sullen glow inside the firebox. But then he heard something. He saw the crippled caretaker coming from the direction of the coal bin, carrying a load in a spadeshovel, walking heavily on his bum leg, not saying anything. The boy turned and ran.

  The general store his father had operated on River Street now had VICTORY HOME APPLIANCES on the front signboard. Much of the interior had been rearranged, walls knocked out, the space made bigger. Lee stood where the grocery counter had been. There was a display of used televisions almost exactly where his father had been found dead by the delivery man.

  A salesman came around.

  — You look like a man who’s thinking about how to improve his house.

  — No, just looking around. I’ll get going.

  — No need to run off. Looking’s always free.

  Lee left the salesman and went out onto the street, but then, abruptly, he went back into the store and over to the televisions. The salesman rematerialized quickly. Lee scratched the back of his head and said: Look, what I was thinking about was a television.

  — You’re in the right place, sir. We have good colour sets. Brand new. Here we’ve got a whole selection of used outfits. Great condition each one. Inspected. Really good bang for your buck. This one is a ‘72 Emerson, eighteen-inch. The colours are still bright as can be. Hundred thirty.

  — Hundred thirty? I don’t know about that. Maybe I’ll come back again some other time, see what you got.

  — I could go you a hundred. Cash. Right now.

  — A hundred bucks.

  — A hundred bucks and it’s yours. Delivery included.

  As usual, Lee had a sense of the money he’d earned passing out of his hands. He only had the hundred dollars on him because he’d cashed his paycheque the day before. But for the first time he could think of, he could bear the cost. Before he left the store he shook the salesman’s hand.

  — This used to be my dad’s place.

  — Is that right?

  — It was a general store. He sold all kinds of things. There was a grocery counter right here.

  — Well, there you go. I do some business and learn a little history in the bargain. Our delivery van will come around by five o’clock.

  Lee went down the hill and into the A amp;P to stock up on food. He was thinking about the television he’d just purchased, and he was thinking about his long-dead father, what he could remember of the man, and he was thinking about the boarding house where he’d grown up. He didn’t know why he’d waited a month, after moving back to town, to go see the house. It had felt a little like a confrontation, somehow, one that he’d been putting off. It seemed to him his last tangible memory of town, prior to going to jail, was the boarding house-even though he’d been at a friend’s place when the police tracked him down and arrested him. All the same, he realized he would have been bothered if the old boarding house, with the basement of his recurring dreams, had been demolished.

  When he was coming out of the grocery store now, carrying a paper bag of groceries, he saw they’d come for him. One of them was a constable, young. The other was a sergeant. A thin man, precise. They were standing alongside a patrol car. Lee was aware of people stopping to watch.

  The sergeant said: Mr. King. Thought we’d have a word.

  — Word about what?

  — Why don’t you come along with us. Just for a bit.

  It had to be out front of the grocery store. It had to be the middle of the afternoon when people could watch. The constable took Lee’s grocery bag and put it on the front seat. Then he patted him down. Just for procedure, he said. They didn’t handcuff him, but they did seat him in the tightly caged back seat.

  Lee looked out at the people standing around the front of the A amp;P, and a bitter flame, anger and humiliation, f
lared in his gut. The constable got behind the wheel and the sergeant got into the passenger seat, partly crushing the grocery bag beside him. The way the rear-view mirror was angled, the sergeant’s eyes were in it.

  They drove through town and Lee didn’t say anything. It was the sergeant who finally spoke. -Your parole officer, what’s his name?

  — Wade Larkin.

  — That’s right. I know him. He’s a nice chap, Wade Larkin. He’s really a nice chap. How often do you see him?

  — Once every six weeks.

  — Once every six weeks. You see what a nice chap you got for a parole officer?

  — Listen, boss, I get seen like this I could lose my job.

  — What I can’t figure out is why you’re back in town at all. After they saw fit to cut you loose and set you up with a really nice chap like Wade Larkin, you came back here.

  — My mother is sick with cancer.

  Nothing was said in reply.

  They drove for a short while until they were cruising past a long brick building with a curved roof. They rounded the corner and there was a baseball diamond, deserted except for some high school kids smoking at the bleachers. The kids saw the patrol car and got up and left. The car pulled around in front of the building and Lee saw the sign over the front doors: Charles Grady Memorial Community Centre — Home Of The Dynamite! He looked at the eyes looking at him in the rear-view mirror.

  — Kind of funny, don’t you think?

  — I don’t think it’s real funny, boss, said Lee.

  — Myself, said the sergeant, I was just brand new here. I know that wasn’t my very first call but it was one of them. I was sick when I saw it. What you did. I was sick right there on the driveway. I don’t care what you think of that. If a man tells you he’s got the stomach for it, first time he sees something like that, he’s a goddamn liar. Maybe I was sick because the other boy was still alive.

  — What do you want from me?

  — I guess you get this idea, maybe, because there’re all kinds of people who will tell you just how misunderstood you were, how what you really needed was this and that, how you deserve good things same as anybody else, so I guess you get this idea that you can put mileage between then and now. But I know you.

  — I told you, I’m here to work and look after my mother. I haven’t been bothering anybody. I don’t even drink.

  The eyes in the rear-view mirror. The man hadn’t even raised his voice. He said: I know you and I know all about you, my friend. You remember that.

  Then the sergeant told the constable to let Lee out of the car. The constable came around and opened the door. He gave Lee his bag of groceries and he grinned and said he hoped he’d see him again. The car pulled out of the parking lot and was gone.

  Lee was breathing hard. His thoughts raced. He wasn’t surprised that they had come for him, but nevertheless it burned him, far more than he had thought it would. He’d gotten out of prison, but his life was still under the thumbs of men with badges and guns. He’d been foolish to think it might ever be otherwise.

  He put the groceries down and found himself a cigarette. It seemed ridiculous that he’d bought a television an hour ago. That he’d presumed to buy it, had presumed to buy groceries, had presumed to visit the house where he’d grown up. That he’d presumed at all.

  He picked up his grocery bag and held it at his midsection while he walked. The ash from his cigarette drifted down. He passed a chain-link fence and a mean-looking dog came at him, barking, gnashing its jaws, until it hit the end of its chain. It stood with its forelegs splayed. He looked at it.

  A short distance later the grocery bag was getting heavy. He put it down on the curb, and thought again of the day his father died, thirty-five years ago, but the man was present now more than he had been in a long time. He thought of the basement, the caretaker with the shovel. How he’d fled. How the crippled caretaker never said anything to him, never called him out.

  TWO

  OCTOBER TO NOVEMBER 1980

  Thanksgiving came with a cold snap. Stan was invited to Frank and Mary’s house for turkey dinner. He drove over on Sunday afternoon, bringing Cassius along with him. After he got to the house and said hello, he walked Louise up to the park so she could collect leaves for a school project. The dog went with them. Louise dug through the leaves on the ground at the park and brought her findings for Stan to inspect.

  — What do you think, Grandpa?

  — I’d say that one’s a beech. It’s just a couple inches. There’s not so many of the little edges on it.

  — They call those teeth, said Louise.

  — That’s right.

  — Beech, said Louise.

  She took a small plastic bag out of her jacket pocket. She’d already collected a maple leaf and an oak leaf. She put the beech leaf in and added a check mark to her notebook. Stan sat on a park bench and watched her. Cassius was over sniffing the base of a tree. After Louise had found a birch leaf, she told Stan she’d collected enough and now they could go.

  Back at the house, they saw an older-model red Camaro parked at the curb. Emily was standing alongside it, speaking to the driver. Louise hung close to Stan as they came into the driveway. They weren’t close enough to hear whatever was being said, but they caught sight of a boy behind the wheel. He had a look of raw pain on his face.

  — Do Grandpa a favour and take Cassius around back, said Stan. Make sure the gate is latched. We don’t need him running down the street.

  Louise went with the dog and Stan started up the front walk. Emily came over and kissed him on the cheek.

  — Hi, Grandpa. I’ll be inside soon.

  Emily went back to the Camaro and Stan caught a few words: I’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense to you. And the boy saying: Hey, baby, please.

  Inside the house Frank was watching from the front window.

  — I was about to go outside.

  — I think she’s got it in hand, said Stan.

  — Goddammit. Look at the hair on him.

  Stan went into the kitchen. The smell of roasting turkey brought juices to his mouth. Mary was drinking a glass of wine and studying her mother’s recipe book. It occurred to Stan that it had been a long time since he’d seen the book. He saw Edna’s neat cursive-Gravies etc.-on the page and he looked away.

  — The turkey is huge, said Mary. We’ll have leftovers for a week. I’ll send a bunch of it home with you.

  — Sounds good to me, said Stan.

  — You seem distracted, Dad.

  — I’m just woolgathering.

  — Okay …

  — When you were Louise’s age there was only the one public school in town, said Stan. Do you remember?

  — River Street P.S. Sure, I remember.

  — And do you remember if your school friends knew who I was?

  — What made you think of this now?

  — Nothing.

  — There weren’t as many cops in town back then, so yes, my friends knew what my dad did. But I don’t think it ever really came up in public school. High school was a bit different. I started to hear more about you. There was an old phys. ed. teacher who coached girls’ field hockey. Mr. Pritchard. I remember, after he figured out who I was, he would talk to me about your boxing days. Endlessly. He’d say, Maitland, come here! It didn’t matter how practice was going or what the other girls were doing. He’d go on and on. He talked a lot about Windsor, some guy you fought. Sharkey?

  — Sharkey, said Stan. He was a heavyweight from the States. He had quite a good run, had the title for awhile. When we fought, I didn’t beat him. I drawed. I was lucky to do that, even. That was one of my only real big fights. Ha, Pritchard wasn’t even there.

  — He talked about it like he was. He must have told me that Windsor story a hundred times. I was only in grade nine or grade ten when I played field hockey. After that, I was more aware of it if I heard things about you. They always said you were a fair cop. They said you didn’t do things by the book bu
t that you were really fair to everybody. That’s not Frank’s way.

  — Frank’s a good policeman, Mary. He knows his job inside and out.

  — He’s got a lot of ambition for his career.

  — Good on him. I never wanted that responsibility. I never thought I was up to it. Anyhow, was it hard for you if there were folks that weren’t so happy about things I’d done?

  — Everybody knew about the man that got hung, if that’s what you mean. But nobody talked about it much. Was I even born when that happened?

  — You weren’t much more than a baby.

  — What makes you think of this now, Dad?

  — That family, in particular, had a lot of hard times. Anyhow, never mind. I never wanted to expose you or your mother to any of that.

  Mary laughed.

  — Oh God. You and Frank, you’ve got that in common.

  — What’s that?

  — This idea that the women in your life need to be protected all the time.

  Stan wandered back into the living room, thinking maybe he’d have a nap. Emily was in the vestibule untying her shoes. Frank hovered around her, trying to make light of whoever it was in the car.

  — You should have brought him in for supper, said Frank.

  — It’s completely not an issue any more, Dad.

  — I’m sorry to hear it. Hey, if you’ve got to insist on dating, how about you get yourself a guy with a better haircut?

  — Actually, I’ve got an idea, said Emily. I’m sure I could get one of your rookies to take me out. That one that drove you home yesterday is really cute.

  — Hey, said Frank. Listen …

  Stan sat down in the recliner next to the cabinet stereo. He brought the footrest up and stretched his legs out. He didn’t want Emily or Frank to see the smile he was wearing. How close he was, suddenly, to laughing outright. He let his head settle back and he closed his eyes.

  He snoozed for an hour and was gradual about waking up. By then, the whole house was filled with the deep smell of the roasting turkey. Emily was sitting at the Clarendon upright.