Authors: Linden Macintyre
Bishop's Man (38 page)
I heard the sound of wind stirring, but it was not the wind. It was the church door, opening carefully, closing softly. I felt his presence behind me. Breathed deeply.
“I wasn’t sure where you went,” he said quietly.
A small sound then, some tiny creature scurrying, disturbed by our voices.
“It’s peaceful here,” he said. And then he was beside me. He was carrying a tumbler and it was almost full.
“Take a sip.”
I did, and it was strong. Straight liquor.
“I really am a prick,” he said. “Why didn’t you just slug me?”
“I haven’t slugged anyone for years. Plus, it doesn’t help.”
We were side by side, looking straight ahead toward the small, flickering lights beside the altar.
“True,” he said. “There really isn’t anything we can do.”
“No.”
“Just go with the flow, I guess.”
We sat like that for a while, handing the glass back and forth.
“We’re the spawn of the most screwed-up, violent, self-absorbed, navel-gazing century in human history.”
“Hmmmmm.”
“And buddy up there, hanging on the Cross,” he said, nodding toward the front of the church. “He’s done dick-all to mitigate it. He dropped the ball. Agree or disagree?”
“What’s it doing out?” I asked. “Is it windy?”
“God, no. It’s beautiful. It’s almost spring.”
A car drove past.
“Who was this Alfonso, then?” he asked. “He must have been some heavy guy. Politically.”
“Ahhhh. Alfonso.”
Who was Alfonso?
“Alfonso was … I don’t know. Just a priest, I guess.”
BOOK FOUR
In the Lord put I my trust:
how say ye to my soul,
Flee as a bird to your mountain?
PSALMS
{26}
A
nd then it was June. The corrosive winter wind had stripped long flakes of paint from the hull of the
Jacinta.
A cab door had blown open. The VHF aerial veered crookedly, half off the roof. I made a list of the jobs I had to do. Charge battery. Change oil. Sand and repaint hull. Replace ropes. The clarity was a relief. Perhaps it would clear the way for larger questions and answers. The sound in the distance, a vehicle rounding the turn by MacDougall’s, was a distraction. I stopped and watched. It was a truck.
nd then it was June. The corrosive winter wind had stripped long flakes of paint from the hull of the
Jacinta.
A cab door had blown open. The VHF aerial veered crookedly, half off the roof. I made a list of the jobs I had to do. Charge battery. Change oil. Sand and repaint hull. Replace ropes. The clarity was a relief. Perhaps it would clear the way for larger questions and answers. The sound in the distance, a vehicle rounding the turn by MacDougall’s, was a distraction. I stopped and watched. It was a truck.
I returned to the examination of my boat
.
A week of work, I figured, and she’d be ready for the water again.
.
A week of work, I figured, and she’d be ready for the water again.
The truck slowed, turned toward where I was parked. It was Danny Ban. He drove carefully over the rutted ground. Stopped and climbed out, a large hand gripping the door frame as he steadied himself. He approached carrying a cane, shook my hand wordlessly, examining my face.
“It’s staying cold,” he said.
“It is.”
“June is always like that here. You can’t trust the slut.”
I smiled. I noticed a faint trace of alcohol on his breath. I’m more conscious of it now.
“How are you, anyway, Danny?”
“Ah, well,” he said, studying the horizon. “Gettin’ by.” He turned away then, to study the
Jacinta.
“She’s looking a little the worse for the hard winter we had.”
Jacinta.
“She’s looking a little the worse for the hard winter we had.”
I nodded.
He moved slowly between the boats, bending, examining, eyes narrowed. Reached into his pocket and removed a jack-knife, opened the blade and jabbed at the bottom of the hull in places. “She’s in good shape, considering the shape she’s in. A little soft here and there, like the rest of us.” Stood straight and smiled. Then looked toward his son’s boat. The
Lady Hawthorne.
“This one stood up okay. That’s where the fibreglass puts them ahead of the old ones. Snow gets in, but it doesn’t bother them.”
Lady Hawthorne.
“This one stood up okay. That’s where the fibreglass puts them ahead of the old ones. Snow gets in, but it doesn’t bother them.”
The face was sorrowful. “I suppose you heard. I sold her last month. Got a decent offer and figured what the hell. She’s no good to me. Just another reminder. Got enough of those. I told the fella I’d prefer if somebody took her out of here altogether. Jackie Dan J. sold the
Lady Amy
and she went to Cheticamp. That’s what I wanted. Somewhere far away from here. But buddy said he wants to stay here in Little Harbour. So I told him he was going to have to change the name and paint her a different colour. He agreed to that.”
Lady Amy
and she went to Cheticamp. That’s what I wanted. Somewhere far away from here. But buddy said he wants to stay here in Little Harbour. So I told him he was going to have to change the name and paint her a different colour. He agreed to that.”
There was the sudden roar of a diesel reversing, a boat returning from the lobster banks, positioning itself below the winch at the loading dock. We stood and watched for a while.
“Cameron Angus D. is late today,” he said.
“So who bought it?” I asked at last.
“Oh. I didn’t tell you. That American who ties up behind yourself. Dave. He needs something for getting back and forth to his island. Wanted something bigger than the one he had so he can make her into a yacht eventually.”
I laughed. The American.
Finally he said, “You were away for a while.”
“Yes. A little rehabilitation.”
Though it was near the start of spring, winter still ruled the darkness. Our feet crunched the crystal snow as Sextus and I shuffled beside his truck, thinking the words that failed to capture our regrets. He laid a hand on my forearm briefly, then opened the truck door and climbed in.
Under the cab light his face was pale. Looking straight ahead, he turned the key, and the sound and smell of the engine restored a welcome normalcy to the sinister night.
And it occurred to me, as he backed away, that I had seen that face before. The unusual concentration of the self-absorbed, the isolated. Despair, suddenly revealed. I watched as he drove away, tail lights fading.
“Be careful, my friend,” I said to the darkness.
I could not have anticipated Alfonso. I didn’t understand the history, the sociology, how people place themselves in the path of inevitable disaster, even if they don’t want to. I didn’t understand the politics. I didn’t even understand the language properly. I was a stranger there. I am not a stranger here, but I am no less impotent.
There was no weapon to be found, only its effect. The fatal entry was behind his right ear. There was no note. Only afterwards did I realize that the message was embedded in the deed itself, a message from some other hidden source.
Beware.
Beware.
This I learned from Jacinta.
That desk, she said, is his Calvary. He died for all of us. Like his friend Rutilio. Crucified.
She was calm. Her anger now was everything, no longer obscured by her goodness. She gathered him up and went away to bury what was left of him in Aguilares, where he was born, where at least his memory will continue.
After Sextus left, I sat and watched for the promised sunrise, but I must have slept. His last words in the church: I wish you’d told me about it; it would have explained so much.
And I said, I don’t think so.
When I woke, the room was full of light. I heard the quick, ringing roar of a passing pulp truck on the road below. I knew Stella was at work by then, but I rang her house anyway. Got the answering machine. Can you come by after work? I need a favour.
Then I called the bishop.
Danny seemed to sag with weariness as I explained briefly. Things were getting dodgy with the liquor, I told him. There’s a facility in Ontario. I went there for forty days to dry out. Did a little thinking. It was a good break.
“You were tough,” he said. “You just up and checked yourself in?”
“Actually, I talked it over with the bishop first.”
“I’d never have suspected.”
“No, no, no,” I said, forcing a laugh. “It wasn’t that far advanced. We just wanted to nip it in the bud before it got serious. It’s something I have to watch. It’s in the genes.”
“Well, yes. We all have that.”
“This is just between us, Danny.”
“Oh, Jesus. You don’t have to worry about me,” he said.
“I know that.”
“Forty days, eh? You can claim credit for two Lents, skip next year.”
I laughed. “You never know. I might start skipping a lot of things.”
He seemed to be chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Like … I wouldn’t even want to think about that,” he said, eyes fixed on mine. He turned and started toward his truck, then paused. “Why don’t you come up sometime. To the house. I think it’s time we had a talk. Man to man.”
“Sure,” I said, sudden anxiety rising. “Is there anything in particular?”
He ignored the question. “What did you call that … facility? In Ontario?”
“Braecrest.”
Stella stood in the middle of the kitchen with her hands on her hips. Her face was a blank. “You obviously had company.”
I just shrugged. I was standing in the doorway to the living room in the T-shirt and jeans I’d worn the day before. I could smell the rankness of my own body, sour internal gases and the alcoholic sweat. I could have cleaned up, my kitchen and myself. I considered doing so half a dozen times. But I was unable to rouse myself from the stupor that held me in my chair in a kind of paralysis all day. Maybe I wanted her to see my place like this. See me in my moral nakedness.
“Sextus came by,” I said.
“That explains a lot.”
“It got out of hand, obviously. I don’t remember much after a certain point.”
“Okay,” she said, slipping out of her jacket.
“I didn’t ask you to come here to do housework.”
“Oh?” she said, arching her eyebrows.
“I need you to drive me over to Antigonish. I have to see the bishop.”
“I see.”
We just stood and stared at each other for a long time.
“First I think you should take a shower,” she said. “I’ll be back.”
After she was gone, the bishop called. Bring a bag, he said. Plan on a few days away. Okay?
I sat for a long time on the stern of the
Jacinta
after Danny Ban had gone, legs dangling, chores forgotten. The water just over the dunes and beyond the waving marsh grass danced and flashed. Inviting. Its roughness concealing merriment, hard, glittering blue under the cloudless June sky. There was a sudden racket above my head, and when I looked into the sky I saw a heron flapping furiously high above, pursued by a screaming bald eagle. The lumbering heron, unaccustomed to speed, was well in front, but slowly I watched the gap between them close. There was no evasive action by the larger bird, just resolute, long-winged strokes, until the eagle was upon him. They locked in a brief, savage encounter that lasted only a few seconds. The heron fell, broken, fluttering slowly toward the shore. The eagle soared away in angry triumph.
Jacinta
after Danny Ban had gone, legs dangling, chores forgotten. The water just over the dunes and beyond the waving marsh grass danced and flashed. Inviting. Its roughness concealing merriment, hard, glittering blue under the cloudless June sky. There was a sudden racket above my head, and when I looked into the sky I saw a heron flapping furiously high above, pursued by a screaming bald eagle. The lumbering heron, unaccustomed to speed, was well in front, but slowly I watched the gap between them close. There was no evasive action by the larger bird, just resolute, long-winged strokes, until the eagle was upon him. They locked in a brief, savage encounter that lasted only a few seconds. The heron fell, broken, fluttering slowly toward the shore. The eagle soared away in angry triumph.
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