Prairie Ostrich (11 page)

She blinks, the sweat stinging her eyes.

Her glance falls to a small protruding curve that lies in the dirt, half-buried near her foot. She digs at the curve, her fingers curl around the smooth surface and pull it from the dirt. It is a bone, a claw. It is the size of her hand. She looks to the field. A gift from the well, she thinks.

Later, as Kathy tucks her in, Egg dangles the tip of the claw bone off the tip of her finger. Egg thinks, sabretooth. Egg thinks, mammoth. The sheer enormity of the beast makes her wonder. Her stomach hurts so much that she squishes Nekoneko under her armpit.

Kathy frowns. “Shouldn't be playing with bones you dug up. Get lockjaw or something. I'm not even going to ask where you got that cut.”

Egg touches her forehead but she doesn't feel the ache. She looks to the door. “Where's Mama?”

Kathy hesitates. “She's not feeling so good.” She glances at the figure under the bedside lamp, the girl in the red coat and she frowns. “Did you eat anything?”

Egg leans over and points to her plate on the floor. A crust of bread with some flecks of hard corned beef.

“Are you eating under the bed again?” asks Kathy.

“I'm in hiding,” Egg says.

Kathy glances at the cat puppet in Egg's armpit, squeezed like bagpipes. “Aren't you a little old for Nekoneko?”

“No, look.” Egg opens the bottom of Neko. Inside, there is a chocolate bar. “For food,” Egg explains, “for when they take us away.”

“That'll never happen,” Kathy says, with irritation. But she shifts. “It was wartime.”

“They always say it's wartime.”

Kathy pulls up the blanket with a snap, tight around Egg.

“Tell me about the dog,” Egg says.

“What?”

“The spaceship you like. Spudnick.”

“Sputnik.”

“The one with the dog.”

“Laika. She went up with Sputnik and she was the first living thing in space.”

“Like an explorer.”

“Yes.”

“She got a medal and everything. She was a hero.”

“Yea —”

“And then she had a parade when she got back. And the Russians made her into a cosmonaut.”

“Good night, Egg.”

Egg snuggles down but her eyes are open. She thinks of her bone from the field. “Kathy, do you think it's a human bone?”

Kathy snorts. “Not unless we grew claws in the last century.”

“Maybe it's like Buffalo Jump, in the olden days, when they killed a lot of Indians.”

“I'm turning off the light.” Kathy stands and walks to the door.

Egg rises on her elbows. “If Jesus was a Jew, why did He let all those people die?”

Kathy is ready to slam the door but she catches herself. “I don't know. And they didn't all die. The Indians, I mean.” The door clicks shut and then she is gone.

Egg thinks about the day. The well. She didn't tell Kathy about the well. She tries to think about looking over the edge into the unknown. She can't explain what she felt there. Maybe there is no word for it.

She tries to imagine herself falling. Would it be like Major Tom, a hundred thousand miles away? Major Tom floats in his tin can, across the universe. She thinks of the earth spinning in orbit, the sun in the galaxy of a billion stars. She would like to float, to fly.

She taps her feet together. “Cumulus nimbus,” she whispers, because she likes the words.

…

There are perks to being Popular. Martin Fisken has not bothered her in days. He has taken up tormenting Jimmy Simpson in the playground. Egg has discovered that she actually does like sitting in the lunchroom, watching all the students as they mill about their tables. It is almost a week since her Show and Tell but Kuldeep has been away for most of it. Egg has taken extra notes so Kuldeep doesn't fall behind. She has drawn giraffes in the margins.

Kuldeep is in class today.

But today is gym class. Egg hates gym class.

An accordion wall splits the boys from the girls. In the girls' gym section, Mrs. MacCloskey is all barking commands and arms akimbo. She lines up her class two-by-two. Mrs. MacCloskey, who looks like a Scottish terrier, is all about drills and formations. She tells the class that they will be building character and co-operation. Egg hates two-by-two, the scramble for a partner, the flash of panic of not being picked. Two-by-two and time crawls, rejection after rejection, two-by-two and Glenda looks at you like you have the cooties, or that you really smell. But today is different. Today Egg is Popular. Janice James takes Egg's hand. It is just like the loaves and fishes. Egg doesn't have time to contemplate this miracle, as Janice tugs her from the line. Is seems so easy, a mere step out of the pariah zone.

Egg looks back and sees Kuldeep in the line, standing by herself. The others shuffle away from her, as if fearful of contagion. Egg sees Kuldeep's tears and grips Janice's hand. She wants to explain to Kuldeep that she needs to be Popular for the both of them but the look in Kuldeep's eyes does not waver. Egg knows that something is wrong, she feels it in the pit of her stomach, eating away at her but she can't let go of Janice's hand. She can't let go of Popular.

A small voice whispers in her ear: what's the use of having Kuldeep for a friend when she can't even speak English anyways?

The next day Kuldeep is not in class and her desk is pushed into the corner.

Egg feels a twist in her stomach as she raises her hand.

Mrs. Syms's eyebrows rise. “Yes?”

“Where is Kuldeep?”

Mrs. Syms's eyes narrow. She looks to the empty space where Kuldeep used to sit and her lips tighten into an adder's grin. “Oh, that girl. It turns out that Bittercreek is not the most suitable place for her family. Well, not all of us can have that pioneer spirit. Now let's turn to page thirty-four in
Call Us Canadians
, shall we?”

At recess Egg runs to the bushes by the jungle gym and squats behind the tangle of branches. If no one sees you, then you disappear. Egg closes her eyes. She tucks her knees up to her chest and twists her shoelaces with her fingers.

Kuldeep is gone and Egg has betrayed her. It isn't Albert at all. There is something in Egg that brings out the ugly, even if she is Popular.

There is a scream from the jungle gym.

Egg's eyes snap open at the sound. Little Jimmy Simpson struggles, on tiptoe, as Martin Fisken wraps his fingers around Jimmy's throat. Jimmy's eyes bulge, like the boy in the swimming safety film that everyone watches at the summer pool. A roar fills Egg's ears. She blinks and she is suddenly in front of Martin's face, her fists windmilling. Martin looks surprised. He lets go of Jimmy, who crumples at his feet. Jimmy scoots away sideways, like a crab, without a backwards glance.

Martin grins.

That's it. Egg wants to knock the freckles out of Martin Fisken's face, even if he is so much taller. She raises her fist and draws it back, like the pitcher's throw, a curveball in the last inning, three down, and the bases loaded. All her frustration is packed in that windup, all her confusion, all the hurt for Kuldeep. Take out all the bad and throw it into Martin Fisken's fox face. Her knuckles curl, her whole body hurls forward. That's when Vice Principal Geary's hand comes down out of the blue and grabs her wrist and it is off to the Principal's office for her.

…

That night, Egg sprawls in front of the television with her notebook in front of her. The television is off. No more television, not for a week. That's her punishment for being sent to the Principal's office even if it is Not Her Fault. Kathy was sympathetic, turning Egg's Not Her Fault into a Next Time Don't Get Caught. It's not fair, Egg complained, Martin pushes and Martin shoves but he never gets sent to the Principal's office.

My point exactly, Kathy said.

Mama said, God sees everything and He knows what happened. But still no television for a week.

Egg stares wistfully at the blank television screen. She writes in her notebook:

If God knows everything, why doesn't He do anything about the bad?

If He can't do anything, what's the point about being God?

The Dictionary says God is the Supreme Being, who is the creator and ruler of the universe.

But what does that mean?

“Egg?”

Egg looks up from her notebook. She squeezes her eyes to focus her vision. Kathy looks at her, concerned.

“What?” Egg asks.

“Your nose is sticking to that page.” Kathy purses her lips. “Can you see all right?”

Egg wants to disappear.

After much peering and poking, Mama and Kathy drive Egg up to Calgary for an eye doctor's appointment, that strange contraption of revolving glass discs and a slice of light that flashes across the eyes. The grown-ups talk above her, all drones and clucks and heavy sighs, then Egg is hauled off to an eyeglass store (not eyes that are made out of glass) as chunks of glass and twisted wire are placed upon her nose. Mama and Kathy bicker and pout but Egg puts up with it all.

Because Egg has figured it all out.

This is logic. She's read about it in the
Young Reader's Guide to Science
, something the ancient Greeks used to do, like Doctor Spock in
Star Trek
. Doctor Spock is an alien from his home planet of Vulcan but he looks kind of Japanese too. Logic makes sense in the world. It's simple, really. Egg, sitting in the squeaky vinyl chair in the eyeglass shop, finally puts two and two together.

Divine Retribution. Her glasses are a form of Divine Punishment. Coming so soon after Kuldeep's departure, it is clearly a sign from above. Because things have a reason. So Reverend Samuels preaches. Every equal and opposite thing, even Newton says.

Egg blinks. The clarity of it blinds her but it is only the reflection of a mirror thrust in front of her face.

“Do you like this, sweetpea?” her mother inquires.

Egg nods at everything. She will have the patience of saints and angels. Things have a purpose, things have a place. She will bear the weight of the world, the burden of the ages, all because of God's great plan. For there must be a plan, there must be a God, there must be a final reckoning when the curtain goes up and the people kneel down and all the voices come together and cry, this is how I have suffered, this is how I have kept the faith, like in all the Sunday afternoon television programs but without all the velvet. The running of mascara like the blood of Jesus from his crown of thorns. There must be a God, a truth and atonement, the burning bush and the sacrificial lamb, there must be a place and a purpose, for if there isn't, then there is nothing. A nothing so terrible that Egg can only creep back from the edge.

The well. A nothing like the well.

If it is nothing, then there is no answer. If God is just a magician with fancy tricks, then everything is a lie. The world is a lie. A black hole of nothingness and no one can ever get out. All the goodness and light get sucked into it. No Moral of the Story.

Egg clasps her hands and prays.
I will be good. I will be good
. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.

Let there be a Heaven.

A Heaven to make sense of the world. A Heaven for Albert.

…

With her wire-rimmed glasses perched precariously on her nose, Egg steps off the school bus. Everything looks different. The sun glances, brilliant against the ice-coated bars of the jungle gym. The last remnants of the night's hoarfrost sparkle in the tiny fissures in the concrete. The world seems sharp, all edges.

Today, she is the four-eyed freak and everybody knows it.

Careful. Careful.

At lunchtime, Egg steps out to the schoolyard from the library doors. She sees Martin Fisken by the bleachers. He is screaming. His brother, Doug Fisken, surrounded by his gang, holds him up by his hair. Martin's legs are kicking frantically, fists flailing, his cheeks a bright and ruddy red.

His brother just laughs. Egg can see his teeth.

A sound catches in Egg's throat as she stares at Martin's tears. It's fair, though. Is it? Isn't it? Retributive justice. Egg looked it up in the Dictionary.

Douglas Fisken, star of the football team. Not a championship team, but this year, his senior year, he is the top dog in Bittercreek. He has his picture in the
Calgary Herald
and everything. Before, Doug was always in the shadow of Albert. Albert was smaller but smarter, and his baseball team went all the way to the finals.

Doug, who calls Raymond “sissyface” and “faggot.”

Egg steps back through the library doors. A knot hardens in her chest. She would not wish Douglas Fisken on anyone.

She must be careful. She will not feel sorry for Martin. Not one bit.

She feels the heat in her cheeks as she closes the door.

…

Egg jumps off her bed. She knows that there are terrible things in the world, terrible things. She has chosen not to put all her eggs in one basket. Beneath her bed, there is a stash of Hereford Canned Corned Beef and all the tin keys she has collected, rattling in a Callard's toffee tin. She hoards the pieces of last year's chocolate Easter Bunny that one-eared, one-eyed Nekoneko guards. Nekoneko Kitty has one eye that never sleeps.

Run, run, run as fast as you can, a part of her shouts, her mind a-tumble with all the king's horses and all the king's men. Anne Frank had to run.

Egg stares out her window. The clouds streak across the sky, as if clawed out of the blue by some fabulous, ferocious beast. She drops to the floor, rolling; she knows how to take a dive. Not for the first time, she wishes for wings, like in
D'Aulaires' Greek Myths
. If she could get on the
$10,000 Pyramid
, she'd be sure to take the prize. All of Bittercreek would be cheering for her and Dick Clark would shake her hand on
American Bandstand
. Anything could happen. Why, if you look at the news, England's full of bombings and planes fall out of the sky, even Skylab could destroy a city the size of Detroit, so they say.