The Waterproof Bible (22 page)

“Yes,” she said. “I think those are both good suggestions, Edward.”

“You’ll be fine, Rebecca. I promise.”

“Okay,” Rebecca said. She set the receiver gently in the cradle and stood beside the telephone. She was unable to decide if she believed him or not.

Twenty minutes later, dressed in the clothes she’d worn the day before, Rebecca stood at the southeast corner of Dundas and Ossington, trying to hail a cab. She had debated whether she should walk to the corner and hail one, or call one and wait at home. Unable to decide, she had flipped a coin.

A number of cars passed, but none of them were taxis. This made her angry. But then, half a block away, she spotted an orange car with a sign attached to its roof. Rebecca raised her hand. The taxi approached, then passed without slowing. Watching it continue east on Dundas, Rebecca felt crushing rejection. Tears welled up in her eyes. The feeling was as intense as any she’d ever had—as if she’d just been dumped or passed over for a promotion she richly deserved.

When she saw a second cab, she was too nervous to raise her hand. But as she watched it come closer, the feeling of rejection began to disappear. When the taxi was fifty metres away, she raised her hand, but it, too, drove past her. Rebecca became furious. “You fucker!” she yelled at the driver. She stomped her foot on the ground. She put a piece of nicotine gum in her mouth and chewed ferociously.

Her anger evaporated when the third taxi came into sight. She raised her hand. As the cab slowed down and stopped in front of her, Rebecca was overcome with joy. She began bouncing, jumping up and down on her toes while raising her arms over her head. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she said, climbing into the back seat. She sat in the middle, leaning into the gap between the seats. “I’m so happy that you stopped! I’m really, really happy that you stopped.”

“Oh, yeah,” the driver said, turning on the meter. “Where to?”

“E.Z. Self Storage. Broadview and Queen!”

The driver said no more. The taxi pulled away from the curb. Rebecca looked down at her hands, wondering what she’d just been so happy about.

Edward Zimmer greeted her at the door.
He certainly is tall
, she thought.

“Hello, Rebecca,” Zimmer said. He could not gauge Rebecca’s emotional state, and this caused him great concern.

“Hello,” Rebecca replied.

“Do you know me?”

“You’re Edward Zimmer.”

“How well do you know me?”

“I met you on April 14th, seven years ago, when I first rented unit #207.”

“Are we friends?”

“We’re on a first-name basis. That must mean something.”

“What does it mean?”

“That we’ve known each other a long time?”

“Is seven years a long time to know someone?”

“It’s longer than I’ve known most people.”

Taking his hands out of his pockets, Zimmer gently set them on Rebecca’s shoulders. With tender pressure, he steered her into the back office. Zimmer turned off the video monitors. He closed his laptop and turned off the radio. The room became quiet. The cars travelling on the expressway became audible, and the sound of constant traffic made Rebecca feel safe. Zimmer pulled out a chair for Rebecca, and she sat down.

“You have to describe everything you’re feeling,” Zimmer said.

“I’m not really feeling anything, Edward.”

“What about the small things? How are you reacting to small things?”

“You’re right about that. I just wanted to kill a cabby and then I practically kissed the next one.”

“And the big things?”

“Like what?”

“Like your sister.”

“I don’t think I feel anything at all.”

“Are you confused?”

“Only when you ask me questions.”

“Other than that, nothing?”

“I’m not very good with decisions right now.”

“When did you empty unit #207?”

“Two nights ago? Maybe three?”

“And what did you keep?”

“Nothing.”

Zimmer gasped. “Nothing?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“No photographs? No souvenirs? Not a high school yearbook or a piece of jewellery?”

“I threw everything away.”

“But you must have kept something at home?”

“Everything was here.”

“You threw it all in the Dumpster? Around back?”

“Yes.”

Zimmer swirled in his chair and looked at the calendar on the wall. It was Tuesday. The garbage should have been picked up Monday night, but there was still a chance. “Wait right here,” Zimmer said. “Don’t do anything.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious, don’t do anything. Nothing.”

“I’m not a child.”

Zimmer did not feel like arguing. Forcing himself
not to hurry, he walked across the parking lot behind the building. The Dumpster came into view. The top was flush. It looked empty to Zimmer, but he approached it anyway. He pushed up the lid and looked inside. A yellow plastic bag was stuck to the bottom, along with several pages of newspaper. He let the lid fall, making a loud, metallic crash.

Straightening his tie, Zimmer walked back across the parking lot. He found Rebecca sitting in exactly the same position he’d left her in. She looked up and tried to smile, but once again failed.

Zimmer went straight to the telephone and dialled the number of One Man’s Treasures from memory. “Yes, this is Edward Zimmer. E.Z. Self Storage. Client number XET-860. Yes, I’ll hold,” Zimmer said. Tucking the phone under his chin, Zimmer pulled a pack of gum from the inside pocket of his jacket. He unwrapped a piece and put it in his mouth. Then he offered a stick to Rebecca. Rebecca stared at the gum but could not decide whether she wanted a piece or not.

The needle was far below the red bar and Aby had failed to come up with a convincing argument. The engine stalled. Letting the car glide onto the shoulder, Aby turned to look at her mother. With her gills quivering slightly, she spoke. “Mom, would you please let me take you home?” she asked.

They listened to the windshield wipers and the sound of rain on the roof. Margaret looked down at her hands; Aby looked at her mother.

“That’s it?” Margaret said. She raised her head and stared at her daughter. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“I left the water for you!”

“About time.”

“I’ve travelled thousands of kilometres.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I risked my soul.”

“You think you risked your soul because you came out of the water?”

“Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“The point of Aquaticism is that it’s supposed to teach you
how
to think, not
what
to think.”

“What does that mean?”

“I can’t believe that you, my own daughter, have never figured that out.”

“Tell me!”

“It means you’ve failed, Aberystwyth. You’ve failed.”

Margaret said nothing more. She leaned back in her seat, reached underneath her and found the ends of her seat belt. With small, careful movements, she buckled herself in.

Aby remained silent. She slumped over the steering wheel. She rested her head in the centre of it, accidentally honking the horn.

“You’ll need more gas.”

“I have a full can in the trunk.”

Anderson and Kenneth stood shoulder to shoulder in the middle of Mayor Matczuk’s office, dripping on the carpet. The sound of the heavy rain hitting the room’s only window was loud.

Behind the desk, Mayor Matczuk tented his fingers. Realizing that this gesture was perhaps too dramatic, he put his hands in his lap. He leaned forward in his chair and raised his eyebrows. “We just don’t have any proof,” he said. He had spent the days since hiring the rainmakers rehearsing this speech, and he was eager to recite his next line. “Yes, it’s raining, but can you prove that it was your work? And if it was, which one of you did it?”

“This isn’t about that,” Anderson said.

“Just listen,” Kenneth said.

“I’m sorry, but I’m simply unable to help you boys out.”

“Will you just shut up for a second?”

“This is bigger than that.”

“You need to evacuate the town.”

Matczuk openly laughed at Anderson’s suggestion and then looked directly at Kenneth. “He’s not serious?” the mayor asked.

“I agree with him completely,” Kenneth replied. Although neither father nor son noticed, it was the first
time they’d acknowledged each other since they’d stopped working together.

“Well, that’s just ludicrous. We won’t be doing that.”

“Then don’t say we didn’t warn you,” Kenneth said.

“Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes. I hear your warning. I’ll be taking it under great consideration.”

Kenneth put his hat back on. Anderson buttoned up his raincoat. Leaving a wet spot on the mayor’s carpet, they turned and left. They stood just beyond the doorway of the town office and looked up at the rain, which continued to fall harder and harder.

Lewis knew that a number of hours had passed, but only because he had become very hungry. Seated on the edge of the bed, he leaned forward slightly. He began searching the top of the bedside table. He knocked over the lamp, then managed to set it upright again. He found the phone and put the receiver to his ear. He reached over to the dial pad but couldn’t remember where zero was. He tried to picture its location and became reasonably sure it was the middle button of the bottom row. He pressed that button. He counted to five and began to speak.

“Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello?” he said, loudly repeating the salutation for fifteen seconds. Knowing that the concierge usually answered the phone on the second ring, he was sure this should be enough. “This is Lewis Taylor in the Vice-Regal Suite,” he continued. He spoke quickly, leaving no room for interruption, at a greater volume than was necessary. “I would like room service. A clubhouse sandwich. Fries. Please leave the tray outside the door.”

Having ordered food at least twice a day since he’d checked into the hotel, Lewis knew if he had successfully placed the call that his sandwich would arrive in almost exactly thirty minutes. He sat in the middle of the bed and waited. After what felt like thirty minutes,
he stood up. He stretched out his arms and made his way to the door.

Opening the door, Lewis crouched in the hallway and felt a tray. He took off the lid. The sandwich was cold. The bread had started to harden. His hunger overwhelmed him, and, holding the door open with his body, Lewis began to eat, taking large bites. He ate quickly, almost savagely. When he felt he’d eaten everything, he backed into the suite, leaving the dishes in the hallway.

Edward Zimmer and Rebecca stood in a small valley of garbage. Rebecca counted the seagulls wandering around the piles of trash and reached fifty-seven before a bulldozer scared them off. Leaning back, she watched the seagulls fly overhead. Her hard hat fell off, but she didn’t pick it up. Zimmer’s hard hat was also too big for him. He had buttoned his dress shirt up over his nose and tucked the cuffs of his pants into his argyle socks. Running from one pile of garbage to the next, Zimmer kicked small pieces out of the way and lifted larger pieces with the end of a broomstick. Sensing that Rebecca had stopped working, Zimmer turned around. He saw her hard hat on the ground.

“Pick it up!” Zimmer said, his voice muffled by his dress shirt. “They said we had to wear them.”

Rebecca did what Zimmer asked. The hard hat slumped forward over her eyes, so she turned it until the peak was at the back. She looked into the distance, where three garbage trucks were unloading. She watched garbage pour out. Rebecca had always thought of garbage trucks as big and the amount of garbage they held to be large, but she no longer thought this. Compared with all the garbage already in the dump, they were depositing very little. She looked down at her feet and kicked a plastic doll head. “This is hopeless,” she
said. “And it smells really bad. Will you drive me home?” This was the first firm decision she’d made all day.

“No,” Zimmer said. He lifted a pair of blue jeans by hooking a belt loop with the broom handle. “We can find them. They’re somewhere in here. All we have to do is find them.” As Zimmer spoke, he waved the broomstick in the air, making the pants dance.

Rebecca stared.

“We have to find your things.”

Rebecca walked across the garbage until she stood beside him. She put her left hand on Zimmer’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. Zimmer sighed and his shoulders fell. The sun was setting behind the bulldozers as the operators shut down their machines. Zimmer nodded and Rebecca followed him to his car.

Zimmer parked in front of Rebecca’s house and rolled down his window. Rebecca traced the edges of the glove compartment with the tip of her index finger. A couple walked along the sidewalk beside the car, and Zimmer waited until they’d passed before he spoke.

“You know, it’s not so uncommon, what you have,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“The emotions. That other people feel what you feel.”

“I’ve never met anyone else who has it.”

“You have. You just didn’t notice. Or you thought you were really in sync with them. That you just really got them. Everybody likes to think they’re empathetic. You know, all the things people think when they meet you.”