Transgression (26 page)

A
lex started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Since the train had been five hours late and there was talk of a storm coming, he thought they’d better be on their way. Otherwise they could have taken some time to explore the city.

“The folks are planning a big party. Everyone’s all excited to see you.”

“How far is it?”

Adele had been speaking nothing but English for several months now. Alex couldn’t get over how well she spoke. Every time she said something, his face glowed.

“About five hundred miles or so.”

Five hundred miles or so. That seemed like a long way. But it had been a long way from Halifax, too. An abundance of space, Adele thought. There would be more snow. More forests. The odd farmhouse. This didn’t seem to be a particularly comforting thought but they were in the middle of a busy city now.

She glanced at Alex. He looked more or less the same as she remembered. The skin under his eyes seemed darker, though. And there was something about his smile. It wasn’t so much at ease with itself. It appeared quickly enough, just as open and unguarded as always, but it went away just as quickly.

He’s nervous, like I am, she thought. She wiggled her hand up his sleeve. She squeezed his arm.

“God,” he said, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“How big a party?”

“At our place? Big. Everyone.”

Almost all the money Alex had given her was still in her suitcase. She’d gone out one day in Glasgow with a few of the other women and bought herself some winter clothes, staying within the allowance of the Canadian government. All she could find for the money allowed was a bulky sweater, heavy stockings, a wool hat, black boots made out of rubber and a brown tweed coat with a fake fur collar. She’d thought Alex would be pleased with her thrift, that he would see how thoughtful and careful she could be, a beginning promise that they could work together, that they could build a life.

Alex was driving an expensive-looking car. His family must be rich. Adele wished she’d spent more money.

Alex drove slowly through the city streets. The car was a deep maroon colour outside and an even deeper maroon inside. The seats were wide and plush. Adele could hardly hear the motor at all. It reminded her of her father’s touring car except her father’s car had been bright blue with cream upholstery.

Adele looked down at her drab coat and her rubber boots and her heart sank.

“I took a room just outside the city, once I found out the train was going to be late,” Alex said. “I thought we could have a nice meal, go to bed early.” There was that smile again. “And we could get an early start tomorrow.”

They drove out of Quebec City. The snowbanks seemed remarkably high on either side of the highway. It was getting dark, so Alex put the headlights on. After a few more miles, he slowed the car down, turned on to a narrow road and parked in front of a large building. It looked like a picture of a hunting lodge in the Alps.

“This is it,” he said.

Alex drank a bottle of wine at supper. Normally Adele would have helped but she only felt like one glass. She kept a wary eye on Alex-he hadn’t used to drink so much-and busied herself talking French to the waiter. Alex had told her to take advantage of the opportunity.

“When we cross into Ontario tomorrow it will all be English. Except for you.”

The room he’d booked upstairs was small and felt chilly. Alex closed the door and busied himself checking the radiator. After he was done, they stood there looking at each other. For the first time that day they felt shy.

“I can’t believe you’re actually my wife. I can’t believe it.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re so beautiful.”

“No, I’m not.”

They made love in a bed that was hardly wide enough to contain Alex. Afterwards they touched each other’s hair and gazed into each other’s eyes as if they’d just miraculously appeared in the same room, as if they weren’t sure the other one was really there.

“Je t’adore,”
Adele said.

Alex began to shiver. And then he began to shake.

“What is it?” Adele held him closer.

“Nothing. Don’t.” Alex’s breath was coming in little gasps. He sat up on the edge of the bed. “It goes away.”

Adele rubbed his shoulders. She rubbed his neck. Alex held his face in his hands. Slowly the shaking subsided. He lay down again. He kept his back to Adele. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Adele got up and turned the light off. She pulled the blanket over his shoulders, then got into bed beside him and put her arm over him, felt for his hand. She found it and held it tight.

“How long have they been? These shakes?”

“Not long.” Alex hadn’t looked at her since he’d sat up on the edge of the bed.

“Do you take medicine?”

“I don’t need it.”

Adele was sure he did. She kept her arm around him and her fingers entwined in his until she fell asleep.

The road to this new Paris seemed to wind through every town and city in the whole country. And when it didn’t, when they were out in the open, there was nothing but snow to see, drifting snow crossing the road in front of them like a huge white flood.

Adele waited for Alex to bring up the subject of his shakes. He seemed
in a good mood, talking about his hometown. He made jokes. He kidded her. He held her hand with his right hand and drove with his left. He didn’t mention his shakes.

That night they stayed in the tiniest cabin Adele had ever seen. There were two rows of them stuck out behind the proprietor’s house-it looked like a town for dwarfs.

Their cabin had a sink, an icebox, an iron bed and just enough room left over to turn around. Alex switched on the electric heater and soon it was too warm. There seemed no middle ground–the only setting was red hot and their one window wouldn’t go up. In a moment of inspiration Alex opened the door and kept the heater on. He gazed out the open door. “It feels like I’m back in Germany living in a tent,” he said.

Alex twisted the top off a bottle of rye he’d stowed in the car’s glove compartment and mixed two drinks with a little water. Adele had never heard of rye and didn’t like the taste of it in the water, so she tried it straight. It was strong and made her eyes water, but it went down. They sat on the bed together.

Adele asked him about their rented house.

“I haven’t found one yet. There’s a real demand with so many fellows back from overseas.” He took another sip of rye. He leaned back against the wall. “There were a couple of places but I didn’t think they were right. The thing is, I’m having a hard time making decisions these days.” He seemed to be talking to the ceiling. “I thought I’d wait for you.”

“Where are we staying?”

Alex took another sip. “With my parents. Just for now. They have an extra room.”

Adele tried to smile pleasantly. “Alex, we have to stop somewhere. I need new clothes.”

“Sure.”

“Why didn’t you come to Halifax?”

“Well, it’s a long drive.”

“You said you would when we were in France. And in your letter.”

“I know, but like I said in the telegram. Business, Adele. You know.” Alex studied his drink. He put his hand on her leg. It felt warm. “I wasn’t sure.”

“Sure about what?”

“That I’d make it. I wasn’t even sure I’d make Quebec City.” Alex looked out the open door. The light fell across the snow. Everything was sparkling outside. “Anyway, I did.”

Adele could hear Alex breathing now. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “We will see about the medicine when we get to your home.”

“No, we won’t.”

“Yes, we will,” Adele said.

There was still some rye left in the bottle by the time they fell asleep that night and Alex didn’t get the shakes. The next day they stopped in Toronto so Adele could shop. Alex called his father from a public phone. Adele could hear a sharp voice crackling like static on the other end of the line. Alex put his hand over the receiver.

“Apparently that storm’s finally coming. He says we should hurry.” Alex winked at her. “Take your time.”

They approached Paris in a snowstorm. Alex had to keep getting out of the car to push snow off the windshield so the wipers could slap from side to side. As far as Adele was concerned it didn’t matter whether the wipers were working or not, it all looked the same outside to her, a ghastly whirl of white. The wind rocked the car. She had no idea how Alex knew where the road was.

“It’s not that good,” Alex kept saying.

Good? No, Adele thought. She tried to concentrate on the fact that Alex had been a gunner on a twentyfive-pounder, he had survived the war. She decided that the best thing for her to do was to keep her eyes closed. She hadn’t been of much use anyway, sitting on the edge of her seat and staring out the windshield in disbelief.

The wind seemed louder with her eyes closed. It seemed to howl like something gone mad. She tried to think of somewhere else. She drew her legs up and rested her head against the side of the door.

“I’d put my arm around you but I’m afraid to let go of the wheel,” Alex said. It was a joke. His voice was soft.

Adele smiled. She kept her eyes closed.

“The old man will be dying a thousand deaths,” she heard him say. “He’ll think I’ve put her in the ditch, for sure.”

English words. A sea of English words. She could feel herself drifting.

Seagulls were circling, bright white specks against a startling blue. An ocean rolled lazily in, the waves bronzed, sizzling across the sand. Water rushed against Adele’s bare feet. Everything felt warm. Everything sparkled like fairy dust. A boy with leather breeches was standing in the water. He looked half-starved. She knew she had seen him before.

“Étienne?”

Alex nudged her awake. “We’re home.”

Adele rubbed her mouth, she’d been dribbling. “I have slept.”

“Oh yeah,” Alex said playfully, “I could tell.”

Adele pushed the thought of Buchenwald and Étienne, Étienne who had run away, out of her mind.

She looked out the window. They were driving down a snowy hill into a street of shops. The houses beyond were built on a hill and though it was still snowing, now the snow was falling as soft as feathers.

“It’s beautiful,” Adele said.

His family lived at the far end of the town. The car had to climb two steep hills to get there. Luckily there was a layer of sand on the slippery road.

Alex pointed out his house. It was made of yellow brick and looked very squared-off and as solid as a fort. It was the largest house on the street. Someone had thoughtfully shovelled out the drive. Alex pulled in, stopped the car and turned off the motor.

“From Strasbourg to Paris,” he said.

Adele looked toward the imposing house. “I should have kept on my new clothes.” This had been a decision that had seemed to take a long time, at least it had to Alex, given the impending storm. Should she wear her new outfit out of the shop and have nothing different to put on for the party that evening or should she save it? She’d decided to save it. Now she was furious with herself and almost sick with a sudden wave of nerves.

The front door opened and a woman almost as large as Alex came out on the veranda beaming a welcome. She was wearing a lovely dress.

“That’s Mother,” Alex said.

Mrs. Wells came down the steps and waded through the snow despite the fact that she didn’t have any boots on. Alex got out of the car.
Adele followed him.

“My God, you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Mrs. Wells said, embracing Adele in her strong bare arms. “I’m so pleased for Alex, I can’t even begin to tell you. Gordon, Gordon!”

A man with sandy red hair appeared at the open door. He was noticeably smaller than Alex’s mother and he seemed to have the kind of eyes that could look right through a person. For the first time since she’d stepped outside the car, Adele felt how cold it was.

“Hello,” he said.

The party turned out to be a roast turkey dinner served on tables laid out in the dining room and the adjoining living room, as the front room was somewhat curiously called. A large blue paper banner hung between the two rooms with gold letters spelling out
WELCOME HOME ADELE.

In her new black suit and sheer nylons, in her patent leather high heels, with her deep eyes and pale face framed by her blazing black hair, her lips and cheeks enlivened with lipstick and rouge, Adele looked strikingly beautiful. Alex thought she did, anyway. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

The dinner was for family and relatives and close friends of the senior Wellses. Alex’s friends were to arrive later.

The dinner was a success and almost entirely because Adele looked so pleased to be there and was so friendly with everyone despite a bit of awkwardness with the language, and laughed so easily and throatily for such a little thing, and kissed Alex at all the right times during the toasts. By the time dessert was served, she’d charmed everyone in the house except for Alex’s father. He sat at the head of the larger of the two tables in the dining room, quiet and small and watchful.

Soon after dessert Alex’s friends arrived. They brought in a burst of laughter, a gust of cold air and the aroma of rye whiskey. Everyone else was perfectly sober. The senior Wells didn’t believe in alcohol. Adele had discovered this when she’d raised her wine glass during the first toast and had been ambushed by the thin, watery taste of some kind of fruit juice. Her throat had seized up for a time.

Alex introduced Adele to his friends, about twelve in all, excited young women as well as men. Apparently they’d all been friends since their earliest
days in school. The men seemed forthright and friendly. “Welcome to Canada, Adele,” they said.

“Alex is wonderful,” one of the women whispered to her while the rest of the women nodded their heads in agreement.

One man was standing off a little from the rest. Alex led Adele over to him. “This is my blood brother, Johnny Watson. Johnny, this is my wife, Adele.”

“Any wife of Alex’s is a wife of mine,” Johnny said.

Adele laughed. “Pardon?”

Alex laughed, too, and wrapped his arm around his slight friend’s shoulders and squeezed him tight. “You don’t know what a blood brother is, do you? When we were small, we nicked ourselves with a knife and mixed our blood.”