Floating Notes, page 3
Do you want a tea or something? He had big brown eyes that looked down on his feet when he talked to me, an accent I couldn’t recognize.
I’m fine, I said to him, though I could really use a tea.
I sat there when the boy left. Outside, there weren’t many people in the streets. Through the glass, I saw shadows with umbrellas pass in the dim light.
I was starting to feel like myself again.
The ministry of labour opened at 9 am. I decided to pass the remaining time at a coffee shop. I still had some change left for a coffee, and it felt good to be back to my routine.
I looked at my map. The ministry was in an area I had been to before. There were several marked points on my map, but in an alley I was able to find a new coffee shop. It seemed like one of those places that only a few regulars knew about. There was an old type writer on a tall table. I was tempted to try to type something on the white paper. When the barista, a young man with a moustache and a pony tail, asked me:
The regular, Bob?
I looked around at the otherwise empty coffee shop. I rushed out the coffee shop, my heart throbbing in my ears.
There was a line up in front of the ministry even though I was early. A guard in a black uniform checked the documents of the people in the line. I took out my documents from the knapsack.
What is your request? I don’t see any forms attached.
I want to get my last check.
The checks were mailed on the assigned date.
I don’t live at the same address anymore.
You need form 401 for the change of address. You can pick it up from two blocks south of here.
I bought a hot dog with my remaining change and walked through a park to the place where you could pick up the form. The birds were pecking at breadcrumbs. Pigeons. Sparrows. Gulls. Baby sitters played with kids at the playground. A man was swinging his son, the little boy was shrieking in excitement.
Every day when I got back from work, I used to put my son in the stroller, go for a long walk in the park. When we got into the playground, he would sit on the bench and watch the other kids. After I persuaded him, he would do one round of “slide and see-saw,” then come back and sit on the bench again, staring at birds, kids, dogs. One day I sat on the swing myself holding him tightly and swinging back and forth. Higher, higher, he shrieked. It seemed whatever fear he had had disappeared.
I thought he would be in high school now.
I picked the form from the basement of an old building. But I still needed to somehow get my last check. I wondered whether the landlord had rented my place to someone else, or I could still enter the attic with my old key.
I walked to the Chinese grocery store, studying the area from there. I couldn’t see a sign of the black car or the men with beards. The “OPEN” sign flashed on the massage parlor window. Everything seemed to be as it was before any of this had started. I took the back stairs to the hallway, waited behind the door until I could hear no sounds from the hall. I wasn’t sure if I should just enter the hallway and try opening the attic door using my old key.
My temples burned from hunger or the thought of all of this. I opened the stairway, took big steps towards the attic, turning my head to check the hallway with every step. After making sure nobody was around, I inserted the key and turned. The door opened.
I fell on the floor. Envelopes surrounded me. One of the envelopes was from the ministry with my check inside it.
There was another envelope with nothing written on the back. When I opened it, I found the pilot certificate inside. Why had Sheila mailed the certificate back to me? She had volunteered to keep it herself.
Everything else in the attic seemed as if it had been left. I opened the drawer. Nothing was inside except the bread covered in mold. My father’s gutting knife wasn’t in the toolbox. Somebody had been there, but had probably not expected the pilot certificate to be in the envelope.
I heard a door open in the hallway, looked through the peephole, and saw a man leave the French man’s room. I looked at the pilot certificate again. The man in the French man’s room was the man in the photo.
What had happened to the French man himself?
I didn’t turn on the lights, spent the night in the attic in my old bed, putting my ear on the wall.
When I left the attic, it was still dark. My tongue was heavy, my stomach burned. Nobody was in the streets. I had to wait for the bank to open.
Once I cashed the check, I could check into a motel, eat, take a shower.
I had stayed in a motel the first time I arrived in this city. Most of the stores in the street had been abandoned since, the items on displays covered in dust. The motel was one of the few places that had stayed open. The exterior hadn’t changed much, still painted in yellow. There were two cars in the parking lot, one of them a police car.
Could I provide the address of the motel for the ministry? Maybe I was better off renting a box in the post office. Of course I had to pay for the box, but it gave me the ability to pick up my check if they found my place and I had to move again.
I remembered the motel room from my first stay there, the radiator making noises at nights, young people screaming in the parking lot. The first couple of days, the room had been cold, and I’d had to sleep with my jacket on.
I looked at the entrance door to the reception and wondered if I should enter. They didn’t usually ask for the money up front. There were two tables in the reception area where they served eggs for breakfast. Scrambled was the only way you could get them. Paintings of trees and snowy roads were on the walls. The carpets smelled of mildew.
A policeman in his uniform left one of the rooms. He looked around the empty street and looked at me before getting into his car. I started walking. A woman was walking in front of me, dragging her left foot on the ground, pushing a cart. The wind banged the cans hanging from the cart. When the woman turned into an alley, I was left alone.
The snow had melted. The roots of the trees had cracked the sidewalk. My eyes followed a truck disappear into a garage behind a fence. After the fence, a river with foaming water flowed beneath a bridge.
After I cashed my check, I walked back towards the motel. I was so hungry that I went into the first place that seemed to have anything to serve. It was the only place open on the street after I left the bank. Wine glasses hung from a rack. Long stools were placed in front of the counter. The woman behind the counter had the big tattoo of a head of a bird. The tattoo started on her shoulders and disappeared beneath her top. She asked me what I wanted. I asked her what they had, which was only coffee and pastries.
But this place looks like a pub, I said.
Well, it was a pub before. But my husband doesn’t want me to serve liquor anymore.
She put a cup of coffee on the counter, a croissant on a white plate. The crust was greasy. I felt the grease curdle in my empty stomach. I washed the grease down with coffee.
There was a shooting here a while ago, the woman said.
Yeah, she said. She stared outside like the scene was recurring in her head. Then she grabbed the coffee pot, refilled my cup.
I imagined the body of the contact floating on the ocean, his face deformed, his skin swollen and green.
Sorry to hear that, I said.
It’s not your fault, she said.
I took out my map and marked the place on it, even though it was not really a coffee shop.
On the corner of the place there was a telephone.
Can I use the phone?
Suit yourself.
I dialled the number on the map, but no one picked up.
I went back and sat on my stool.
You seem like you can use a drink, the woman said. She took out a bottle of scotch from a cupboard, slid two glasses on the counter.
My husband never shows up this time of the day, she said. Her fat fingers stroked her hair.
At the motel, breakfast time was already over. There were no cars in the parking lot, but two old men sat in the reception area. The receptionist was a new guy I didn’t recognize.
Their monthly rate was much better, so I decided I’d stay for a month.
In my room, I opened my knapsack and spread everything out on the floor. I hadn’t organized the objects inside the knapsack in a long time. I undressed and folded my clothes, put them on the flowery bed cover. My underwear I took with me to the bathroom.
The water was leaking from the shower. It had formed a brown stain on the tiles. On the floor, ants were crawling on something sticky.
The water was lukewarm. I thought about going and complaining about it, but didn’t want to leave the room with my hair wet. I washed my underwear and spread it on the radiator to dry.
When I was a kid my mother would spread all of my clothes on the radiator before I left home. In my walk to school, I would be warm from the heat until I got very close.
I dried myself with a towel and looked at the mirror. My beard had grown. I first cut it short with a scissor, then shaved it. The skin beneath my beard had become flaky.
One Summer Lily’s grandparents came to visit them. They stayed in the farm house for a week. They had their meals together again, her grandmother cooking. Her grandfather said grace. Her father never said grace after her mother was gone. The sound of forks and coughs were the only things that broke the silence.
Her father smoked one cigarette after another.
Her grandparents took her on a camping trip one day. Her father didn’t go with them. They swam in the lake, slept in a tent. They showed her birds, chipmunks, deer drinking water from the lake. By the fire pit, her grandmother told stories.
The day after, her grandfather fished and they took a photo with him holding the fish, her grandmother holding Lily. Lily didn’t like to touch the fish. It was still alive, moving in her grandfather’s hand.
Her grandfather gave her a map where it showed there was a treasure under a tree. The trees all looked alike, she couldn’t tell which was which. But that tree seemed closer to the lake. She started digging. There was a box with a black velvet cover that she opened. Two ear rings were inside.
She looked around, but couldn’t find her grandparents or the blue tent. The sun had gone down. The wind shook the trees. She heard the branches of the trees crack and fall down. She started screaming.
Her grandparents appeared from behind the trees.
We’re here. We’re here, they said.
On their way back, they asked her if she wanted to go live with them.
I pictured little Lily with ear rings on.
I tried to remember when I had written this in my notebook.
When I woke up the room was dark. My penis was hard. I didn’t remember what I had dreamed. I turned on the lights and checked my underwear on the radiator, it was still damp. I needed to get dressed and go out to eat. I thought I should have at least bought some bread to keep in my room.
I heard a knock at the door. I put on my pants without underpants. When I opened the door, it was the police man from this morning.
Would you mind moving your car? That spot is mine.
I don’t have a car.
Sorry about that, he said. His eyes moved on what was inside, on the floor.
Do you happen to have a wrench? the policeman asked. My shower is leaking. I’ve asked the reception several times, and they haven’t done anything about it. I can’t go to sleep at night.
I could see his pistol hanging from his belt. I left the door half open, grabbed the wrench from the floor, gave it to him.
He held it like that for a moment, looking at me, and then he thanked me and left.
In the morning, I wore my clothes, organized the items on the floor. I left my tools on the bedside table, put everything else back in the knapsack.
In the reception area, the policeman was having his scrambled eggs with coffee. His pistol was placed on the table. He waved his hand at me as I entered.
The leak is fixed, he said.
Great.
I wanted to have breakfast first, but I decided I’d make my phone call until the police man was gone. I wanted to eat breakfast alone.
I dialled Lily’s number with no success again, then returned and sat for breakfast. Both the receptionist and the police officer had their eyes on me.
Pretty nice out there, the receptionist said.
The police man stretched his arm towards me. Jake, he said.
The receptionist was looking at us. He had seen my ID.
I told the police man my real name.
He contorted his face. I’ll call you Neighbour, he said and pressed my hand. His knuckles were fat. My hand started to hurt.
What do you do, Neighbour?
I am in between jobs was what I always responded with, even though I hadn’t really looked for a new job for several years.
He stood up, reattached his belt, looked into my eyes. His eyes still looked red.
Bye, Neighbour.
After breakfast, I walked back to the other part of the city. I needed to rent a post box at the post office and go back to the ministry to change my address. Instead, I found myself in front of the blue house.
I stepped back from the building and tried to see if I could see anything through the windows. I could see shadows moving inside, so I went closer and knocked.
An old woman opened the door.
I am not buying anything, the woman said with a high-pitched voice.
I am not here to sell anything, I said. I am a friend of the two women living on the top floor.
I had only rented it to one person. A woman with short hair and glasses. They should’ve paid more if there were two of them. Anyway, she hasn’t paid her rent. She disappeared last month. I have rented the place to someone else. Her furniture is in storage. Let her know if you see her.
What had happened to Sheila? She didn’t seem like someone who would leave like that.
Can I leave my address with you to give it to her in case she comes back? I am staying at a motel.
I ripped a page out of my notebook and wrote down the name of the motel.
You seem like a nice person, she said. I’ll tell you what I heard from a neighbour. Two weeks ago, a woman was screaming and knocking at different doors asking people to help her. She thought somebody was following her. I was out buying groceries, so I didn’t see any of this, but when I came back people were still on the street. You could hear the sirens of the ambulance. It might have been her. As I remember, her sound moving upstairs stopped that same night.
Could it be Lily? Lily had talked about people following her with Sheila before I left. Or was it Sheila?
I walked to the post office before going back to the motel. In the post office, I saw the date on a calendar on the wall. On that winter day, in the past, I had moved a few pieces of furniture into the house that belonged to a friend of mine who had just fled the country. The big vacant house was only heated with a rusted oil stove. I couldn’t heat the room before going to the hospital to get to Ava. I had to leave the house with the furniture not arranged but on the floor, the stove humming but not emitting heat. I wasn’t able to get to the hospital in time.
Ava’s high blood pressure had necessitated a C-section. I imagined she’d waited until the very last moment for me. I pictured her looking to the door for a long time, her eyelids heavy from the anaesthetics.
Her face was swollen and tired. But the moment she opened her eyes and saw me holding our son, she smiled.
Our son was very tiny, wrapped around in a grey blanket, fuzzy hair covering his soft skull.
Back at the motel, the air smelled of a dead skunk. The policeman had put a chair on the porch. He puffed at a joint, a beer bottle in his hand.
Join me Neighbour, he said.
Maybe he is not a bad person, I thought.
After two puffs, his husky voice echoed in my head. His face stretched and turned into other faces.
I killed someone today, the policeman said. He started to sob.
I looked at him and pictured him pointing his pistol at his own temple.
First I thought he was the contact, but then he had the policeman’s face. We were on my father’s boat fishing from the river. I heard his husky voice from beneath the water, his words bubbling out of the surface. I pulled out my fishing rod. His head started to come out of the water. His eyes were shut. The hook stuck out of his gums.
Next morning, I woke up earlier to have my breakfast before the policeman was up. I wasn’t ready to face him again this soon. When I saw through the window that he was in the reception area, I started to walk away. First, I had no place in mind, but then I decided to go the place that was a pub before.
When I got there, the woman was dozing with her head on the counter. She raised her head and looked at me. She had sleep marks on her forehead and one of her cheeks.
I am not a morning person. Now that I am selling coffee, I have to wake up early, and no one even wants coffee in this neighbourhood. You’re my only customer.
I didn’t know if I should be flattered or not. I sat on my stool without swerving.
Were you able to call your friend?
How did you know? I asked. No, it’s very weird. It’s as if she has disappeared.
Your girlfriend?
No, but someone I was close with.
The things I’ve seen in my life. Her hazel eyes went absent like the last time. I would check the hospitals, she said as she poured a shot of scotch into my coffee mug.
There were four hospitals in the area. It wasn’t possible to tell from the map what departments each of them had, and if they were the right place to look. First, I had to visit all the four hospitals in person.
The problem was that I didn’t know Lily and Sheila’s last names, not to mention that I wasn’t sure which one of them I was looking for. Every time I described the incident at one of the hospitals, they asked me for the patient’s last name and my relationship to her.
