macCLOUD FALLS, page 30
‘This is a reservation?’ he said. They looked around. The houses were well built and well maintained, better than many in the town.
‘Sure.’ Deeanna turned to Gil and said, deadpan, ‘So anyway I guess I need to make things right for leaving you to the coyotes the other day.’
Gil stepped awkwardly from one foot to the other. ‘Well, from what Mar… Veronika tells me, you actually saved my life,’ he said.
‘That makes three of us,’ Veronika put in.
Deeanna smiled. ‘Only three? Guy takes a lot of saving. Anyway, you’re welcome… come on.’
She led them down the gravel slope, the three of them and Hero on a leash because of the nearby river, and as they approached the building, the scale of it was fully revealed. ‘Beautiful,’ Veronika breathed. ‘Like a wing.’
It had five levels of stepped concrete, too big to be steps as such, more seats. Deeanna said, ‘It’s supposed to remind you of an open-air Greek theatre as well as an eagle’s wing. Not a place for drama, but everything. A place of meeting and discussion for the elders. That was the architect’s vision: a place where words would take flight.’
‘So who is the architect?’
‘She,’ Deeanna said, ‘is a young native woman over in Merritt.’
‘So the elders stand around and discuss things, or do they lie down like senators in togas?’ Gil asked, cheekily, and Veronika rebuked him with a look.
Deeanna laughed anyway. ‘I dunno. I’ve never been.’
‘Never?’
‘I don’t see them meet too often and, when I do, there’s people here I like to avoid.’
‘Meaning?’
She began to climb up the giant steps. ‘Ah you don’t know? Politics is dirty business everywhere.’ At the top, she stood and gazed around her. ‘Still and all, I love what they built here. Good things can some out of bad, I guess. Maybe they use a talking stick or something, keep them in their place. Me, I come when there’s nobody around, which is most of the time. I love the wood, the cedar. The shapes its shadows make.’ She stretched out her arms to stand like Samson between the pillars, but looked glad to find them strongly resistant.
‘So this commemorates the signing of the document to the Premier that Lyle wrote?’ Gil asked her.
‘Helped word, is what I hear.’
He looked at her for a second, seeing the distinction, and bowed his head slightly. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Of course.’
‘It’s really great,’ Veronika said, as she reached the bottom step. She tried to climb up but Hero wouldn’t attempt it. ‘Come on, lad,’ she urged. ‘Jump!’
Gil was gazing around, as if looking for something. Then he said to her, ‘But that, I believe, commemorates Jimmy Lyle,’ pointing towards the river. A small stone stood alone, too far off for her to see. The scale of it seemed right, somehow. A tiny stone, next to this temple of sculpted trees threatening to take flight into the vast rocky wilderness around it. As much of a mark as any man could make on it.
‘But there’s no mention of Antko here?’ Veronika called up to Deeanna.
‘No. Not here,’ she called back. ‘This is a place for male heroes only.’
Hero, hearing his name, lifted his nose and barked, to remind them of the work done by all of his species too, and Veronika snuffled it affectionately with her palm.
They walked apart then, Deeanna along the great step-like seats, Veronika and Hero to watch the quiet river from the back of the temple. Gil had already strolled halfway to the stone. Each with their own understanding of the place, all affected deeply by it. For a long while there was no voice but the river’s, and rustle of the trees in the ever-present breeze.
Veronika walked down to where Gil stood, in front of the memorial to James Lyle. The three written languages – N’laka’pamux, English and French – were a kind of triangulation point; two colonizing cultures and the local. Then they heard Deeanna call out, and when they looked for her they found she was standing at the highest level of the theatre banking, pointing skyward. They too looked up and saw, circling slowly high above them, a bald eagle.
‘Wow!’ Veronika shouted.
They stood a long time watching. It seemed as if it was circling the temple, watching them watch. The eagle above the eagle’s wing.
‘Maybe it’ll drop you a feather like that raven did,’ she said, winking dubiously. ‘Or did you make that up?’
‘That really happened,’ he protested.
When they got back to the theatre, Deeanna had clambered down the seats to ground. ‘That’s auspicious,’ she said, ‘For your journey. But the eagle is telling us that this is the centre of it.’
‘It?’ he queried.
‘Your travels. This is where you had to go to.’ They walked up the gravel to where the VW was parked. Gil thanked her again and got in the car, while Veronika waited to say goodbye.
‘I’d have invited you over,’ Deeanna said, indicating the reservation houses behind them, ‘but there’s people there. Awkward maybe. Now if you had been just plain old Veronika and not Sigourney.’
‘Haha. It’s okay. I understand.’
She faced Veronika and put her arms around her. ‘But listen, let’s stay in touch. I like Veronika better anyway.’
‘Sure. I’d like that. Come and see me, down in Van, why don’t you?’
She drove off, climbing up the hill to the top of the ridge. He asked her to pull over and stop, so she did. He just wanted to look back at Cloud Falls for a while. So they got out of the car for a moment. They could see the theatre below, the CPR line running past it, the river and The Chief, and under his bulk, the little white houses of the town.
‘It is beautiful, the temple, theatre thing, I mean,’ he murmured.
‘It’s really like an eagle’s wing.’
‘It is…’
‘Made of yellow cedar.’
‘Yeah. And I like what it says about now as much as anything to do with the past.’
She looked around her at the canyon, as if it had become part of her world, her little town. ‘So what do we do about all this?’
He was staring at it too, a slightly sad expression on his face. He put on his phoney American accent, ‘I guess we just drive away, honey. Hit the highway. That’s how you do it in the Americas, I believe. But we’ll be back on the way south.’
After a while, her brown eyes turned to him, mischievously, ‘But I like these characters, surely we can’t just leave them here... what about the film?’ she said.
He laughed. ‘It does seem a pity, but where could it end? We’d be here forever. Think of it, no good coffee.’
‘So you think there may be good coffee in Merritt?
‘Let’s hope.’
She drove on, the automatic gearbox changing up and down as the road curved along the ridge road, echoing the river’s meanderings below.
‘What’s her background,’ she asked, suddenly. ‘This Martina of yours? What’s her story? Or haven’t you bothered giving her one?’
‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I have three in mind. Do you want to choose one?’
‘Sure.’
‘Okay,’ he began, ‘So in the first Martina is the only daughter of two brilliant computer scientists who were given political asylum in Belgium while they were at a conference, before making their way to Canada, where they lived a quiet life and continued their research.’
‘Hmmm,’ she said. ‘A little dull. What’s two?’
A rig pulling a load of timber loomed up from a hidden hollow. Veronika hit the horsepower to accelerate away from its momentary menace.
‘In two, Martina is the daughter of man who worked the black market in Communist times, not a gangster but a business man who supplied high party officials with western luxuries. It was all done under a blind eye.’
‘Better. How did they get to Canada?’
‘Hmm… well, he filled his car, a Skoda, with all his jewels and dollars, stuffing them into hidden compartments and simply drove through a checkpoint with official blessing. He had said he was taking his daughter on holiday whilst making short trip to Munich for business.’
‘So he arrived with in the west with capital?’
‘Yes, they lived in Paris at first, because the girl had been educated at a French school in Prague, so the transition was easy. And then moved from Paris to Montreal. He invested in property and became wealthy.’
‘Hmm. Okay. What’s three?’
‘In three, Martina is the daughter of a two ballet dancers. Her father was famous in his youth as an actor too. He appeared in a few Czech films, state propaganda stuff. Martina was a brilliant pianist as a girl and they wanted her to go to the Juilliard in New York, but when they defected, they became trapped in the system and applied for asylum in Canada instead.’
‘You’re making this up as you go along, aren’t you? She laughed and glanced at him sitting there in the passenger seat, still pink and ginger. He grinned back at her.
‘Maybe…’
‘And?’
‘What?’
‘What happened to them?’
‘Ah... let’s see now. The parents couldn’t speak English well. They’d been dancers and let their bodies do the work, but they were getting older and had to seek new occupations. They tried to work as dance teachers, but without English, they found the teaching difficult. So Martina’s father started in construction in Edmonton, and her mother did sewing repairs. Tutus and stuff.’
‘Interesting. And the piano?’
‘What piano?’
‘Martina’s gift. Her talent.’
‘Ah… well, when they first emigrated they couldn’t afford one, and when they could it was such a poor instrument compared with those at her conservatory, she couldn’t play it without feeling very sad. It was many years before Martina played the piano again.’
‘That’s too sad. She’s not that sad a woman.’
‘She hides it well. She’s bright and witty, but there is tragedy lurking.’
‘No, it can’t be three.’
‘What then?’
‘Two’s a little less romantic, more real.’
‘And one’s the most boring and realistic of all?’
Another truck approached, and she slowed, pulled over as it thundered by. Hero got up and barked out the window loudly. She drove on, and slowly the road descended from the ridge, the valley opened out into a gentler terrain, grassy and fertile. After a while, she asked him, ‘Does she have to be called Martina? And does she have to be Czech?’
‘Well, kind of.’
‘I think she should be allowed to choose her own identity.’
‘So what do you think her name is, our Martina?’
‘Okay... I’ll accept Martina as her name, all right? But Czech... well, let’s see if you can pull that off for the Czechs. So what about her story?’
‘What do you mean? I just told you.’
‘No, those were beginnings. How did she get to where she is now, in this car with you? This stranger who picked you up.’
He thought for a while, glanced at his driver. ‘I think in all three stories she’s someone who lost her way because of the cancer. The fundamentals of her life changed. And of course she’s on sick leave. That’s why she’s free to be here.’
‘And before the cancer?’
‘I think she was happy. A translator of fine literature, with many famous clients, travelled a lot. And there was one famous writer who’s more than a client.’
‘So that first bit you stole from me?’
‘Yes, I admit that.’
She had the feeling he was watching her closely as she drove, sensing his fiction overlap with their current reality. It was both disconcertingly intimate and somehow precious, this interest, but she wanted to put some distance between herself and this character he was dreaming up.
‘So when’s her birthday?’ she asked, and he laughed.
‘This is some interrogation!’
‘I’m only helping you realise your fictional vision,’ she said, her eyes on the road ahead, which was now getting busy with traffic.
‘Em... Let’s see, what was it she told me? Never ask a woman her age.’
Then she laughed. ‘I like you, Gil,’ she said. ‘Like being with you. You kinda get me, don’t you?’
He laughed too. ‘Do I? I’m never sure.’
‘I think so. But it’s all a bit strange, this other identity you’ve drawn for me. Slightly creepy.’
‘You weren’t meant to read it. You weren’t meant to turn up like that. You were just a….’ His voice trailed off.
‘A what?’
‘A passing stranger.’
Another silent stretch. It looked as if they were getting somewhere, though, the roadside farms were large and well-tended, the houses set far back from the road with giant barns around. Herds of cattle filled the grassland. She rather liked this game of make-believe, she decided, especially the multiplicity, so she asked him, ‘What were her three mothers like?’
He snorted, as if to say are you serious, but played along. ‘Now the first was a scientist, remember, so very rational and self-disciplined. She never understood her daughter’s ways. Art and literature. Though perhaps she admired it even more because she didn’t understand it.’
‘They sound quite a dull family. And the gangster’s moll?’
‘She died. Young. Martina was brought up by someone else.’
‘Who?’
‘I think the grandparents...’
‘Did they emigrate too?’
‘The plan was that they would retire with their son and granddaughter in Canada, but when the time came they wouldn’t leave the old country. They said it was too late.’
‘Wait… that doesn’t make sense. How could they bring her up then?’
‘Ah,’ he grinned again. ‘You caught me out there.’
‘No, I think leaving them behind was Martina’s tragedy, not her parents dying.’
‘Yes, maybe. She never saw them again.’
‘Her love of Czech writing is down to them,’ she suggested.
‘Possibly.’
‘They sent her a book when she was first in Canada, a big volume of Czech Literature. It was illustrated in such a bold and colourful style, she loved it immediately. It reminded her of her grandmother’s kitchen, all her patterned crockery.’
He laughed. ‘Hey, who’s story is this?’
She came to an intersection and a line of cars, turned in her seat to check on Hero. He was half-asleep, enjoying the AC. ‘What about the ballet dancer mother?’
‘Maybe she gave up dancing when Martina came along and devoted herself to her daughter’s education, especially the piano. When Martina stopped played, she broke her mother’s heart. They still can’t talk about it.’
‘Does she ever play again?’
‘I think so. When she came BC to meet her lover for the first time. In his flat, he had a baby grand he’d shipped out from his apartment in Prague. She found herself alone in the room, and the view over the sea and the forest through the balcony glass reminded her of the Czech mountains, and inspired her.’
‘She played Ma Vlast.’
‘That was when he first fell in love with her. The music floating through the cabin.’
‘Haha, very romantic. Watch you don’t overdo that.’
He laughed too. ‘I have the feeling you’re not taking this entirely seriously.’
‘Of course I am... But I kinda think she should live all these lives. All these stories. These experiences.’
‘And six parents?’
‘Families are complex.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘Just sayin…’
She made it through the intersection finally. Gil said, ‘So does this mean I have to call you Veronika from now on?
‘It’s my name. Still, I think Martina is quite sad to be leaving her fellow characters,’ she said, to the windshield. He smiled, but didn’t answer.
The land had now completely flattened out to become a rolling plain, dotted with farms. Cattle began to appear everywhere in fields. The land here was used, every acre. Fine tall horses paraded in corrals made of wooden poles.
‘So this is different,’ she said, peering out the windshield. ‘No more canyon.’
‘Reminds me of Shiloh,’ he observed.
‘Pardon me?’
‘It’s the name of a ranch in a Western series I used to watch on tv when I was young.’
Just then her cell phone, which had lain lifeless in her purse on the backseat of the VW, came to life with a succession of pings and pops. ‘Looks like we’re back on grid,’ she said nervously.
He checked his phone. No messages, except one from the phone company to tell him he’d be spending a small fortune if he used it while in Canada.
‘Yup. Movie’s over,’ he said, a little glumly.
‘No way… this movie’s not finished. You have the Country Capital and we have a road trip to your friend in Little Forks,’ she said, reaching past the dog, to fetch her phone from her purse. ‘Don’t you, lad?’
The car veered towards the ditch. ‘Look out!’ he said loudly.
She turned to correct the steering just as the wheels ground into the grit at the roadside. ‘I got it,’ she said.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Ah, no, actually, let’s stop for now. Unless you feel like driving?’
He didn’t. She pulled in at the side of the highway where a patch of unfenced land and footpaths seemed to invite walkers. ‘Would you take him out for a while, please? I want to check my cell properly.’
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Sure. Don’t worry. I just need to reply to something.’
So Gil got out of the car and clipped Hero’s leash on, and they walked away through the tall grass. She put on her pink-rimmed glasses, then flipped her cell. A missed call from her mother, even though she’d told her she wouldn’t be able to answer. All the other calls and messages were from him, the last a day ago. It read: Cant lose u. Wht shd I do?
She sighed and counted ten messages, in reducing frequency from the day she left with her cell firmly off, in case he tried to change her mind. Reading them all now would feel as if she were falling into his web. She pressed reply on the last instead.
