Part 35 (2/2)
s.h.i.+rley held out her hand. After a moment of confusion, Raymond took it and followed her out of the interview room.
”Did you bail me out?”
”I did.”
Raymond's favourite guard, Yolande, a squat women with thick gla.s.ses and a Portuguese accent, dished him a thumbs-up. ”It's been great having you, Dr. Terletsky.”
”Thank you for everything, Yolande. For your protection and the chocolate-chip cookie yesterday. It was a hint of civilization.”
Raymond gathered his clothes and completed all of the sign-out procedures, and they started out of the building southwest toward Winston Churchill Square. It was a cloudy day and almost dark even though it was not yet four in the afternoon. Light snow fell. s.h.i.+rley did not speak until they reached the art gallery.
”If you agree to a couple of rules, I'll let you move back in.”
They entered the square. Raymond did not respond. A group of boys sat and silently smoked at the cenotaph in front of the giant gla.s.s pyramid of City Hall. To s.h.i.+rley, they didn't look older than ten or eleven. But an air of adult failure and desperation surrounded them already. Considering the boys, in their puffy parkas and obnoxious logos, s.h.i.+rley was satisfied that despite all of her regrets and Raymond's lapses in sanity the family had never sunk so low.
At the southwest corner of the square, Raymond paused. ”When?”
”Today. Tonight, after the game. I know you don't like hockey games but you're coming. What do you have at Abby and David's, apart from clothes?”
”Books. A mini-stereo and my Magic Flute CD.”
s.h.i.+rley started ahead but Raymond remained.
”You won't regret this. I'm going to be a good husband again, a good friend. A good man, really, and I'll follow all of your rules.”
Raymond tried to kiss s.h.i.+rley's hand but she pulled it away. ”The first rule is no touching until at least Christmas. Now let's go. You'll need a shower and shave before the game.”
By the end of the first period, the Oilers were leading the Boston Bruins 41. Merriment filled Rexall Place. The wave had pa.s.sed three times and s.h.i.+rley and Raymond had joined several refrains of ”Here we go, Oilers, here we go.” A group of twentysomethings in the nosebleeds had even sang the na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye song.
In the opening minutes of the second period, Boston tied the game. The blues overtook the middle blue seats in Rexall Place. According to his custom, Raymond detached himself from the action at the most crucial point and began reading the program for the third time. He went for hot dogs and pop, and by the time he returned, Boston was ahead 54.
”Prison food is for real criminals,” he said, two bites into his dog. ”So what's the plan? It feels like we should get the neighbourhood together for one last effort. Physical attacks are out, I promise, but there's got to be something.”
s.h.i.+rley watched Ethan Moreau cross the Boston blue line and skate right into a giant Bruin defenceman. ”Keep your head up, Ethan!” she said, and turned to Raymond. ”We're going to do nothing.”
”What do you mean?”
”I mean, Raymond, that's the second rule. We do nothing.”
”So we're just going to let the heartless university bulldoze the Garneau Block and”
”Yes.”
”You can't be serious, s.h.i.+rley.”
”Those are my rules. My only rules. I mean, aside from the trawling for prost.i.tutes business, which goes without saying.”
Raymond clenched and released his fists. The Oilers iced the puck. A whistle blew. A commercial for snowmobiles exploded on the Jumbotron. ”Should we stay in Old Strathcona? Or try Oliver?”
86.
the political life A bowl of popcorn with coa.r.s.e black pepper sat on the small table between David Weiss and Jonas Pond. Though it was fluffy enough, and glistening with oil in the candlelight, neither man had taken a piece. A bottle of red wine also sat between them, so far unpoured.
While David related what he had read in the Farmers' Almanac about the weather this coming winter, Jonas considered escape routes. The scenario felt like either a prank or a trap. Though Jonas couldn't remember doing anything illegal in the past few months, his memory wasn't as elastic and reliable as it once was. Maybe David was working for the police, eager to have him arrested for...what? Looking at men in diapers on the Internet?
”It was a rainy summer, sure, but it isn't nearly as cold as it used to be around here. Not that I'm looking to blame anyone. Industry or whatever. It is what it is.”
Jonas poured the wine. ”I know what you mean.”
”What? What do I mean?”
Since he hadn't been paying attention, Jonas just said, ”The weather.”
”Right, yes.” David cracked his knuckles. ”For all we know, Madison's child could be living in a desert in fifty years. If the oil peaks soon, maybe we'll all have to live closer to the equator. Unless, of course, the earth twists on its axis and we all die instantly. Making all of this moot.” David lifted his gla.s.s and touched Jonas's gla.s.s. ”Moot or not, we got the hybrid now. We're doing our part. Right? In a world of declining oil supplies, that's all a guy can do, right?”
”Moot.” Jonas started to sip his wine and, instead, finished it in a couple of gulps. ”David?”
”Yeah.”
”What are we doing here?”
David placed an elbow on the table and squeezed his bottom lip between two fingers. He looked around the Sugarbowl. ”I've become a Liberal.”
”No.”
”Yes, my h.o.m.os.e.xual comrade. A Liberal.”
”How did it happen?”
”Peak oil, various treacheries that aren't your concern. Your concern is the upcoming federal election, and our common need for a credible candidate in this riding. The current nominee is polling badly and she's poised to drop out. In her place, we need someone with name recognition, a way with words, no criminal record, and a pa.s.sion for public service.”
”Uh-huh.”
”Someone like you, Jonas.”
Jonas finished laughing and filled his gla.s.s again. He imagined himself in the House of Commons, wearing a blue pinstriped suit. The so-cons would love a gay, quasi-trilingual man from a riding in Alberta. A quiver of warmth went through him. ”Before I say anything, David, are we on camera?”
”No.”
Jonas took a piece of popcorn and listened to the people around them, having their own insane conversations. His const.i.tuents.
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