Part 39 (1/2)
”Apprehensive,” he said.
The composer-in-residence of the orchestra, a sinewy middle-aged woman in a s.h.i.+ny blue dress, stepped out. The loud clack of her heels on the stage seemed to embarra.s.s her, so she hurried.
At the podium, the composer introduced herself. Nancy Barislawski. From Philadelphia, originally. She looked to her right, to the box where Rajinder and Madison sat, and talked about being summoned to the thirty-eighth floor of Manulife Place. She talked about 10 Garneau and Rajinder Chana's impossible request. To design a concerto that said everything there was to say about the mythic power of Edmonton. In a month!
Nancy shrank from Rajinder in mock-terror and went on to say how much she enjoyed the impossible project, and how she hoped it would help restore the neighbourhood to its true owners. The audience applauded politely and Nancy introduced Rajinder. She asked him to stand and then she asked his fiancee and Garneau Block neighbour Madison Weiss to stand as well.
Fiancee? The word, its French threat, hung before Madison like a flock of red bats. Rajinder turned and gripped her hand. ”I am sorry.”
”No. It's...” Madison sat down, her cheeks on fire.
”A mistake. A mistake. I will fix it.” Rajinder, still standing, waved at Nancy Barislawski. She stopped talking about the music everyone was about to hear and turned to Rajinder. ”Excuse me,” he said. ”But Madison is not my fiancee.”
Nancy Barislawski opened her mouth and squinted.
”She is only my girlfriend thus far.”
”Oh, I apologize,” said Nancy.
She seemed prepared to continue discussing the concerto of mythic power when someone below them, perhaps the woo-er, said, ”Thus far? What does that mean?”
Rajinder didn't seem to know if he should respond. ”I mean she is my girlfriend currently. But someday, perhaps, if she feels like we can maybe...”
”Are you waiting for a full moon or something?”
Madison wanted to crawl under her seat. On stage, Nancy Barislawski s.h.i.+fted her weight from one high-heeled shoe to the other. Someone in the balcony yelled, ”Go on, ask her, already.”
”That girl looks ready to me,” said a gentleman with a Slavic accent.
”Woo!” said the woo-er.
Rajinder shook his head. Madison pulled on his arm, wanting him to sit down and save himself from this, but he appeared to feel obliged. He addressed the crowd: ”What if we would prefer to do it alone?”
A woman called out, ”You got a ring, kid?”
”I do happen to have a ring, yes.”
The audience erupted in applause. Several woo-ers joined in. Rajinder looked down at Madison again and shook his head. ”This must be horribly awkward for you.”
It was and wasn't. Aside from the afternoon talk-show spectacle of the thing, Madison was comforted by members of the audience saying what she herself felt. Ask her, propose, woo. Rajinder went down on one knee, pulled out a small jewellery box and said, ”Will you?”
”Will I what?” Madison bit her finger.
”Marry?”
The orchestra broke out in a quick, impromptu ”Here Comes the Bride” as Madison nodded.
Once Madison and Rajinder were in their seats holding hands, their hearts unified in dangerous velocity, and everyone had stopped clapping and laughing, Nancy lifted the microphone again. ”Upstage city. Sheesh. I only wrote a concerto here.”
94.
the terletsky-wongs At four in the morning, Raymond Terletsky and s.h.i.+rley Wong locked 10 Garneau. The winter storm was finally blowing in. Raymond's lower back was so sore from bending and standing he leaned on his wife as they crossed the street.
”Get off.”
Raymond took a step away and slipped on the new sidewalk ice. He landed hard on his tailbone and sat there as s.h.i.+rley continued to the front door. She opened it and turned.
”You coming?”
Instead of rolling on to his hands and knees and standing, Raymond lay back to watch the snow fall in whorls above his head. From his spot on the sidewalk, Raymond heard a sigh. s.h.i.+rley started back down the steps and through the snow. She held a hand out for Raymond and helped him up. ”You look like h.e.l.l.”
”I feel like h.e.l.l.”
After almost two weeks of cataloguing and curating the rotating exhibit that would be the modified Great Spirit, Raymond felt as though he ought to sleep until Christmas. The president and the mayor would come by in just a few hours, at noon, and Raymond might have done moretouched up the paint, polished the wood floorsbut in his fatigue he was in danger of ruining something.
He followed s.h.i.+rley toward his front door. On the porch Raymond turned and looked back at 10 Garneau. In the front yard, lit by the street lamps but obscured by the snow, stood the man with the buffalo head. Raymond had not seen Death since Halloween night, and had certainly wondered what had become of him. Unless the man with the buffalo head wasn't Death at all. Raymond waved to the man with the buffalo head.
As he stepped inside, s.h.i.+rley handed Raymond a snifter of cognac. He cradled it. ”Thank you, darling.”
”Get your shoes off and sit down. When's the last time you really sat down?”
”In prison, I suppose.” Raymond flopped on the couch.
s.h.i.+rley turned out all the lights except those on the Christmas tree. She sat next to Raymond on the couch. ”We're going to have to figure out what to do when the kids show up.”
”What do you mean?”
”I mean the bedroom situation. The 'no touching' rule.”
Raymond sipped the cognac. It was difficult to form words. ”Your choice, darling. I wait anxiously for permission to touch you again.”
”I pushed all the houses off the model downstairs the other day when I was mad at you. It's a ping-pong table. All it needs is a net.”
”Ping-pong,” said Raymond.
”It's difficult for me to say this but I'm proud of you. The house really does look like a museum, or something. It speaks.”
The man with the buffalo head stood in the living room now, next to the Christmas tree. The sight of him did not startle Raymond but he didn't want s.h.i.+rley to see the man with the buffalo head and get the wrong idea.
”You can go now,” he said, barely above a whisper. ”I don't need you.”
s.h.i.+rley turned to Raymond. ”What?”
”Talking to myself.”