Jesus, Vera thought, I don’t need this now, a temptation at this late date. Or maybe she did. Her father had fallen into the accident of success, why couldn’t she? Why not? There had always been more to her than her father had ever guessed at, or that she had had the opportunity to show.
She got to her feet and circled the kitchen. Twice around the room and she resumed her seat, laid down her hands side by side on the tabletop as if they were gloves. Then she took a deep breath and pressed down with her palms as hard as she could. Time passed. Her fingers went white.
Vera had made her decision.
16
When he was finally persuaded they were gone for good, Alec was torn by loneliness for his grandson and daughter. Loneliness led to a discovery. It was this: alone in his empty house he heard a voice. So loud, emphatic, and inescapable a voice that in the beginning it frightened him, even though most of what it announced was commonplace enough. Time for a cup of tea, it said. Or, Looks like snow. Of course, it was not so troubling after he recognized the voice as somehow his own, that it did not come from outside him. This did not happen at once. For a long time he was undecided. It sounded and did not sound like him. His disbelief was of the order of a man hearing, for the first time, a recording of himself speaking. Could that awful voice really belong to him?
To start with, he wondered if he might not simply be hearing himself talking to himself. He could have fallen into the habit, he supposed. It wasn’t so. Even with his lips firmly pressed together he could still hear the voice. Besides, what he was listening to was not the ordinary, familiar voice which had been his all his life – this voice was different. Not only did it fall strangely on his ears; it said strange, surprising things without warning. One day, out of the blue, it said: Did I have a hand in it.
Is this the sort of thing which Earl had complained of?
The night of the fire, Alec and Mr. Stutz rushed Earl back to town, leaving the hired man Dover to keep an eye on the progress of the destruction. From the first, it had been obvious that there was nothing they could do to save the crop. It was an outright loss. Fortunately, the burning field was bordered on all sides by summerfallow, either Alec’s or a neighbour’s, so the men were confident that the bare, tilled earth would contain the flames on Alec’s property and prevent them spreading. Nevertheless, when they reached Connaught Mr. Stutz was to call out the town’s fire brigade, chiefly so that the neighbours couldn’t accuse them of not having done all that was humanly possible if the fire carried, although they all knew that a single pump truck would be next to useless in such a situation. As Dover had said, “If that happens we may as well all sling out our dinks and piss – for all the good it’ll do.”
That night, however, Alec was less concerned with the fire than he was with Earl. On the way to Connaught he bombarded him with questions. “Are you hurt?” “What the hell happened back there?” His son made no response, merely sat pale and silent, watching the beams of the headlights bouncing on the rough road.
After a while, Stutz suggested there might not be any point to more questions. Perhaps Earl wasn’t speaking because he was in shock. Alec drove even faster and more recklessly when he heard this. Couldn’t people die from shock?
When he reached Connaught and saw a light showing in Dr. Dowler’s house he braked the truck, ran up the steps, banged on the door with his big, hard fist, and shouted unceremoniously up at the porch light. Mr. Stutz followed, leading Earl, who moved like a sleepwalker, by the hand. An unfamiliar young man came to the door and explained that Dr. Dowler was away on his annual two-week fishing trip up north to Lac La Ronge and he, Dr. Evans, was relieving him.
Mr. Stutz, seeing that matters were being taken in hand, sprang off the porch and hurried to raise the fire brigade as the young doctor directed Earl and Alec to the office at the back of the house. Because of the nuisance Alec made of himself on the walk through the house, talking of shock, pointing excitedly to the blisters forming on Earl’s neck and hands, and rushing through a garbled story of a fire, the doctor discouraged him from accompanying Earl into the examining room. “Wait here, please,” he said and shut the door in his face.
For a half an hour Alec sat and watched the closed door, rubbing his hands together and stretching his face in grimaces. Then Stutz came in and took the chair beside him. “The fire truck’s off,” he said.
Alec nodded, although he had scarcely heard what he had been told.
“They still in there?”
“Yes,” said Alec. It was obvious they were. The murmur of voices could be heard behind the closed door. Alec didn’t like it. The longer it went on, the more certain he was the news would be bad. Ten minutes more, fifteen. The door handle turned and Alec was on his feet, drying his hands on his pants legs before the door swung fully open. Dr. Evans ushered Earl out. Alec saw that one of his son’s hands was swathed in gauze and that dabs of greasy ointment glistened under the electric light nearly as much as his eyes, which appeared to be filled with tears.
“Have a seat with your friend,” Dr. Evans said softly to Earl, indicating that he meant Mr. Stutz. Earl betrayed no sign that he had heard or understood the doctor, but remained where he stood, arms hanging slack at his sides. Stutz rose from his chair and guided Earl across the room by the elbow. “Here,” he whispered earnestly to the boy, “doctor means over here, Earl. Right here. See?”
Dr. Evans turned to Monkman. “Could I have a word with you?” Alec followed him into the examining room and the doctor closed the door carefully after them, leaning against it until he heard it click shut. The room was small and crowded, because of the examining table there was hardly space left over for a couple of chairs. The two men were forced to sit face to face, their knees almost touching. The doctor breathed peppermint into Alec’s face. Alec didn’t wait for him to begin. “What’s wrong? Is Earl hurt bad somehow?” he demanded.
The doctor was relieved to find he could begin on a note of reassurance. “No, from what I can gather your son was very lucky,” he said. “Most of his injuries are pretty superficial, a few first- and second-degree burns. He’ll be all right on that score.”
“What about this shock business? That doesn’t look too hot to me.”
“In pathological terms he’s not suffering from shock at all – not shock as a result of physical trauma at any rate. I’ve checked his blood pressure for instance and it’s not depressed, all other vital signs are normal.” The young doctor realized he had lost his listener. He hadn’t been long out of medical school and medical school clung to him still. He tried again. “We don’t have to worry about shock – not that kind at any rate,” he said.
“Why don’t he talk then?” Alec asked. “Why does he look so Jesus awful then?”
“He talked to me,” said Dr. Evans.
“Earl never said a word to me or Stutz on the way in – you can ask Stutz.”
“I don’t doubt he didn’t,” said the doctor. He paused before taking the next step. “Mr. Monkman,” he asked, “has your son ever mentioned anything to you about hearing voices?”
Monkman gave the doctor an uncomprehending stare. It was clear he didn’t grasp the question. “How do you mean – voices?”
“Voices which aren’t there. Voices with nobody speaking them. Voices that urge him to do things. Things like happened tonight.”