33
“This here is for Frost.”
Along the walk leading from the church Robson pushed an office chair. The rolling wheels purred and rattled.
It was morning, not very early. The rain had let up only an hour before. The walk and the street were wet, and the tall grey-ochre grass at the front of the church drooped or lay flattened. On blackberry vines heaped over the sidewalk, drops of water hanging from the thorns caught some brilliance from the sky. High clouds were coasting north-eastwards, torn by infrequent patches of blue.
101 helped Robson tie the chair onto Noor’s cart. Noor and Ice and Powell stood on the sidewalk watching.
Noor said “Gifts like that, Grampa’s likely to send me to visit the Church Gang every day.”
Beauty snorted. Her breath plumed in the cold air. She stamped once. They all laughed.
101 said “She don’t like the sound of that.”
Noor said “She wants to get back, is all.”
Powell said, more loudly then necessary “What kind of knot do you call that?”
101 said “This here is called a mind-your-own-business knot.” He looked up and nodded severely in Powell’s direction. The flaps of his thick peaked cap hung over his ears. He was skinny and had a pointed nose.
Powell said “Looks to me more like a lose-the-chair knot. A fall-off-at-the-first-bump knot.”
Robson and 101 ignored him for a minute. Then 101 said “It’s a stick-your-neck-in-here knot. Come closer and I’ll show you.”
Ice stood beside Noor, with her arm around her shoulders and the collar of her navy blue pinstripe suit coat turned up. She was three inches taller than Noor. She said “I’ll show the both of yous, if yous don’t shut up.”
Noor stepped forward and tugged a handful of hay from the single garbage bag on the cart. She dropped it in front of Beauty, who nosed it around, snorted again and tossed her head. Noor gathered it and stuffed it back into the bag. She stood in the road looking up at the hulking and silent ruins in whose shadow the church squatted. For a second the sun flashed through eastern clouds. A gust of fresh, chill wind shook water from some high ledge, and there was a sprinkle of minute rainbows, brief as an eye-blink. Then a deep gloom moved like a hand over the street, and those gathered around the workhorse and the cart lifted their faces toward the skating clouds.
Spring came out of the church. She had no coat, just her faded red-and-black plaid logger’s shirt with her strings of beads, her grey flannel dress-pants held up by wide, striped braces, her battered leather shoes. Like the others, she wore what she had been wearing when Noor arrived. She was very fat and walked with a waddle. Her dirty-blond hair spilled over her shoulders in disordered waves. She was smiling. She had a small white plastic bag.
Noor walked to meet her. She accepted the bag, opened it, reached in, said “What are these?” She drew out a squared-off object wrapped tightly in smooth, shiny paper. It sat in her hand as if it belonged there. She studied the writing on the paper.
Spring was still smiling.
Noor said “Camay.”
Spring said “Smell it.”
Noor brought the bar up to her nose. She said “God.”
“It’s soap.”
Noor gave a short exhalation of wonder. “Soap. I haven’t seen soap since I was small. We used to make our own with fat from the chickens and cows. But you need wood ash. Peat ash is no good. And I’ve never seen soap that had a beautiful smell.”
From the street Hollyburn said “It’s called store-bought.”
Noor slipped the bar back into the bag and hugged Spring and kissed her on her soft cheek. As she stepped away 101 rushed past her toward the church door. He said “Wait till you see what I got for yous.”
Hollyburn followed him in.
Robson took the bag from Noor and found the binoculars on the cart and put them into the bag with the Camay hand soap and tucked the bag under the half-full garbage bag of hay and slid one of the sealed buckets of water up against it.
Powell stepped out into the street to talk to Beauty. He stood beside her, running his hand along her shoulder. She turned her head slightly toward him and watched him from her dark eye.
Ice said “Powell was meant to be a farm boy.”
Noor said “Come and visit us, Powell. You and Spring and Ash. Come and stay.” But Powell had not heard her, and continued talking to the horse.
Ice said “The city’s not so rich anymore. Especially for food. The rest we don’t really need. You seen all our wonderful trash. Useless. I suspect once we get hungry enough you’ll see all of us comin’ over that bridge.”
Noor said “In that case I hope your grub runs out tomorrow.”
101 came out of the church, almost running. He was waving a book. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Noor as Spring and Robson and Ice and Powell gathered to inspect the gift. It was a paperback book, whole, perfect, with a picture on the cover of a man, a woman and, in front of them, a boy. Just their faces and torsos. Looking out at the world. Smiling, content, clean. Wearing coloured Tshirts.
The bottom half of the cover was given over to the title. It said EMOTIONOMICS. Below that word, in smaller print, it said, Spiritual Wellness in the Age of Anxiety. And it said, Michael F. Weiner, PhD.
No one spoke. Except for 101, they gaped in awe and puzzlement at the thing in Noor’s hand. Ice reached out and touched the glossy faces. Finally 101 said “That’s how they looked then, I guess.”
Powell said “Can you read them words?”
Noor said “I can read them. But I don’t understand them. This one says wellness. This one says spiritual.”
Powell said “What the hell is that?”
Noor shook her head slowly. “I don’t know.”
Just then Hollyburn came out of the church. He was toting two stuffed garbage bags. He said “Clothes. For yous at the farm.” He laid the bag on the cart. He said “Store bought.”
Noor said “Thank you, Hollyburn. Were any of those keepin’ skeletons warm when you found them?”
Hollyburn joined the group. He said “Spear-ritual. That there’s when you take your spear and you…”
He could not complete his definition because 101 was hitting him with the book. Noor cried “You’re going to bust it!”
101 gave the book back to Noor and said “Sorry, there, Noor. It just makes me so god damn mad when he starts goin’ on about things he don’t know nothin’ about.”
Hollyburn replied with calm superiority “You’re just jealous ’cause you’re so ignorant.”
Noor said “Come here. Thanks for the book.” She hugged 101.
101 went “Mmm” and said “Come into the back room with me. I might have more books.”
But Ice twisted his ear, and 101 went “Ow “ and let go of Noor.
Young Ash came out next. The brown cardigan hung down to his ankles. It was wool and had a raised pattern of ropes or braids. The sleeves had been cut to length. Like the others, he wore decrepit leather shoes. His blond hair hung in its helmet shape, straight and fine.
He was carrying the enormous candle that had sat in front of the fireplace. He was struggling under its weight. Robson stepped forward to help, but Ash twisted away and approached Noor, grimacing with effort. When Noor took it from him he exhaled loudly and made a gesture of collapse, and everyone laughed.
Noor said “Are you sure…?” and glanced at Robson, who nodded.
Ash said “It’s for Will. So’s he can read the book if it’s dark.” He had the excited, shrill voice of all boys.
Noor said “But you never even met Will.”
“Tell him it’s from me.”
She bent to kiss Ash on the head, but he lifted his face. She kissed him on the lips. When she straightened, her eyes were moist. She wiped them with a finger as Powell took the red candle to the cart.