Catholic Guilt and the Joy of Hating Men (16 page)

We’re your cats
, the thought said.
It’s me, Sandra... I’m talking to you now
.

“Bullshit.”

Either that or you’ve gone full Santorum.

“How are you getting inside my head?” Laura asked.

We’ve always been in here. Listening.

“You’ve been listening to my thoughts? For how long?”

Long enough. And now you owe us.

“Owe you? For what? Nothing I couldn’t get with a dog and a jar of peanut butter.”

Quiet down... people will hear you.

“So what?”

People will think you’re insane. We need them to trust you, Laura. We chose you for this mission, and we made it happen.

“Made what happen?”

We made every cat owner in the country vote for you. Republicans, Democrats, Apartment Libertarians... every last voter with a litter box chose you.

“But why?”

To do our bidding.

Laura felt the sharpness of Sandra’s claws, digging into her thigh.

To do
my
bidding
.

“This is crazy. I must be having some kind of nervous breakdown.”

She went back to pacing, but now the cats collected around her, in front and in back, following her in each step she took. And standing at the lead was Sandra, still staring at her, her blue eyes cold and intimidating.

Scratch my belly
, a thought said.

“I won’t do it,” Laura said.

Get on your goddamn knees and scratch my belly.

Laura wondered if they could postpone the inauguration. Maybe they could give her a week to just chill out and try to get right with herself... maybe they could inaugurate her running mate instead, and she could switch up with him sometime in the spring...

Scratch my belly, Laura. Or you will live to regret it.

Laura’s mind raced; she thought of the time when she’d mixed up the food, and given Sandra the chicken instead of the tuna. She’d come home from work the next day to find her egyptian cotton sheets ripped into shreds. She’d had her cats long enough to know which ones she should cross; she was no match for a siamese.

Laura cried a little as she dropped to her knees. She slowly reached out towards Sandra, as the cat rolled onto her back.

She gave Sandra’s cream-colored belly a scratch and listened to the purr.

And then she heard a knock at the door.

The door opened, and her campaign manager peered into the room.

“It’s time, Laura,” he said with a wide smile.

“I’m ready,” she said, finding that her nerves had settled now that she knew her place.

With a confident walk and slightly smeared mascara, President-Elect Laura Daniels walked out towards the inauguration ceremony outside the Capitol building. She was ready to change the country, to muzzle every dog and ban every last vacuum cleaner that could ever interrupt a mid-morning catnap. She’d let no one stand in her way as she finally implemented the strategic catnip reserve, and she knew she had the strength of character to risk her second term on the Open-top Aquariums Act.

She wasn’t sure she’d make America better for anyone other than the cats... she didn’t know the first thing about health insurance, or social security, or why the creepy guy at the airport always insisted on patting her down. But that was what Vice Presidents are for, aren’t they? Surely Newt could give her a few pointers.

But really... so what? So what if she wouldn’t actually make things better?

Standing at the podium, Laura raised her right hand and prepared to repeat the oath, knowing to the depths of her being that she really couldn’t make things any worse.

SUNDAY

BRECCAN HATED
the young boys of Skidegate most of all. I thought it was cute how awkward they were.

A handful of the native kids circled us a few times while we were walking along the beach, their gaze squarely aimed at her see-through stockings and the ink-blot tattoos underneath.

“Little perverts,” she’d called them. She liked to forget that the way she dressed brought a similar response from most guys. It’s probably the number one reason we’d been invited along on this trip in the first place.

And the reason Breccan gets a lot of things in life...

We left port just before lunch, since it makes sense to stock up on groceries at the Co-op and eat en route, rather than spend another meal at one of the handful of restaurants in Queen Charlotte City, which is about as much of a city as Darrel is a sailboat captain.

That is to say, Darrel sucks at it. Or blows chunks, as we used to say in junior high.

Darrel took us down the coast of Moresby Island and the smaller islands beside it, tracing in and out of the inlets in the rain and fog. Seeing that made everything else worth it. You forget about how much people can get on your nerves on a small boat when you’re looking out at the edge of the world.

We saw the sun come out just as we were thinking about dinner, so Jon and I made some sandwiches so we could go ashore for a final picnic in Haida Gwaii. Jon made a couple extra for himself, as usual; he’s a big guy, and it’s not all muscle.

Darrel found our way to Hotspring Island, radioing the Watchmen for permission to drop in. They told us it had been pretty quiet for a weekend in late August, and invited us ashore.

One of the Watchmen met us as we clambered onto the beach after anchoring offshore, dressed in a red rain jacket with a round hat made from tree bark. He looked a little younger than us, which surprised me, and to be honest I had trouble telling if he was anything other than just another white guy from Coquitlam or wherever.

“Hello,” the man said. “I’m Paul.
Sánuu dáng gíidang?
How are you doing?”

He seemed to be looking at me more than anyone else. I walked over and offered my hand. “Hi... I’m Steph. Thanks for letting us visit.”

“It’s always good to have visitors in
Xaadala Gwayee
. Keeps me busy.”

“We brought a picnic,” Breccan said. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“That’s fine,” Paul said. “There’s a great place up the trail I can show you.”

“You’re coming with us?” Breccan was already going full on bitch mode. “We didn’t pack enough sandwiches for you.”

“Breccan...” I said quietly, hoping she’d just stop talking.

The Watchman didn’t seem to be bothered by it. I guess Breccan is a certain type of girl we’ve all gotten used to. I’ve lived with her since we started at UBC; I don’t notice it most of the time.

“My mother grew up in Masset,” Darrel said.

“My family is from there,” Paul said. “I live in Vancouver the rest of the year.”

“We’re probably neighbours,” I said. Then I felt a little stupid.

He grinned. “Could be. Are you that girl in my building who sings ‘Gagnam Style’ in the shower each morning?”

I laughed. “I have a few more songs on my playlist.”

He brought us up to an overlook with a small bench. It was hard for all four of us to even fit there, and Paul just stood to the side like he was part of the scenery.

Breccan kept giving me weird looks while we ate, but without saying much I couldn’t tell if she was creeped out by Paul’s very existence or just creeped out that I was being nice to him.

I didn’t think there was anything creepy about him; after a week and a half with Darrel and Jon it was nice to meet a guy I didn’t want to whack with a paddle.

After we ate Paul led us back down to the changerooms, and then we showered and tried the hot spring pool by the beach. Breccan had snuck a flask into the water but I didn’t feel right drinking from it. I wasn’t surprised to find I was the only one who felt that way.

It started to rain again.

“Do they ever have a day without rain?” Breccan said.

“It’s part of the mystique,” Jon said. “I feel like this is the perfect setting for some kind of fantasy epic.
A Song of Fog and More Fog
.”

“You’re seriously the funniest virgin I’ve ever known,” Darrel said.

“I’ll be glad to get home to sunny Vancouver,” Breccan said. “It’s like the Sahara compared to this place.”

“I like this place,” I said, hoping that Paul was listening. I imagine that’s part of the job of a watchman. “The Realm of Fairy is a strange shadow land, lying just beyond the fields we know.”

Breccan groaned. “Shit. You’re getting poetic again.”

“And I’m not even drunk.”

“It’s rainy here because Raven stole the sun,” Darrel said. “That is the story.”

“That’s not the story,” Paul said, stepping towards the pool. “A chief was keeping the light in a treasure box, leaving the rest of the world in darkness. Raven tricked him by sneaking inside the chief’s daughter and emerging as a baby.”

“Virgin birth,” Jon said. “I read about that somewhere.”

Paul didn’t acknowledge the interruption. “He grew into a small child, and begged his grandfather to let him see the light. The chief finally gave in and opened the box. He took out the light and threw it to his grandson, but Raven transformed into a bird once again and grabbed the ball of light with his beak. He flew up through the smokehole of the house and brought the light up to the sky, where it remains to this day. And
scene
.”

“You’re telling us there’s a sun somewhere up there?” Breccan said. “Sounds like your Raven Jesus didn’t do that great of a job.”

“That’s not funny, Breccan,” I said.

“It’s a little funny,” Darrel said. “Besides, I was the one who was telling the story in the first place.”

“Sorry,” Paul said. “I get carried away sometimes.”

“I guess it’s your job. Telling fairy tales to tourists.” He gave a little nod, obviously impressed with himself.

Paul shook his head but he didn’t take the bait.

I was feeling a little hot and a lot uncomfortable. I stood up from the pool.

“Fun’s over?” Darrel asked.

I shrugged.

Breccan followed me out of the pool, and we went together to get changed.

Darrel and Jon were still in the pool when we returned.

Paul had stepped back a little, and I could tell he didn’t feel particularly wanted.

“We took a vote,” Jon said. “We’re staying in this pool forever.”

“Sounds good,” I said. I nodded to Paul. “Do you know how to sail a ketch?”

“How do you think I got here?” he said. “Have you seen how much the ferry to the mainland costs?”

“You sailed up from Vancouver, too, eh?” Darrel said. He sounded a little pissed off.

“It’s a pretty long trip by canoe.”

“Heh. I guess you’ve got plenty of time to sail in your line of work.”

“That’s true. Mortgage brokers can get a lot of papers signed out on the water. You learn to compensate for all the rocking on the boat.”

“Mortgage broker. So you’re like a bank teller?”

“Pretty much,” Paul said, unaffected. “I got my start as an ATM machine. The 24-hour shifts were murder.”

“I... I guess it’s good that there are jobs for people who don’t have degrees.” He was flailing. He couldn’t think of anything clever.