Heroes (36 page)

Bayle looked around him at the screaming confusion. Samson and himself were the only ones in the arena not scrambling for their lives.

“Why the hell are you just sitting there!” Bayle yelled.

Samson took a long pull on his cigar, exhaled a trail of blue smoke. “From what I understand, it's really the same principle as what to do when in the midst of any catastrophe, actually. Those who seek shelter are usually the ones who get hurt, you see.”

“Besides,” he said, “considering the difficulty we were likely going to have unloading the Bunton Center once we moved to Texas, this little ... incident tonight might, after all, be just the best bit of luck that could have happened. Only from an accounting point of view, of course. Still, I'd have to say that our insurance should take care of us nicely. Very nicely.”

Firemen, policemen, and Bunton Center security personnel were pouring through the exits the other way now. For the first time Bayle had a chance to panic at the thought of Gloria and whether she was all right.

Bayle watched Samson drop his cigar stub to the ground and carefully crush it dead underfoot; looked at the ice surface down below still littered with Dippy and Bladon's abandoned sticks and gloves left over from their interrupted fight; wondered once again how Gloria was and felt his stomach slightly curdle; drew back his fist and punched Samson so hard right flush in the face that Bayle thought he saw a tooth or two mixed up with the blood and saliva that flew from Samson's mouth as he crumpled to the ground. He stepped around the motionless body.

A black-bag-toting medical attendant at the exit excitedly asked Bayle if he was all right.

Bayle heard the man's question but kept walking toward the cleared exit; didn't bother turning around to answer, just kept on moving.

G
AME OVER
, tie game, 3-3, Toronto needed the win but they'II take the point. Oh, well.

So I missed the game. That's what “Sportsline” at 11:30 and highlights are for, right?

And no problem. They're on T.V. again next week against the Red Wings and I'm not going anywhere. And, hey, the Maple Leafs versus the Red Wings, the old man's favourite Saturday night war, what more could you want? A comfortable chair, clear reception, and maybe a cup of hot chocolate between the second and third periods. Laugh if you want, little sister, but there are worse Blessed Trinities to live by.

But you wouldn't laugh. You'd say, Just as long as there
is
a Father, a Son, and a Holy Ghost. And there is, sometimes. Sometimes there is, sometimes there isn't. And when there isn't, you just have to wait around and shine your shoes and stare at all the pretty girls on the subway ride to work and read the sports page and wait around some more and hope that there will be again. And there will be. Maybe not as soon as you'd like, maybe not as often as you want, but there will be.

And when there is, be thankful, be grateful, give thanks. And when there isn't, be like a smart goal scorer stuck in a ten-game scoring slump: keep skating hard, keep going to the net, keep your stick on the ice. Because you never know what's going to happen out there. And sooner or later the puck's going to go in the net and the red light is going to come on and the crowd is going to rise to their feet and all of a sudden your arms and stick will be raised in the air over your head in celebration just when thirty seconds before you wondered — you really, really wondered — if you'd ever feel this good again. And you do. You will.

But hockey's not, as the t-shirt on that skinny kid I used to watch screaming himself hoarse behind the visitor's bench at the Warriors' games says, life, right? Hockey is just a game; a game, not life. But you try and tell that to the old man, okay? Yeah, right. You try and tell him.

It's late. I could order another drink but I won't. Bar nuts aren't supper, though, even if they are the expensive smoked
kind, so if they're still open I'm still going to get that pizza from Papa Ciao's on the way home. And if they're not, there's always Pizza Pizza where I know can get a couple of slices. The pizza isn't even half as good, but at least they'll be open and at least I won't have to go home and cook. Thank heaven for small miracles.

I wish you could feel how hungry I am. I wonder what you'd think of the new Spadina streetcar. I'd like to show you where I work now. I wish you could feel how good it's going to feel going to sleep tonight. I wish we had talked like this a long time ago. I wish I knew then what I think I know now. I wish I wasn't just talking to myself. I'm not just talking to myself. I'm not just talking to myself.

Let's talk again, little sister. Let's talk.