Liar (4 page)

The doorbell rang and China opened the door to find Sam’s cousin, Bear, and his current flame, Marisa, standing in the rain. Bear was aptly named. He was huge and shaggy and usually affable. According to Sam, Marisa was in her mid-thirties and had once been very pretty, but the ravages of alcohol made her look almost twice her age.

“Hi,” said Marisa. “Do you want to go mushroom picking?”

Although Marisa was often drunk and disorderly, she seemed sober this morning. China hesitated. Sam had told her that Bear could be trusted, now that he had taken the pledge and fervently attended twice-weekly AA meetings, but she found Marisa’s hard gaze rather unfriendly.

“We need a lift,” said Bear shyly. “My car won’t go.”

China quickly decided that it was time to mingle with the locals. A bit of adventure was just what she needed to distract her from her lonely self, so she quickly gathered her rain gear and they climbed into the car. In mushroom picking season the Grimshaw Indians could make about three hundred dollars a day. The ride was exceedingly bumpy and China wished that Sam had bought a pickup truck instead of a low-slung, albeit roomy, 1978 Cadillac. She always felt strange when driving the huge car as she could barely see over the wheel. Sam said it was a real “Rez” car and he’d already had several offers from envious Grimshaws. One guy wanted the steel engine for his boat when the body was rusted away to nothing. It looked like he’d have to wait a long time.

When they finally arrived at their destination, deep in the forest, it was not only raining, it was pouring, and China hadn’t yet invested in long rubber boots. In fact her Toronto wardrobe was entirely useless on this swampy island. Her rubber ankle boots were full of water after fifteen minutes. She tried mightily to step daintily over and around bog but there was more bog then over or around, and she soon submitted to wet feet with good sport resignation. She had to give up wearing her hood because she couldn’t see anything and the chanterelle mushrooms had more experience at hiding then China had at finding. Unfortunately soaking wet hair was soon dripping into her collar that she hadn’t had the foresight to tighten around her neck. Then the seat of her pants got wet straddling fallen logs covered with very wet moss. She should have brought an umbrella. Marisa was already grinning at China’s difficulties. The sight of the city lady struggling with an umbrella in the dense forest would have made Marisa fall down laughing.

There were about five different kinds of mushrooms sprouting everywhere but the chanterelles were few and hiding in precarious places. Nevertheless she managed to fill half a bucket and so did Marisa. Bear’s was filled to overflowing. Marisa complained she couldn't find the magic clearing she'd found before where the chanterelles were abundant. They struggled back to the road which they found by listening for the sound of the logging trucks. China was thrilled to see the gravel road heralding the return to civilization. Fallen, rotting tree trunks, a dense forest and pouring rain had by this time thoroughly quelled her enthusiasm for chanterelles. They had a bite to eat and then Marisa and Bear went back to the delights of mushroom picking.

China didn't mind being a wimp (not that they had said a word), and she sat in the truck, turned the heat on and slowly dried out to the accompaniment of rain on the roof. Ah, the luxuries one took for granted - like dry socks and boots and a smooth terrain on which to walk.

A couple of hours later Marisa and Bear returned with two baskets full and a story of a flat meadow simply blanketed with the golden mushrooms. China thought it a bit strange that Marisa had quickly found the abundant meadow after China had given up.

~ ~

China spent the next morning making a superb chicken stock to steam the chanterelles in. She decided to try out her new recipe for Soupe a la Creme de Chanterelles on Sam, who was due to arrive on the seaplane at 4pm.

China was impatiently counting the minutes. She put on her garter belt, stockings and flirty black dress and high heels. When the plane landed it disgorged a troop of sports fisherman with American accents. Sam followed with suit and briefcase. China ran and threw herself into his arms and felt the wind throw her skirt to indecent heights. The Americans clapped and whistled as Sam led her to the car.

“Sweetie,” said Sam, “I think you just got their minds off salmon for awhile.”

“And where’s your mind?” asked China.

“Right between your legs.”

“That’s my boy!” said China. “Did you win the case?”

“Of course we won. The white logging companies can’t buck the irrefutable evidence of CMTs.”

“Of what?”

“CMTs. Culturally Modified Trees.”

“Detailed explanation for the culturally ignorant, please, Sam.”

“OK. No aboriginal has a piece of paper for land that he’s owned for generations, and so the white man stole plenty. Right?”

“Right,” agreed China.

“It took a while for the logging companies to start looking in more remote areas,” continued Sam in a voice bored with repeating. “Meanwhile, things changed and aboriginals now have doctors, lawyers, and lots of Indian Chiefs. Well, we always had those. Anyway, we still don’t need a piece of paper. All we have to do is prove that the trees in question have been culturally modified. Bark stripped for cedar baskets, roots cut for medicine, a gouge made by an axe to test if it’s the right tree for a canoe or a totem.”

“The trees are talking,” said China delightedly.

“You got it darling. A piece of cake.”

“Did you get a piece of cheque?”

“That wasn’t so easy.”

“Sam!” wailed China.

“Well, my client couldn’t fish when he was in court, could he? Don’t worry, he’ll pay me when the season is over, or he’ll pay me with fish, and if he doesn’t I’ll confiscate his boat.”

“Sam, we can’t possibly eat our way through all the salmon that’s in the freezer now!”

They pulled into the driveway.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got some cash coming in next week. Get upstairs. I’ve forgotten what you feel like.”

Oh well,
thought China,
salmon and sex was what the whole island seemed to thrive on. Best to get used to the local customs as soon as possible.

After the initial release of Sam’s semen overflow, and a brief snooze, Sam opened his eyes and grinned lazily at China.

“And now, my dear, I intend to play you like a...”

“Fiddle...?” asked China.

“Juke box.”

“A juke box?”

“Yes, my dear, a fiddle would require some talent.”

Later, Sam poached some salmon in white wine, while China heated up the soup. Sam was loud in his praise of China’s Soupe a la Creme de Chanterelles, and pleased that she was learning the local customs. Recipes for life were often found in cookbooks.

~ ~

Early the next morning, Sam rolled off China, totally oblivious to her morning sexual indifference, and shuffled to the shower. Unlike Sam, she didn’t struggle out of dreaming with a morning fuck on her mind. He refused to admit that it wasn’t early morning lust that made him grab her but simply tumescence that would disappear with a morning pee. He awoke so proud of the erection that made a teepee of the sheet. He called it the morning wood.
Men
, thought China,
they’re all alike, aboriginal or not.

She shrugged her way out of bed and groaned at the soreness between her legs. A soothing bath was desperately needed. She surveyed her forty-five year old face in the makeup mirror, with critical detachment. Not bad. Could be better. An eye lift would definitely brighten up her lovely green eyes. Her neck was showing signs of slackening and starting the slippery slide into her collarbones. However she could still pass for a voluptuously trim forty, as long as there was hair dye, eye makeup, and Jane Fonda’s exercise videos. Of all the videos she’d bounced along with, Jane’s were still the best. She was pretty, charismatic, and had a soothing voice that didn’t grate on one’s nerves. In fact she had an endearing little tremor in her voice that was very sympathetic and made you think she didn’t really have all the answers to staying beautiful forever.

China grabbed her current book and went downstairs to make coffee. She liked to read quietly while waiting for the slow drip to stop and her mind to start whirring. Sam shuffled into the kitchen, poured his first cup and turned on the radio. China's nerves exploded.

"When you turn on the radio you chase away my thoughts and the images forming. It's how I begin sculpting."

"I have no thoughts this early in the morning,” said Sam.

He turned the radio off but his stunned morning face looked so pathetic she turned it back on.

"It's okay. I'll go upstairs."

The morning was her best time to create. Things were clearer then, before the clatter of life and people and groceries muddied things. She sipped her coffee and waited for him to leave so she could start her day. Even in the bedroom she could feel his presence hulking at the kitchen table, a big body with no thoughts.

China opened her journal. She sometimes felt guilty about writing down the lives of others. It was so easy to write about herself, nothing secret there. Others guarded themselves so carefully, confident that secrecy was protection. Her kind of writing was a search for the truth, her own or someone else's. She found it and then committed it to the devil’s advocate, her journal, hidden like a narcotic in her pantie drawer. It should have had a red warning label on the cover: SIDE EFFECTS CAN BE DANGEROUS TO YOUR SPOUSE.

Sam entered the bedroom and China jumped. Her pen froze and when he peeped over her shoulder, she slammed her journal shut.

"What are you writing?" asked Sam.

"I don't know and I'll never find out if you look over my shoulder."

"Why not? Maybe I can help."

"I don't think so.”

"I got something here that might inspire you." He thrust his erection into her face.

Not again
, thought China.
It must be the caffeine rush.

"I'm trying to commune with my higher self and your lower self is blocking my view.”

She considered his erection carefully.
Should I give in, or or swat the damn thing out of the way and holler at him to get out?

Sam waited and watched her argue with her higher self.
She likes to pretend she’s had enough but I can know I can coax another scream out of her,
thought Sam
. She acts like a lady but she secretly likes the warrior behaviour.

"Hurry up woman,” urged Sam. “The warrior is wilting, it's cold and dry out here."

"Darling, allow me to help you carry this heavy equipment to a nice, wet, warm place."

China really had nothing to say this morning anyway. Might as well get some kind of satisfaction.

"Okay,” said Sam. "If you're sure I'm not disturbing you."

China was generous in defeat.

~ ~

By the end of the week, China felt as though she’d been run over by a fucking train. The transition from pristine aloneness to clamoring togetherness was hard on her nerves, not to mention her body. She missed Sam terribly when he was gone but wondered why his presence had to be so noisy, messy, and exhausting. He was one big, rude, aboriginal dude. Obviously these attributes had attracted China in the beginning.
No,
she thought,
he was gentler, more willing to play the gentleman, in the beginning.

She critically observed the extra weight tightening Sam’s jeans and the collar of his shirt, as he sprawled on his belly in front of the television. Since moving to Grimshaw Island he had put on about fifteen pounds and had become more sloppy with his clothing. To be fair, China also dressed very casually. Sartorial splendour was not encouraged by the island lifestyle. High heels and pantyhose had been replaced by jeans and hiking boots. She mused on the changes in their appearance, and their relationship as she lay like liquid on the couch.

“Sam, in the first few weeks when we lived together, you’d leave the room in order to fart. How come you don’t do that now?”

“What are you talking about?”

“We’d be watching TV and you’d get up quite often and stroll out of the room and come back in a few seconds. I finally figured out that you were leaving to fart. I found it quite endearing. Now you lie on the floor and fart in my face.”

“Familiarity breeds farts, my darling,” Sam replied with a great grin on his face.

“Are you saying that after a few months of marriage you now feel it’s okay to show your contempt for me?”

“Farting has absolutely nothing to do with contempt. It is merely a normal bodily function and you should be pleased that I’m now comfortable enough in your presence to ruffle your hair with a small release of wind.”

China howled with laughter.

“Ruffle my hair? You great, thundering beast! That recent small release of wind curled the carpet, shrank the pillows on the couch, and ripped my eyelashes off!”

“Brace yourself, my dear. The wall of China is about to blow into the next millenium!”

China ran into the kitchen and lit the incense that Sam hated.
Why
, thought China,
are we more polite with total strangers then we are with the people we love?

~ ~

The third night after Sam’s return, China was finally used to Sam’s snoring and fell into a lovely deep sleep. The next thing she knew, she was thrown on her back and Sam was thrusting himself into her.

“Sam, what the fuck are you doing?” China squealed, trying to shove Sam off her weary body.

“I’m fucking you.”

“I told you not to wake me before seven o’clock!”

“It’s seven o’clock in Newfoundland.”

“Goddammit! Get off me! That’s it. I’ve had enough.”

China kicked Sam off, turned on the lamp, grabbed a pen and paper, and thrust it at Sam.

“I’ve begged you repeatedly to stop waking me up just because you can’t sleep. I’m a mindless rag since you came home. I’m suffering from sleep deprivation. If you don’t quit this nonsense, I’ll sleep in the spare room. Every human being has the right to expect at least six hours of sleep each night. What with your snoring and grabbing me for a quick fuck every five minutes, I’m averaging about two hours sleep a night. Write down this statement and if you don’t abide by it, I’ll have you arrested. I, Sam Eagle, promise not to wake China between the hours of midnight to seven. Write it down Sam! I love China and I respect her wishes to get a good night’s sleep. Now sign it!”