Prairie Ostrich (13 page)

Kathy whispers in her ear, “It's all right, Egg. It's all right.”

There's blood on the snap buttons and Egg leans down. Egg vomits, like something spilling out of her, the evil, the bad.

Kathy strokes her back.

“You're all right.”

Egg can see Evangeline Granger walking towards them, and Mrs. Ayslin, in tears. Stacey comes behind them with a look on her face that tells Egg that something is really, really wrong. Her eyes sting. Egg wipes away the wet on her forehead, stares at the blood smeared on her hand, that shock of red. She grabs at her shirt, at the trash caked on her arm. She doesn't like it and brushes harder, then rougher, at the stains, the clinging rot. Egg is sobbing, the wet and the dirt and the smell. It will never come off her, she is tainted forever. Frantic, she clutches at herself but Kathy is there, holding her.

“You're all right. I've got you,” Kathy murmurs, “I've got you.”

Egg hides her face in Kathy's shoulder, as her sister picks her up and rocks her, away from all the prying eyes. She can feel the strength in her sister's arms, as Kathy scoops her up and takes her home.

…

Egg stands on the toilet seat, staring into the bathroom mirror. Her glasses are a little bent so she bares her teeth and lets out a pirate hiss — “Arghhh!” The cut above her eye has almost healed; she thinks she is more Cyclops than pirate but she doesn't know how a Cyclops sounds. Cyclops is from Greek mythology — their monsters are the best. They have hydras which are two-headed serpents but if you cut off one head, you get two more. In
D'Aulaires' Greek Myths
, Atlas holds up the sky, a punishment for his sins. The Gods give few rewards. You get to live and that's about it, she reckons. Maybe it's the thought that counts.

Monster means big. Monster means ugly. Monster means different. The Dictionary says that.

In the Greek myths, sometimes the monster was once a mortal who became horrible through a punishment. But that didn't solve the evil. It just made it huge. Maybe that's where all the bad comes from, Egg thinks, a bad so big that it bursts out of nowhere. And then she thinks of Papa, his exile in the ostrich barn. What bad did he do?

“Egg!” Kathy calls.

Egg runs down the stairs, grabs her jacket from the hook and bursts out the door. They are going to Calgary! She sees Kathy by the truck, already with her foot on the running board. Egg starts to sprint to the doors but she can't resist a spin. A blur of colours swirl around her. She marvels at the motion, as if she is in the centre of universe, a string pulled, a release into the whirlwind. The sky over Bittercreek, the clouds caught, like on a cotton candy stick — she points, wants to show Kathy, show the world —

“Come on, Egg,” Kathy says, “we don't have forever.”

Egg thinks, well, nobody has forever, and bounces onto the front seat. She taps her feet together: today she gets to sit shotgun.

They drive through flat fields, then turn as the fields slope and slouch into the distance. Egg gazes out the window. She sees a creeping blanket of snow begin to cover the slight crests, filling in the shallow dips; a line of fence posts makes an exclamation. Look, a snowshoe hare! Egg spots the fuzzy winter coat against a barren swatch of earth and thinks the feet aren't that big at all. The sheets of white cut starkly against an abrupt valley, the gash of a coulee. The sun is brilliant, a kaleidoscope light that bursts into three hovering beams. Kathy points out the sun dog, explaining how light passing through ice crystals (Kathy calls them diamond dust) makes that magical halo. Hexagonal, Egg must look that up in the dictionary. They drive over fields and fields — then over the hump — they can see strip malls and streets. As they wind their way into downtown Calgary, over the Bow River, towards the concrete needle that Kathy calls the Husky Tower.

Passing the trolley buses on Eighth Avenue, Kathy pulls into the parking lot and Egg can barely sit still. On the street, Egg runs past the window displays, into Eaton's, straight to the toy section. She can see the box, the Six Million Dollar Man action figure with the Bionic eye and fold-back skin for his Bionic arm.

Egg glances behind her. Kathy leans over the glass case in the jewellery section, her eyes caught by all the glitter. The saleswoman behind the counter pulls out a silver box with a flourish. Inside, a golden heart locket on a velvet pillow.

No no no, Egg thinks. All the songs say never to give your heart away. Nancy Sinatra sings “Bang Bang” on the radio and that is when Egg knows that if they can come for Raymond, they can come for Kathy too.

…

It is Christmas Eve and Egg wants to fly. She wants invisibility and an X-O-skeleton, super-strength, and X-ray vision. Egg wants to eat Lucky Charms for breakfast. She wants a family that eats dessert. She wants snap buttons and overalls and a jackknife and slingshot but she wouldn't use it against animals because that would be wrong.

But most of all she doesn't want to be Egg anymore.

She thinks of the carollers on Maple as they go from door to door, the lights that line Main, the glow of red, green, and yellow. Bittercreek, sprinkled with a trace of snow, like fairy dust, must look like the picture-perfect holiday card.

Mama slumps over the kitchen table. At her feet, the bottle rolls in ever smaller circles. Egg chews her lip. She doesn't like the sound of the glass against the floor, that hollow hollow sound. Kathy's out with Jillian and Debbie and she's been grumpy because Stacey's with her cousins in Ontario. No one talks about Raymond, and that's when Egg knows that he is gone for good.

But Mama's here. Papa won't come out from the ostrich barn so it's all up to her.

Egg bites her knuckles and starts with armadillo and cheats with narwhal but
x
— she can't think of any animal that starts with
x
.

It's not fair. She's too small to know what to do. If Kathy were here…but then Kathy spent the day sweeping out the ostrich barn with Papa. In the first year, when the ostriches went blind, Kathy swept them out every day before school and even after basketball practice during the finals.

Mama kicks the bottle with her foot, snorting against the table. When she turns her head, Egg can see the line of the checkered placemat against her mother's cheek.

Hollow hollow.

She tries to get Mama up but grown-ups are so heavy. Mama's words slide into each other. The liquor has her, she's drowning in it.

“Mama!” Egg shakes her, the shot of fear making her bold. “Mama!”

Mama's eyes flicker open. Her mouth gapes. Egg wrinkles her nose at the smell.

“Come on, Mama. Let's go upstairs.”

They stagger to the doorway, in the darkness of the alcove. Mama's hip hits the china bureau and Egg can hear the tinkling. Twilight scattered by crystal, the glass surfaces glinting darkly.

Mama staggers. Egg feels like she is slipping through her fingers. She tries, she does, but Mama's too heavy. They slide to the floor.

The train whistle calls from a thousand miles away.

“Osamu,” Mama slurs, “the sirens . . .”

Egg is scared that Mama doesn't know her.

“Go to sleep, Mama,” Egg whispers. Mama rolls on her back, her mouth open. Egg goes to the living room and takes the comforter off the back of the big chair. At least Egg can wrap the blanket around her.

Mama's mouth is open and Egg doesn't want it to be open. She doesn't want to stay beside her and she's afraid to go away.

“What's the use of it? What's the point?” Her Mama's voice rings with a sudden clarity. “At least your father . . .” but she trails off and Egg can't catch any of it.

Egg sits in the dark. She can hear beyond the creaking walls of the house, beyond the fields, and far, far, far away from Bittercreek. A coyote howls from the south field. She thinks of flying, up to the sky and beyond. In space there is no sound. Egg wonders how that must feel, so far and so alone. The blue whale, she thinks, or animal alphabets. Mama sleeps. Egg lays her head on Mama's shoulder, listens to her mother's beating heart. She doesn't want to leave Mama but she must remember for the notebook. Osamu. Osamu. And the sirens.

Egg sleeps. When she wakes she is snug under her blanket, tucked into her bed. The moonlight falls across her bed, an unearthly blue. The sirens, she remembers but the name has slipped from her lips, and is gone.

…

On Christmas morning Egg wakes to the smell of cinnamon. She thinks that Albert and Kathy must be downstairs with Mama making the Christmas pancakes. They always have pancakes on Christmas morning, Albert whipping the cream into a frothy peak in the big bowl. And presents! This year she wants a Six Million Dollar Man action figure with a Bionic eye you could actually look through and —

Then Egg remembers about Albert. This is the first Christmas without him.

On the stairwell, she peers through the bars of the banister. Kathy is in the kitchen, making the Christmas pancakes. In the living room the tinsel glints on the tree, the presents are tucked under the pine branches.

Egg shuffles into the kitchen and sits at the table. Kathy turns at the scrape of the chair against the floor.

“I thought you'd be up by now.” Kathy flips the pancakes. “Merry Christmas!”

“Where's Mama?”

“Oh, she's just sleeping in a little.”

Egg can see the furrow in Kathy's brow.

“I made your favourite — pancakes with chocolate chips!” Kathy adds. This chirping, cheery Kathy unnerves Egg. She wants her brooding big sister back.

“Can we do the presents before breakfast?”

“Sure, don't see why not.”

Egg runs to the tree, to colourful boxes spread under the branches. She zeros in on the big red box with the tag
To Egg, From Santa
and tears open the wrapping, too impatient for the ribbon. She stares at the package.

It is a Big Jim action figure.

“Look, he has a karate board and a baseball. There's even a dumbbell and muscle band. See, there's a button on his back,” Kathy says, pointing at the box. “You can actually break the karate board. And he throws the baseball too.”

Egg stares at the package. The Six Million Dollar Man has a Bionic Power Arm with grip action. He has special skin on his arm that can roll back, revealing his Bionic parts. Kathy looks expectant so Egg says, “Gee thanks. It's just what I wanted.”

“Well, it's from Santa.”

Then Egg knows that it's Kathy who bought the presents. Mama is gone. For her there is no Christmas without Albert.

Egg hugs the box to her chest. “It's the best present ever, Kathy.”

Kathy holds out another gift. “Here, this is from me.” She hands Egg the rectangular package.

The red wrapping falls away to a book with lined pages. “It's a journal, like Anne Frank's,” Kathy explains. “And here,” she pulls out a small rectangular box.

Egg opens the hinged lid. “A fountain pen! Thanks Kathy.”

Egg remembers her present for Kathy, sitting under her bed. She runs up to her bedroom and grabs the big square box, as big as her head, wrapped in foolscap that she borrowed from Mrs. Syms's desk after she slapped the blackboard brushes. Egg ordered the present from Gustafsson's General Store, no treats and candies for three whole months, she had saved all her allowance for this one gift. She runs down the stairs and she places the box in Kathy's hands. Breathless, she feels the flutter in her chest rising.

Kathy delicately peels away the wrapping and lifts the ball out of the box: an official Spalding NBA basketball, with a squiggly signature, and the logo of the player running down the court. Egg watches as her sister rolls the ball from hand to hand, how she measures its weight. Kathy bounces the ball, feels it true, grips the pebbled surface of the leather, traces the rubber seam with her thumb.

Egg can feel her sister's stillness. The surface that seems almost to crack. Egg says, “It's for when the scout comes . . .” She doesn't add, “for when you go away.”

Kathy hugs her. Egg feels the tremor in Kathy's chest, the ragged breath that she draws in. She thinks of Albert, crowing at the top of the stairs, his voice booming through the house, his present, the pickup truck that will smash into the train by the railway trestle. Merry Christmas, Egg whispers silently, to her big sister Kathy who is always taking care of her. Egg bites her lip. She wants so much to tell her that she loves her but they are not that kind of family. So she wishes for her sister's happiness. Big sister Kathy, who has made so many sacrifices. Merry Christmas.

…

All day
Happy Days
,
Gilligan's Island
, even a rerun of
The Buck Shot Show
. Kathy makes Jiffy Pop on the stove. Egg watches the aluminum rise, the flat pan growing into a glittering ball, all in a clatter of popping kernels, impossibly, right before her eyes.

Jiffy Pop, the real miracle, right before
The Brady Bunch
, and Canada Dry, straight from the bottle. The champion of ginger ales. It says so, right on the bottle.

Egg thinks that
The Brady Bunch
is the best family ever. There is a dead mama and a dead papa but that doesn't matter anymore because now the live mama and live papa have found each other. There are three boys and three girls and a maid called Alice, on a staircase that holds them all together. Everything is perfect, perfect, and it's not like anyone died after all.

When Kathy takes out Papa's dinner tin,
The CBS Evening News
comes on with Walter Cronkite. There is something comforting about the sameness of Walter, his drooping mustache, the dull anchor desk. But a report comes through on Cyclone Tracy. Christmas Day Cyclone Tracy rips through Darwin, Australia, killing over seventy people and destroying much of the city. Egg sits, surrounded by the scattered bits of brightly coloured bows and wrapping paper, watches the newsreel. Merry Christmas, she thinks, Merry Christmas. On the newsreel, the smashed buildings and flipped cars look like Lego and dinky cars. Egg holds Big Jim on her lap. Big Jim has a button on the back that flexes his arm into a karate chop. Slap slap, slap slap. A toy that plays at being a superhero.