Provider's Son (18 page)

Edward surveyed the rocking chair, taking it in at all angles. He revealed nothing in his expression except keen interest.

“I take it thats a reservation school on the back?” Edward said. Jon nodded.

“Brings back memories…” Edward said.

Levi and Jon glanced at each other. Edward studied it a while longer.

“I think Im liking it, Jon. The message is a bit obvious, but the work itself is stunning. Youve never done a piece this size. Im sorry, its yours as well, Levi. Ive never had two artists for one piece. What are you calling it?”

Levi was about to ask him to repeat the question when Jon said, “Comfort.”

Edward smiled and nodded. “Yes, ironic. Too bad I cant see how comfortable it really is.”

“Sit in it if you wants by,” Levi said.

“No,” Edward said. “I wouldnt want visitors sitting in it, so Im not going to sit in it either.”

“Please,” Jon said. “Its practical art. And feel free to let anyone whos interested sit in it too. Its meant to be sat in, thats part of the experience.”

Edward appeared apprehensive. Carefully he lowered himself in the chair and closed his eyes. Outdoors a loud motorcycle drove by.

“Wow. Comfortable. Very comfortable.”

“It was made up for someone handy about your height,” Levi said. “but if I knew your exact measurements I daresay itd be a lot more comfortable.”

“And Im going to guess youre from Newfoundland,” Edward said to Levi.

“How could you tell?” Jon said, grinning.

Edward asked Levi many questions about his work process and the type of wood he preferred. Levi couldn't help but respect him for his knowledge.

“By the way, I sold
Blank Slate
to your father yesterday,” Edward said to Jon. “Thats the third piece hes bought. It must be great to have such a supportive parent.”

“Fabulous,” Jon said.

“Not that you need his support at this point. Your name is getting around Mr. Smith. I see big things in your future. Did you see the piece they did on him in
The Edmonton Star
, Levi?”

“No. He never told me.”

“It was just a small piece in the arts section,” Jon said, waving it away.

“Oh now dont be modest,” Edward said. “Youre starting to get the recognition you deserve. We should do another show. This piece fits the theme of the rest of your work.”

“Yes by,” Levi said, slapping Jon on the back. “I didnt know I was working with a real celebrity.”

“That might be overstating it a tad,” Jon said.

“Colonialism and the environment are hot button issues right now,” Edward said. “Your experience in the oil sands only makes your work that much more credible. Political art is on the rise again.”

“Or hypocritical art.”

“I dont think so at all. What you need is more exposure. Did I tell you The Honourable Janice MacNeil is stopping by?”

“The Premier?” Levi said.

“Yes, she loves the arts.”

“Since when did you become chummy with the Premier?” Jon asked.

“I went to college with Janice. A really nice lady. Great sense of humour. Her status hasnt changed her either. As down to earth as she always was.”

“The same nice lady whos been trying to deregulate the oil industry since she got into power?”

“What will the chair go for?” Levi said.

“Im thinking around ten,” Edward said.

Jon and Levi had already discussed what the chair might be worth, but to actually hear the words still amazed him. The most he had ever sold a chair for was three thousand.

“I was thinking about eleven actually,” Jon said. “Maybe even twelve.”

“Really?” Edward said. “I dont know. Do you think someone would pay twelve for this piece?”

“Why not?” Levi said. “Just as much work went into this from Jon as from me.”

“It is marvelous. Still though...twelve thousand is a lot of money for artists who arent, well, big names. Yet. You know what I mean. Youre getting more and more attention Jon, but my most expensive piece in here is six thousand right now. Youre also a new name, Levi. Its a tough racket for new artists. Jon has established himself. At least locally. Maybe eleven, but I dont see twelve.”

“What percentage do you get?” Levi said.

“We split it fifty-fifty here.”

“Fifty percent,” Levi said. “You wants half the money for sticking it over in the corner and throwing a light on it? We did all the work.”

“Theres a little more to it than that,” Jon said.

“Like what?” Levi said.

“Do you realize the tongue wagging I have to do to sell anything in this gallery?” Edward said, his face reddening. “This is a full time job sir. Contrary to popular belief art doesnt sell itself.”

“Levi is new to this,” Jon said.

“I think you need to fill him in then,” Edward said. “Art business is a tough racket.”

Six million square feet is the gross square footage of the West Edmonton Mall. It contains eight-hundred stores and services, can hold twenty-thousand vehicles, and employs twenty-three-thousand people serving up to one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand customers in busy seasons. Levi sat with a plate of KFC in the food court by himself in the middle of it all and shook his head. A rollercoaster full of screaming adolescents roared four stories above him.

Jon came back with a slice of Miss Vanelli's pizza and a Coke.

“They were all out of bannock,” he said.

“Bannock?”

“Native humour.”

“Oh.”

“Its a kind of bread. My grandfather makes kick-ass bannock.”

“I think I seen that on TV somewhere. Anything like toutons, fried dough?”

“No its not fried. At least not the kind Im used to. Well have to trade sometime.”

Jon took a bite of his pizza. “A bit testy with Edward werent you? Ive known him a while now. Hes a good friend of mine.”

“When a fella wants fifty percent of the profit for something he didnt put any work into Im not going to keep me mouth shut.”

“He already explained the work he has to put into it. Believe me, hes a busy man.”

“So he really is a queer?”

“His partner is male. That fits the definition last time I checked.”

“Didnt seem like it. Maybe hes just pretending.”

“Why?”

“Good for business.”

“Thats the dumbest thing Ive ever heard.”

Another rollercoaster rolled into the starting line, a mechanical sigh over the dull roar of the thousands of patrons talking over fast food or walking the tiled floors.

“What do you think of this place?” Jon said.

“Not much.”

“I hate it.”

Levi nodded.

“A corporate epicentre.”

“Just when I thinks we got something in common you starts in with them big words again. I hates it because theres too many people here.”

“Its corporation heaven. Or hell I should say. People buying things they dont need to keep up with people they dont like.”

“Now thats where youre wrong. From what I sees, the closest buddies is the ones competing the most.”

“You could have a point there.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, and Levi poured the last of his gravy over a chicken leg. “You might be better educated than me, but you got a lot to learn about people.”

“Really,” Jon said.

“Yes, really. The first thing you needs to learn is that Edward is not your buddy. No ones your buddy when it comes to business.”

“Edward is a nice guy.”

“That might be, but it still dont change what I said. He is looking out for hes business first. Dont ever forget that. Just because hes a native like you dont mean nothing. Me own brothers did me in.”

Levi told how Frank and Barnaby had reduced his percentage and the rage that ensued.

“Wow. Your own brothers. I only have two sisters but I know they would never do that.”

“I bet youre the oldest.”

“How did you know?”

“You takes things too serious.”

“Whats that supposed to mean?”

An elderly-looking native with glassy eyes and shaggy clothes approached their table and looked only at Jon. “Hey bro, got a smoke to spare?”

“Shit, man,” Jon said, riffling through his pockets. “Actually I dont.”

“No worries,” he said, and walked away.

“Hey,” Levi said. “I got one.” He took out his cigarette pack, took out three, and handed them to the native who had come back to their table.

“Thanks, bro. Appreciate it,” the native said, and headed off.

Grinning, Levi put his cigarettes back in his pocket and munched on his last fries.

“Stereotypes are comforting arent they,” Jon said. “They make the world easier to understand.”

“Hows that?”

“Polite, dumb, and drunk. Thats what comes to every white mans mind when he thinks about a native.”

“I dont know if Id call you polite,” Levi said, grinning.

“Even you? After reading that book?”

“I havent got it finished yet.”

“What part are you up to?”

“The one where the youngsters is being abused in the school there. I forgets what chapter. Youre old man is buying your carvings, eh? Thats good of him.”

Jon made a vague response.

“What, you dont want your father to buy your work?”

“You dont understand.”

“Try me.”

“He only bought it because he probably doesnt think Im selling that well.”

“Is you gone off your head? He bought it because youre his son by. Hes proud of you. Jesus, us fathers cant win. You might be one yourself one of these days dont forget.”

“He didnt give a fuck about it before. Why would he care now?”

“What did he say to make you think that?”

“Nothing bad. But nothing good either. I guess I cant forgive him for not believing in me earlier.”

“Dont be so hard on him by. One of these days hell be dead and gone, and youll damn well miss him. Take it from me. When you loses your father its like your blood gets heavier, like the weight of his life is now in you and youve got to carry it along with your own. It makes you lonely.”

“Anything you want to see in here?” Jon said when Levi dumped his chicken bones in the garbage.

“The door.”

“Sounds good to me.”

But just before they got to the doors Levi noticed
The Western
Shooting Gallery
.

“Thats not real guns is it?”

“Well its not Nerf guns.”

“Yes by. What kind of guns?”

“Rifles, shotguns, and handguns.”

“Handguns! You ever go in there?”

“No. But Ive been meaning to.”

“How in the hell did someone manage to get a shooting gallery with restricted handguns in a mall?”

“Two retired cops got it going.”

“Oh.”

“I only ever shot out of long-guns,” Levi said. “I suppose you never shot out of a gun in your life.”

“Since I was a boy my grandfather has taken me on hunting trips in the bush.”

“What about your father?”

“Nah. I remember him going once or twice with my grandfather, but they didnt take me. He doesnt hunt anymore now anyway.”

“I heard your father is one of the head men on site.”

“I dont ask him about his job...or anything else.”

Inside, Levi and Jon stood in awe before the glass counter which held the handguns.

“How are you gentleman?” asked a bald-headed man behind the counter. Levi noticed that he scrutinized Jon a little more than him.

“Good,” said Levi. “Whats the oldest-style handgun you got here?”

After they were assigned two supervising officers, and shown the proper stance and way to hold the gun, they stood separately in their own steel booths that resembled a horserace starting gate. Levi was aiming a Rough Rider 45 revolver at a paper target sixty feet in front of him. The weight was about what he expected, but even with the earmuffs the sound of the gun was a violence to his ears. The first shot felt like catching a fastball in his bare hand, but he got a better grip as he continued to fire, and, as always with firearms, it set his heart racing in a most pleasant way. Even more so with a handgun, because it was scarier. The quick snaps of Jon's 9mm Beretta broke the pauses between Levi's own firing.

“You get any of them pesky injuns?” Jon said after they were finished.

“I saw one, but I missed him. Make the best of it, he was right alongside me. Kidnapped me daughter to top it all off.”

“She didnt get kidnapped,” Jon said. “Shes ‘gone native.'”

A Member of Parliament

It was ten o'clock at night and Levi was watching a documentary on The Long March on the
History Channel
. A knock came at his door. It was The Supplier. Levi couldn't remember his name. But he had been expecting him.

“No vodka.”

Levi felt his insides knot up. “Sure he always got vodka.”

“Not this time. He has rum though. You want rum?”

“I wouldnt clean me toilet with rum.”

“What about beer? Thats all you bought at first.”

“Get me the rum,” Levi said, and felt like slamming the door in his face. Instead he nodded goodbye and shut it gently.

Levi had not gone to work sober in weeks, but he still didn't consider himself to have a drinking problem.

Another knock on the door. He had the rum already?

“Dad!” A voice he would never tire of.

“The chair. Janice MacNeil loved it!”

“Yes by? Good stuff.”

“Jon just told me. He would have come down too, but hes busy with the cops.”

“Cops? Whats going on?”

“Theyve got dogs in. Happens every couple months.”

“Dogs?”

“Yes, dogs. Drug dogs. Who cares! MacNeil made a really big deal about your chair. Apparently shes a big art collector, and she said your and Jons piece was the best she had seen in years. She bought it immediately.”