Snow Apples (9 page)

As soon as we got off the school bus each afternoon, the boys and I dropped our books on the kitchen couch, changed into bathing suits and raced to the beach. Every day I thought, This will be the last swim of the year. By the middle of September I was numb with cold when I came out of the icy water, but the sun was hot and the air dry.

My father was based at Jericho Beach in Vancouver, waiting for his discharge from the air force. At first he came
home every weekend. Then he announced, “I'll try to make it every other weekend. There are a few things I have to attend to in the city.”

“A few things indeed,” my mother told me, banging the pots. “A few women would be more like it. But the check coming in every month is the important thing. I've given up expecting your father to change.”

My brothers missed Dad and told him so.

“You said you'd teach me to drive,” Tom complained. “Besides,” and he looked around to be sure my mother was out of hearing range, “I don't like Mom telling me what to do all the time.”

“Who's running this house?” my mother demanded of the three of them at breakfast one morning. They had been slow getting in the wood and water, had dawdled over breakfast, and when she told them that the school bus would arrive at any minute, Tom, for no good reason that I could understand, refused to wear his old navy blue pants. My mother was furious when he came out wearing his new brown corduroy pair, but she had to let him. Either that or he would miss the bus.

“Times like this,” she said savagely, “I wish your father were here to keep you boys in line.”

To my surprise, I was relieved Dad wasn't home very much. He didn't like me going with Nels.

“You're much too young for that. Look at you running out to meet him! Like some common...he doesn't even have the decency to come to the door. What does he think
of you? Eh? Answer me that! He must think you're not worth two cents!”

“That's not right! He feels...shy.”

“Shy? I'll just bet he's shy! Till he gets you in that truck!” My father's eyes were all bloodshot, his face red. He had been drinking beer all afternoon. “But you like it, don't you?” He thrust his face close, and I could see the corner of one eyelid twitching.

“Dad! That's just...disgusting!”

It was the only time I'd ever talked back to him. He caught me by the wrist, then let my arm drop. His voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear.

“You ever speak to me like that again, and I'll beat you so that you'll never have children. You understand?”

I couldn't believe he had said the words. Didn't believe he could even think them. But I stared at the wall and said, “Yes.” The kitchen clock ticked away like a bomb. “I'm sorry.”

*  *  *

I was glad to be back at school. I had gained new status being Nels' girlfriend. The other girls went out of their way to talk to me, and the halls were filled with our chatter. Bookkeeping was being offered for the first time, and there was a rumor that our school might get three typewriters for a typing course after Christmas. I signed up again for the basketball team.

Dr. Howard and his wife Mollie came to the school to test our eyesight and check our teeth.

“Well, Sheila,” Doc said, poking at my tonsils with the flat surface of a tongue depressor, “are those brothers of yours still riding horses?” I mumbled around the tongue depressor. “You're going to have to see a dentist soon. There are a few cavities starting.” Doc swiveled around in his chair and noted it on my health card. “Ever think of taking a part-time job?” he asked, continuing to write.

“Well, I—”

“Mollie here and I would like to have a young girl come in Saturdays. Answer the telephone, give us a hand with dressings, that sort of thing. Would you like that?

The chair creaked. He turned back and waited for me to answer.

Would I like that? He took one look at my face and said, “Then it's settled. When would you like to start?”

*  *  *

There was no dentist on the peninsula, which meant going into Vancouver and staying overnight. My mother did not approve.

“Why do you have to get your teeth fixed, anyway?” she asked. “I lost all mine when I was thirteen because I had to drink an iron tonic. They said it was because I was so sickly. But it took all the enamel off my teeth, and they had to pull them all out. Why should it be any different for you?”

“But, Mom! That was Ireland, a long time ago. That doesn't happen anymore.”

“I don't know where you get your ideas from,” my
mother said, her voice angry. “You seem to think you deserve more than I did. I have no money to fix your teeth. You're too vain as it is, curling your hair, always looking in the mirror. Just like your father. Bad enough to have one of you in the household!”

But I had my own money to pay the dentist, and I was determined to go.

Nels didn't like the idea of me going to Vancouver and staying overnight at a hotel.

“Listen, Nels. I've got to go to the dentist. And there's no other way to do it.” We had been to the Harvest Dance and had parked on the wharf at Gibson's to look at the harvest moon. I moved closer to him and touched his hand. “I'll be back on the Friday night boat. We can still go to the dance on Saturday night.”

“I don't like it!” He sat well over on his side of the seat and put his arms up so that his elbows were resting on the steering wheel.

I moved back to my own side.

“What don't you like about it? I don't understand.”

“Sixteen-year-old girls don't stay at hotels alone. Any guy finds out, you're in trouble.”

He stared ahead at the wharf, ignoring the orange moon that had climbed high over the mountains on the mainland.

“Nels, you don't need to worry about me. After all, my father is going to get me the hotel room. Are you going to meet me when I come back? On the Friday night boat?”

“I don't know. Maybe I'll go to the show myself. Or take another girl.”

“Oh, Nels!” I could see by the set of his jaw that he wasn't joking.

He turned the ignition key.

“I don't want to be made a sucker of, Sheila. Just don't forget that.”

*  *  *

My mother still hadn't resigned herself to the fact that I was going to have my teeth taken care of. “You'd be better off to have all those teeth out, as I suggested. You'll be running back and forth to the dentist all the time. There will be no end to it.”

“Do you want me to do any shopping in the city for you?” I asked, hoping to soften her mood.

“No...I suppose your father will be too busy to see you.”

“He's getting the hotel room for me. He said we'd have supper together Thursday night.”

She put her mending down and closed her eyes for a minute. Then she picked up another sock.

“Sheila, now you're not going to like this.” She looked sharply at me. “But you need to know these things.” She fitted the sock over the bottom of the glass she used for darning. “Don't let your father stay in your hotel room.”

I stared at her, wondering what she was talking about.

“I mean it,” she said, jabbing the needle at me. “There's
nothing—nothing—I'd put past him.” She began to place small precise stitches along the edge of the hole in Jim's sock. “You needn't look at me that way! You think that never happens?”

Speechless, I reached for my science assignment. The workings of the internal combustion engine were easier to understand than what went on in our house.

Between Nels with his jealousy and my mother with her ugly warnings, I felt a sense of relief when at last I caught the boat into Vancouver the following Thursday. As soon as we'd left Gibson's and rounded Gower Point to the outside passage, I began to feel better. I was invited by the quartermaster for a mug-up in the mess room, and I was glad to go. There was a rich mixture of odors—fuel oil from the engine room, paint, rope, tar, sun, sweat.

“Are you doing anything tonight, Sheila?”

It was Jack, one of the deckhands. Somehow Jack and I were alone at the table. The rest of the crew must have drifted out. Jack was eighteen, had blond hair done in a ducktail and a smooth tanned chest showing at the V of his open shirt.

“Why?”

“I thought you might like to eat in Chinatown. Maybe go bowling.”

“I don't know. My dad's supposed to meet the boat, and I don't know what he's planned.”

“Should be finished here on the boat about six,” Jack said, pouring canned milk into his coffee. “I could meet
you under the clock at Birk's at six-thirty.” Even I knew where the clock at Birk's was. “If you're not there by seven, I'll know you can't make it. Okay?” He pulled at my hair and flashed a smile on his way out.

My father was waiting for me when the
Lady Cecilia
tied up at the Union pier at five-thirty that afternoon. He looked younger than he had the last time I'd seen him, and he had on a new jacket I'd never seen before. His shoes were polished, and he smelled of after-shave lotion. But he was preoccupied and in a hurry, as if he wanted to take care of me as quickly as possible and be on his way.

We took a taxi—an unheard-of extravagance—to the King George Hotel on Granville Street. He introduced me to Murray, the desk clerk, as his “little girl.”

I saw Murray give me a quick once-over. The thought even came to me that Murray didn't believe my father. That made me stop and make a point of talking to him about my brothers and school and why I was in Vancouver.

Finally my father interrupted, “Sorry, honey, I've got to run. You'll be all right, won't you? Got enough money?” He was keyed up, jingling the loose change in his pocket.

“Sure, Dad.”

I sensed his relief when he hurried away. I saw him get into a cab, lean back and light a cigarette.

Murray dropped my room key on the counter between us.

“He's kind of in a rush, I'd say.” His voice was emotionless.

“Do you know my dad very well?” Murray was watching the cab disappear around the corner.

“Uh...he's in a lot.” He turned away, busied himself at the mail slots. “You take those stairs at your right.”

The stairs were steep, uncarpeted. I peered at the room numbers in the dim light. There was only a single bulb in the ceiling to light the whole hallway.

As I was making out the number on one door, it suddenly opened, and I found myself staring at a vast expanse of dirty undershirt. I slowly raised my eyes to see an unshaven, red-eyed man.

We stared at each other. He swayed slightly and I stepped back. He watched me as I found my room and inserted the key. Quickly I locked the door and pushed the bolt across.

I looked around at the brown walls, worn brown carpet—ripped near the narrow, lumpy bed—and outside the dirty window to where the flashing neon signs advertised Oyster Bar and Players Please.

I knew I couldn't possibly stay in that room all evening, especially with that creep down the hall.

I hung up my few things, put my brush, comb and lipstick on the dresser and beside them a small, nearly empty bottle of Evening in Paris cologne. Mrs. Lawson had given it to me when she was packing for Vancouver. Then I went down to the end of the hall, past the door of the man in the dirty undershirt. I could hear a radio there and a loud burst of laughter, the clink of glasses.

I found the bathroom and, after cleaning out the tub, I filled it three-quarters full. It was luxury to have all the hot water I wanted and to be able to stretch out full length. It wasn't like having a sponge bath out of a small basin the way we did at home.

I lay there, blissful, the water to my chin.

Maybe I'd meet Jack. I could wear my yellow wool dress.

Someone rattled the bathroom door handle, swore, then left. I got out of the tub, dried myself quickly, dressed and hurried back to my room. I could see by the clock in the newsstand across the street that it was nearly six-thirty. There was still time to meet Jack.

I left the hotel and turned north toward the mountains. As I walked, I wondered if Jack would be there. If he wasn't, I'd go to a movie. I passed several as I walked along Granville Street. There was one with Bette Davis that I had wanted to see for a long time,
Jezebel
.

Several people were waiting near the Birk's clock at Georgia. But I didn't see Jack until he waved at me. He'd been looking at the watches in Birk's window. Smiling, he came toward me.

“Say, this is great, Sheila! You made it!” Then, taking my hand, he tucked it into his coat pocket, and we walked to where his car was parked. It was a red Ford coupe, and he opened the door with a great flourish. “My baby,” he said. “I just got it. Do you like it?”

“It's beautiful.”

Jack was wearing a dark blue gabardine coat, unbuttoned,
and drape pants of a lighter blue, wide at the knees, tapering at the ankle.

“You look nice,” I told him, admiring the cut.

“All the guys on the boat get their drapes made in Chinatown. There's this one place...” And he told me about it as we zipped from one traffic lane to another. We had trouble finding a parking place, but when we did it was near the Bamboo Terrace. Jack said that was the best place to eat.

We ate upstairs. Jack ordered egg foo yong, chow mein and sweet and sour spareribs, and he showed me how to use chopsticks. Then he told me about being in China. He had sailed on freighters to Australia and New Zealand and Fiji. He seemed to have been everywhere.

Then we went bowling in a bowling alley off Pender. Jack showed me how to hold the ball, how to take three steps, crouching on the third, how to bring my arm back and then let the ball roll off my hand. And he was as happy as I when I made my first strike.

On our way back to my hotel, after we parked the coupe at the nearest lot, Jack and I met some other members of the crew. They were standing outside one of the hotel beer parlors.