The Dancehall Years Page 27

  51.

  The next spring, on the day the first Habitat delegates are due to arrive, Gwen and Lily unfold tables in the hall, lay out before and after pictures of the dancehall restoration. Old brochures from the Union days and mimeographed sheets explain how they’d retained the octagonal structure of the original hall and replaced the pillars with beachcombed logs.

  As Gwen shows a group of visitors around, she notices a young Japanese Canadian woman staring at the brochure featuring a hollyhock-sided Scarborough. She’s so thin she’s almost not there, but the wiry way she carries herself skewers you into noticing she certainly is. In a vivid turquoise t-shirt that contrasts her hair into matte black, she stands alone for a few minutes, then turns and walks out the front door.

  Lottie’s sitting on the wharf at the taco bar, filling in a questionnaire about what would make Snug Cove more elder friendly. Part of the Habitat shenanigans it looks like. Benches, that’s what we need, she’d written. More benches. When she looks up, a young woman in a bright turquoise shirt is making her way into the old corrugated shed (now a consignment shop) where her father’d once slept to guide in the Sannies. She comes out with a few postcards, heads to the ferry ramp.

  Lottie would know her anywhere, can still feel the delicate bone structure of her small face in her hands when she kissed her good-bye. She’s kept all the letters Takumi had written about their life in Prince Rupert. But she doesn’t approach her, looks away quickly so the woman won’t see her, knowing that the right moment isn’t here yet.

  The alternative conference at Jericho Beach is in full swing when Gwen goes to pick up Derek’s tools. The old hangars look festive decked out in appliquéd banners. A Bill Reid mural covers an entire outside wall. She stops to listen to a chamber music group in one of the carved arcades; when they finish, the same thin young woman, this time in maroon velvet pants and a tailored black jacket with dark beading on the lapels, opens the lid of her flute case and puts away her instrument.

  I wanted to say hello, says Gwen. I saw you the other day at the pavilion opening on Bowen. You were looking at the brochures.

  I remember you too, says Shima.

  When they go for a drink in what’s billed as the longest bar in the world, Shima tells her she’s come to Habitat as a conference delegate. Thinking of moving here actually, she says. From Toronto where she practices law. When she talks, she stalls in unexpected places, as if keeping particular notes in her mind while she scans ahead in the music. The wild locked rain is over; the pale blue mountains extend along the horizon.

  My family used to live on Bowen, she says. Shima’s the name. Shima Yoshito.

  You’re part of the family who originally owned Scarborough?

  That’s right. Takumi Yoshito is my father.

  Oh, for goodness sake. Takumi was my swimming teacher. I missed him. You must come over soon. We’ve had a death in the family though, everything’s a bit sad…

  Oh, I wouldn’t want to…

  You wouldn’t be. Is there a number where I could reach you?

  There is.

  Back at the farm, it’s even sadder and lonelier than it was before the memorial. Gwen hates the way Billy’s shouldering in, not even trying to hide his satisfaction at the chance to fill the empty role. Annabelle won’t look up at him when he calls down to her from the roof where he’s fastening rows of asphalt shingles. Tools are scattered all over the back porch. George is making pork chops. What better time to work on the place than when there’s nobody here, eh? George says, as if he’s the one on the roof.

  The day she comes to visit, Shima sits patting their new golden retriever. Nice dog you’ve got here, she says, making a point of not noticing too much about the place, as if it would be beneath her dignity to ask to be shown around.

  Hello, she says, when Jenny comes home from school. I’m Shima.

  Hi, Shima.

  And who’s that? Shima says looking out the kitchen window at Annabelle who’s standing on the back porch where she always waited for Derek to come up from the beach. She still hasn’t spoken.

  That’s Annabelle, says Gwen. Derek was her father. She hasn’t spoken since he died. We don’t know what to do.

  Shima watches her for a while, then goes out, takes her hand and leads her to the driveway where she heels a marker line in the dirt. Let’s race, she says. One two three GO. They run and come back, run and come back. Then, when Shima leaves out the GO, Annabelle says it without thinking. The strategy makes Gwen think of a trick Isabelle would do with Jack. Later, when Gwen’s taking her to the ferry, Shima asks if George is one of the owners. No, but he’s done quite a bit of work around here over the years, Gwen says.

  The next day, Shima calls to say she’s definitely decided to stay on the coast, has moved into the Buchan Hotel in the west end for a while. Had a swim this morning in that small bay near the park. It wasn’t a long swim, but, hey, it was a very wet one. She wonders if Gwen would like to join her at a preliminary redress meeting in the classrooms below Robson Square; it’s exploratory, but if she’s interested? Gwen is interested—she takes the bus in from Horseshoe Bay, and the two of them listen to a speaker explain that, when they finally do manage to open the wartime archives, it may be made clear that the Japanese community was not seen as a threat by all the military people.

  Later, she and Gwen sit leaning against a log in English Bay. Gwen rakes the sand with her hand, picks up a piece of seaweed and puts it down. It’s terrible that your family had to leave their home, Shima. I’m ashamed that my father bought it from the war office and deeded it to himself and my grandmother.

  The waves lap quietly.

  No one expects to get their homes back, Shima says. The deeds of sale will hold. But some kind of compensation. Our people had to pay for their own incarceration, did you know that? Taken out of the sale of their properties.

  No, I didn’t know that.

  My dad didn’t go with his parents, Shima says. He spent the war up the coast in the bush. He’s a sculptor, and a fisherman. My mother died.

  Oh, says Gwen. I’m sorry.

  52.

  The next night, Gwen goes up to talk to Lily, who’s in Derek’s old bedroom fitting up a new electric radiator to keep on at night in the fall. She has it upside down screwing on the wheels. Nuts, bolts and washers all over the floor. It’s lucky for whoever’s talking to Lily that her glasses camouflage her cheekbones a little. Otherwise you keep thinking why does she have to be so darn pretty? I’m trying to concentrate on what I’m saying.

  They’ve shorted me a set of wheels, Lily says. Oh no, there they are.

  You’re trying to screw the wheel gizmos on the wrong attachments, Gwen says, handing her sister the parts one after the other. Are you going to sleep in this room now? Is that the plan?

  For a bit, says Lily.

  Remember that woman I told you I met at Habitat? The one who was playing in the chamber music group? Turns out her name is Shima, and the incredible news is that Takumi Yoshito, the son of the people who used to live here, is her father.

  That’s interesting, Lily says mildly. Oh this is better.

  You know about the Yoshitos then?

  It was war. Dad told me. But it’s cool she’s turned up.

  Did you tell Derek?

  Nope.

  Why?

  It’s long gone, isn’t it? People have to move on.

  Gwen hands her sister another part. What do you think of the idea of asking Shima to come and live here with us? she says. Formally becoming an owner without putting in any money? I know you and Derek talked about buying Mom and Dad out, but with him… gone, maybe we can find an alternative. Maybe I could buy our parents out instead. Then you and I could change the deed to a three-way split, all three of our names on it.

  How are you going to find the money for that? says Lily.

  I have some ideas.

  I can see that it’s fair. I can hardly stand being here myself. I want to take Annabelle and move
closer to Checleset. Maybe Port Renfrew. We’ve finally figured out a transport box for the otters that looks as if it will work.

  What about Billy? says Gwen.

  Since when did you care about Billy?

  I’ve always had to one way or another.

  Lily sits back on her haunches, job complete. It’s terrible that Derek killed himself, she says. Don’t think I don’t feel that. But somehow, awful as it is to say, it’s made the situation simpler.

  Annabelle doesn’t think so.

  She’ll get used to it.

  Will she?

  Billy can come and visit, Lily says. George is happy because I’ve written a will and made Annabelle my beneficiary.

  So it’s okay with you if I approach Mom and Dad?

  It’s okay with me.

  Gwen asks Shima, without telling her why, if she would recommend a legal aid lawyer who could arrange an attorney for her in the States. By now, maybe they wouldn’t make her take the children back, seeing they’d established a life here. Might there be something like a statute of limitations? A lawyer is found; a court date set in San Francisco. Lily agrees it’s her turn to look after the children.

  I’ve been meaning to put it to you, Lil, Billy says when he comes in. For future reference, I think we should change the birth certificate. It means a lot to Dad that Annabelle will always have a home here. I don’t want her to have problems further down the line.

  Later, Billy. The Sycamores are here, Lily says, as their rented car appears in the driveway. I told you Derek told his parents they have a grandchild. They’ve been in the loop way too long to just… They already love her from the pictures we’ve sent.

  It could be Christmas Eve, the Sycamores are that embracing when they’re ushered in, their coats taken. They’ve wanted to meet Lily for a long time; Derek told them so much about her. And Annabelle. What an angel with that cloud of fair hair.

  This is Billy Fenn, says Lily. He’s fixing the roof.

  Oh roofs, says Mr. Sycamore. Aren’t they the limit? Annabelle’s already tugging at their hands, wanting to show them the apple orchard and the beach. They’re torn, thinking they should talk to their granddaughter’s mother, but wanting to have Annabelle to themselves like someone who wants to be lovers with the host but an unwanted guest won’t leave.

  Once they’re out the door, Billy pounds his fist on the table. Fuck, Lily. What do you think you’re doing? Why do you think we’re over here repairing the roof, bringing the bloody garden in?

  You’d better go.

  I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to sleep in the goddam bus.

  The Sycamores come again the next day. They’ve rented a car, plan to take Annabelle over to Tunstall Bay for lunch. Billy’s in the yard, not exactly trimming hedges, but he could be. Could he get a ride with them as far as Evergreen Hall? He has to see to the indoor shuffleboard equipment. The hotel’s gone, of course, but they keep up the hall near the site of the old greenhouse for rainy days.

  Sad, isn’t it? says Mrs. Sycamore. About the hotel. Looking back over the seat to commiserate, she’s suddenly aware that their passenger’s eyes are identical to Annabelle’s except that they’re bloodshot and that his hair blends exactly with her continuous blonde-white puffs. Mrs. Sycamore is like someone who’s been taken to identify a body whose description fits one they’re ready to mourn, but when they get there, it’s someone else. After a confusing lunch, they return Annabelle to her mother, as if they tried her on and she’s the wrong size.

  Would you like to come in? Maybe see some of Derek’s gardens?

  They would if they had more time, they say, but they’d better go if they’re going to catch the next ferry. They’ll be in touch.

  53.

  September, 1976

  In the San Francisco YWCA, Gwen puts on a simple dress, takes a taxi to the courthouse, waits for an hour on a bench with a file containing copies of her household accounts. Sitting there calming her nerves by adding up columns of figures and reading the notes she’s taken about their lives, she feels like she’s attending her orals for a degree in family management. The lawyers have scheduled a preliminary meeting to see if they can settle out of court.

  Strange how much easier it is to act on someone else’s behalf, especially if the action has political merit. She rereads the list of arguments she’s outlined for keeping Scarborough as an established home for the girls: family nearby, steady routines. As for money, it’s not so much the amount as the predictability. Alternate Christmases and Easters with their dad. Summer vacations.

  When she hears Eugene’s voice down the corridor announcing that he has to be out of here by noon, it’s as if he’s arriving at one of his rehearsals. Maybe he kept walking west around the Earth from the concrete stairs at Sandy that fateful day in order to be able to approach her correctly from the east.

  Hi, he says.

  If she stands up to greet him, will he hold her more tenderly because she’s a better person? You don’t even have to have eye contact, the lawyer said yesterday when she told him how scared she was. Eugene has a handwoven strap tied on the ear pieces of his glasses. She stills feels he could yard her in with a single glance and has to fight the transference. I like your glasses strap, she says.

  Jenny sent it to me for my birthday. How’re the girls?

  They’re well, she says.

  The two of them are led off by their separate lawyers. Why do all their visits feel like prison visits?

  She makes it to the pew on the other side of the empty courtroom.

  When the lawyers go into the judge’s chambers for a conference, it’s as if Eugene’s on the groom’s side of the church. He gets up and comes over. Please tell me about the girls, he says. Maya used to say she’s kishered instead of finished when she was on the toilet. Annabelle stopped talking when Derek died, but Shima got her speaking again. Jenny will never forgive me for drowning the newborn kittens in the rain barrel. Their eyes weren’t open, she said. They couldn’t even see themselves drown.

  I’m not meant to talk to you right now, she says.

  He goes back to his pew and picks up his book. What’s he reading?

  In the chambers, the judge sits at the head of the table, Eugene on one side with his lawyer, herself on the other with hers. She expects a thorough grilling, but instead the judge asks her a surprising question. What do you plan to do after the children grow up?

  She astonishes herself by saying that she wants to teach high school.

  Good for you. How much money a month do you need right now?

  Money, I’ve sent money, says Eugene angrily.

  I’m not saying you haven’t, says the judge. Eugene backs down. Enough? he asks.

  He rears again. The way they live, their expenses aren’t much. I don’t want my daughters living on a half-assed piece of land in a shambles of a house. There are better schools here. No one knows who’s with whom. God knows who’s looking after them now.

  The fact is, the judge says. They’ve been with their mother for the last several years, and she’s kept the ship afloat.

  I’m losing precious years of my daughters’ lives, Eugene fumes.

  So you want them to come home?

  I want my daughters to come home. Their mother was, probably still is, a mess.

  Well, I recommend they stay with her for now, with organized and predictable access and visits. I’m going to order a lump sum payment unless you can give the court a series of certified post-dated cheques. I have read the file.

  Oh, the file! scoffs Eugene.

  In the end, he agrees to twelve post-dated monthly cheques for five hundred dollars and a lump sum for an additional back payment. As soon as the money’s settled, Gwen wants to cry. Don’t think I don’t know how much they need you, she says, she hopes with dignity.

  Does she want to settle, her lawyer asks when they’re back in the hall, or does she want to go to court and try for more?

  What about what I owe you?


  Dribs and drabs are okay for that, he says. If your ship comes in one day, you could send a catch-up amount.

  Thank you very much, she says. We’ll settle.

  When she gets home, Jenny runs up holding a Rubik’s cube she’s completed to surprise her. I didn’t take off the plastic pieces and paste them back on, she says.

  Why would I think that, Jenny?

  I don’t know, she says miserably.

  Hard West

  54.

  Christmas, 1976

  Christmas is at Evvie’s this year. Isn’t it great that everybody’s coming? Even Isabelle and Jack are travelling up from Birch Bay. Well, everybody except Lily and Annabelle who are at Checleset and don’t want to face the holiday ferries. Oh, and Grandpa Gallagher who’s not up to it because he tired himself out taking one of his unpopular trips to Bowen so he could visit his old fireplace, and wants his dinner brought to Laburnum St. on a tray.

  Evvie’s apartment is several floors up in a high rise near the seawall at the edge of Stanley Park. If you lean out her side balcony, you can glimpse the sea. Wonderful view of the tennis courts. The blonde streaks in her pelt of hair are grey now; the sequins on the scalloped neck of her sweater glint as she squares her handsome shoulders. Do you think my capped teeth look too young in my old face? she asks, and peers around Gwen’s shoulder at the bathroom mirror, clenching her teeth and stretching her lips so her gums show. When you do that, they do. Gwen laughs with her, not at her.

  When Jack and Isabelle arrive, Jack stands behind his wife in the vestibule, hanging onto the lapels of his coat. If he takes it off, someone might steal it. He streaks for the balcony door as if trying to gage the distance he’d have to vault if he jumped over the railing. Isabelle’s been persuaded by Gwen to start seeing the family again, at least on formal occasions when there’d be enough structure to keep everyone polite.