Thirteen Crucifixions, 77

“What time did you tell him to come?” Sheila asked Madge who was picking the celery out of her salad and piling it neatly at the edge of her plate.

“Seven.”

“You still don’t eat celery.”

“Hate it. Every since I was a kid.” She looked up and smiled shame-faced. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh, no offence.” Sheila was determined to convey that no offence had been taken. “No offence at all. I should have remembered. Would you like some more?” She held the bottle of wine near Madge’s glass.

“Why not? According to Ed we shouldn’t be having any sort of alcohol at all. Not just before a séance. He says it obstructs energy.”

“What’s he usually do? I’ve never been to one of these before.”

“I’ve been to a couple. We just sit around a lit candle, meditate, join hands. Then Ed gets various impressions and speaks them out. There isn’t a lot of hocus pocus, really. He’s pretty down to earth and matter of fact about it.”

“How’s your chicken?”

“Wonderful.”

“It’s your mother’s recipe.”

“I can tell.”

“Was she able to tell you anything?”

“Not a lot. She remembers the De Sousa widow well. They used to visit and chat about this and that, but not very often. Her English was never that good. But she did sense an atmosphere she found rather disturbing at times.”

“How so?”

“Oppressive she found it. She couldn’t understand why. Beautiful house, clean, nicely furnished. Much as it is now. But she could never feel comfortable in here. Even after you and Frank bought the place. I find it a bit creepy myself. Have you dreamed about that boy again?”

“No. Not lately. Bill was over to visit last week, with his new girlfriend.”

“So he’s dating that journalist woman. The one who used to do that controversial TV program.”

“I quite like her. She’s very pretty, nice, intelligent. Down to earth. I just hope he doesn’t drive her nuts.”

“Does she have any idea of what she’s getting into?”

“She didn’t appear terribly starry-eyed about him. He seems to adore the water she walks on. Bill was blaming the house for his mental breakdown.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“And I’m prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“Now you really can’t be serious.”

“He also dreamed of the boy.”

“What?”

“He described him to a t.”

“Go on. He must have picked up some sort of hint from you.”

“Nothing. You’re the only person, besides Glen, who knows anything.”

“That is very odd.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” The doorbell sounded.

“I suppose that’s Ed”, Madge said, getting up.

It wasn’t much of a beach, just a large arrangement of smooth dark stones that reminded Stefan of dinosaur eggs. Three days he’d been here, and finally a break from Juniper, who had just met some boy she liked. She was at the other end of the island now, visiting the campsite he shared with his friends. They were from Montreal, all French-speaking and living here for the summer. Stefan thought Michel was all right, then hinted broadly that he could help himself to Juniper if he wished. They had discovered soon enough that there was nothing left between them, except a detached mutual good will. He was still preoccupied with Melissa. He didn’t know why he went on this trip with Juniper. He didn’t even like camping, though he could sleep rough when he had to. That he might still be attracted to Juniper? But it wasn’t her so much as being here, here on this small island. What did he like about this place? He had never been here before. It was a comfortable size for hiking. They hadn’t yet seen all of it. There was the whole other side beyond the ridge he had yet to explore. It had at least stopped raining. The sun was out, and being the solstice he could still count on another three hours of daylight. He frightened off a great blue heron that flew off on hang-glider wings. It landed again further ahead where the water was calm and shallow. There was a trail that cut right into the bush he hadn’t seen before. He was seized by an urge to explore.

They were drinking tea in the livingroom. The daylight was still strong, making the young foliage outside into something glorious and otherworldly. While Madge and her brother-in-law sat in opposite chairs making vague conversation Sheila’s attention was being drawn increasingly towards the light. This would be her first séance. She was not sure that this was a good idea. Ed was of medium height, bald and lean, the dewlap under his chin emphasizing his resemblance to a desert vulture. To her surprise they had never met before. But he had been married to a sister of Madge’s she had seen little of. Somewhat older, Julia Newman had moved to Toronto before she was twenty, where she perished ten years ago from cancer. Ed had moved here to Vancouver shortly after. He was nattily dressed in an open collared white shirt and beige slacks. Except for his resemblance to a vulture she thought he looked innocuous, if rather severe and punctilious. He sat upright, like a gentleman of the old school, one of her Royal Doulton saucer’s resting in his large, clean and manicured hand, giving off a faintly bored air. It was his failure to look interesting that made him for Sheila particularly interesting? She would have to ponder that.

“Do help yourself to the cookies”, Sheila said, offering him a plate-load of Peak Freen’s. She almost thought she should have called them biscuits instead.

The trail seemed well-used, well-maintained, though no one appeared to be living on the island. The man operating the skiff that brought them here said there were a couple of abandoned cabins on the other side, which Juniper had been wanting to get to. They had both, upon pitching camp, looked all over for a trail, for some kind of access. They kept getting lost. They stayed near the beach, hiking up to the other end along a well-maintained footpath where they met the Quebecois campers. But this trail didn’t lead inland.

He had wondered that they hadn’t found this trail already. The grade was rather steep at first. He was running quickly out of breath. As he paused to light a cigarette he thought he might give up smoking after all. One day. He heard another raven. This island seemed full of ravens. A bird he loved, even if they seemed at all ill-omened. He often thought of himself as a raven. He called back, in faithful mimicry. The raven called again. He stamped out the butt end of his spent cigarette and helped himself to the delicious red salmonberries that gleamed in the shade. They were rather like raspberries, not quite as tasty. He yawned, and realized that he was tired. He hadn’t been sleeping well. He was missing a proper bed, the bed he shared with Melissa. He was missing Melissa, whom he couldn't wait to see again. Tomorrow they would be returning to the mainland.

They had been sitting quietly with their tea, the three of them having some time ago run out of conversation. Madge’s brother-in-law had a crisp, punctilious way of speaking, which stood to reason given that he was a retired English teacher, having taught for more than thirty years in an elite Anglican boarding school for upper class boys. She thought that he had an odd way of smiling, his pale blue eyes remaining cold and unresponsive while the left corner of his mouth twisted up just so. She really didn’t know whether to dislike him or not. He didn’t quite give her the creeps, but she felt far from comfortable in his presence. One of her paintings of the apple tree hung from the opposing wall.

“Madge tells me you have rather an unusual tree growing in your back garden”, he said, as though reading Sheila’s thoughts.

“You must mean the apple tree?” Madge said.

“I believe so.”

“Yes, the apple tree”, Sheila said, clearing her throat volubly. She handed Ed the plate-full of Peak Freens.

“Maybe just one”, he said. “I rather fancy the fruit creams.”

“I like their shortbread”, Madge said.

“Doesn’t rate with your mother’s”, Sheila said.

“Did I ever give you her recipe?”

“Last year, I think. I’m saving it for Christmas. Ed, would you like me to show you the tree before it gets dark?”

The trail seemed interminable. Certainly even and well-maintained. The climb was no longer so steep but Stefan was running out of daylight. He wondered if he should turn back before it got too dark. The forest on either side of him seemed almost impregnable. But for the singing in antiphons of well-concealed birds, he could hear only the sound of his footsteps and his breathing. He supposed that he felt a little menaced, though he must be the only human in sight for miles. There weren’t likely to be bears or cougars on this island. Nor wolves. He couldn’t figure out why he consented to this trip. He really didn’t like camping. He enjoyed being with Juniper, but there was nothing there any more. She was no substitute for Melissa. He consented to the trip because he had nothing better to do? Having lost his job at the Steel Toe he could no longer look his girlfriend in the face? Again they hadn’t had any sex in at least two weeks. He was sure she was seeing someone. She hadn’t said anything. He wished she would. It was perfectly okay with him. He had never been a possessive lover. Almost never, but for when his former boss from Starbucks began hitting on his girlfriend. That was different. He was after all, Stefan’s boss. He had no business abusing his position of authority. Had it been a coworker instead he likely would not have minded. Why wouldn’t Melissa tell him anything? Why didn’t anyone tell him anything?