A Sharp Intake of Breath. Джон Миллер

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СКАЧАТЬ you don’t want to be sitting in the room down the hall?”

      “That poor woman,” Pearl continued, ignoring me. “She should be allowed to end her life if she wants, and by the time they hand down their decision, it might be too late for her. I honestly don’t know what I’d do if I had such a terrible illness. Imagine, being trapped in your body, miserable, and not being able to even take a bottle of pills on your own. I say bravo to that Svend Robinson for standing beside her all the way. When do we ever see members of Parliament taking risks like that? He may be light in the loafers, but that man has guts.”

      Bessie nodded her head but her face was taut. Pearl was touching on sensitive topics and didn’t even know it. For one thing, she didn’t know that Bessie had a gay grandson. My sister didn’t like to talk about it. She’d accepted the fact and loved Ari regardless, but she’d learned only recently that he was gay and still grieved the end of the family name. Which was interesting, since Ari carried her late husband Abe’s family name, not ours.

      Her grief for the end of the Kagan line was really grief for Abe, whom she thanked for saving her from a terrible mistake he knew nothing about. This mistake was a secret she’d shared only with Lil and me. It wasn’t exactly accurate to say that Abe had saved her, either. Lil and I had done the saving and then Abe helped her recover afterwards. We’d fixed things, ensuring Bessie could be safe in his loving arms. The price was eleven years of my life.

      The phone rang and Bessie answered it. She said, “I don’t think so, dear, but I’ve got visitors. Let me ask your uncle Toshy and my friend Pearl.” She covered the receiver. “It’s Ari, down in the lobby. He wants to know if he can get us bagels from across the street. I’m not hungry, are you?”

      Pearl shook her head.

      “Tell him not to bother,” I said. “I’m coming down to discuss what stuff he’s bringing back to Montreal and I wouldn’t want it to disturb your cheery television program.”

      “You just got here,” Bessie protested.

      “I’ll come back later. You and Ari should have time alone.” I glanced at Pearl, who stood up.

      “I should go too, Bessie. I can meet your grandson another time. I have to call my daughter anyway.”

      “Wait, Toshy, I have a newspaper clipping I thought you’d want to see. It’s over by the television.” She relayed my message to Ari while gesturing to Pearl to get it. Pearl, who’d stood up to leave, passed it to me, and as I unfolded it, I was aware she was craning her neck to read along with me.

      Its headline said, “Nurse and poverty activist Dorothy Fister gets Order of Ontario.” The article mentioned she was raising money to support a group of homeless people setting up a shantytown near the Queen Elizabeth Way.

      “Fister? Bessie, do you think...”

      “It’s her granddaughter. I just thought you’d want to know.”

      “Whose granddaughter?” said Pearl.

      “Nobody. Just a very kind woman we knew when we were young,” said Bessie. I folded the paper and put it in my shirt pocket.

      Pearl must’ve sensed she shouldn’t press further. I followed her to the elevator, and as we waited, I considered my reaction to the clipping, why it had set my heart pounding so. I could easily have found this woman a long time ago, had I set my mind to it. Or her father, before he died. Fact was, I hadn’t, and now that Bessie had brought it up, it took on a new urgency.

      I became aware of Pearl smiling at me again.

      “This is taking forever. I’m gonna take the stairs.”

      “Good idea,”she said, just to be completely maddening, and followed me.

      When we reached the ground floor, I said, “Goodbye, Pearl,” and hurried away before there was another opportunity for interaction.

      Ari was sitting at a small table in the atrium, clutching a cup in one hand. The day had started cool but Baycrest was always overheated and I could tell he was suffering for it, because he clawed at the collar of his turtleneck. He was tapping a thick-soled boot against the base of the table, probably from too much caffeine. He’d become a serious addict ever since he’d moved to Montreal and decided that coffee served in bowls was a sign of urban sophistication. In Toronto, where we were sensible enough to know that coffee wasn’t soup, he had to settle for one of those café whatchamahoozits, topped with nutmeg or chocolate sprinkles or God knows what. Whatever happened to a simple cuppa joe made with a Melita filter?

      He stood up and hugged me, towering at six feet. He thrust a paper bag into my hands. “I lied to Grandma. I’d already gotten the bagels. You can take them back to your room.”

      “Thanks,” I said, and sat at the table with him. “How’s your research coming along?”

      “Pretty good, actually. You know that grant application I told you about? It came through yesterday, so, guess what? I’m going to St-Tropez to try to find Bon Esprit, the house Emma lived in there.”

      “You are? When?”

      “In a few weeks, so it doesn’t give me much time to get ready. I found some journal references this morning, but I still need your help researching Goldman’s years in France. I didn’t want to bother you when you were moving, but I know you found a box of your old letters. I remember a few years ago you said there were some letters that Goldman sent to Aunt Lil. Can we take a look in your locker and see if you can find them?”

      “There’s no point; I gave them away.”

      He dropped his jaw for dramatic effect.

      “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t know you’d be doing this research. And it’s not like I gave them to a passing stranger. A few years ago, I read they were starting an archive in California, so I donated Lil’s letters.”

      “I know those archives; they’re at Berkeley.”

      “Then you should be able to get a hold of copies if you want. That’s the whole point of the archives.”

      “I know...” he said. “I’ve been meaning to call them. I suppose I should get on that this aft.”

      “Don’t despair. I think I have something that might help: letters your aunt Lil sent me when I was in prison. Emma was in France for part of the time I was locked up, and I think Lil mentions her and that house. Also, I still remember a few things my sister told me when she visited. When you’re in prison, news from the outside world sticks with you. Also, Lil once went to work for Emma in France.”

      “I never knew that.”

      “She made the trip in secret. Our family thought she was in Montreal on a medical internship.”

      I walked back to The Terrace, leaving Ari to his visit with Bessie, and went down to my storage locker. While I did, an idea formed, and I turned it over and over. It was one I’d long ago given up on, but today’s events had given it new life.

      I searched for the letters from Lil, but I didn’t need to find them to recall the words. A lot from those prison days had stuck with me, and not just news. Things I wished I could forget but couldn’t. The curse of a photographic memory was that I saw everything, СКАЧАТЬ