“How do I learn?”
“You also gotta be in the union.”
“Union?”
“Yeah, union. Nupee.”
“What?”
The foreman looked as if he had a pain. “National Union of Public Employees — NUPE!”
“Oh.”
“Well, look, you go somewhere, learn how to operate equipment, or take an air brakes course, something useful, and then come back. We’ll test you out. If you’re any good, we can apply to get you permitted by the union. Where was your last full-time job?”
“Here.”
“Here?” The foreman took off his cap and scratched his head. “When did you say that was?”
“Four years ago.”
“And you haven’t worked since?”
“Nope ... I been away.”
“Did you work somewhere else? Away?”
“Yeah, but not paid work.”
The foreman glanced at me, then leaned over to Dad, giving him a hard look. “You been in jail?” he whispered.
“Jail? Oh, no! I just been ... travelling. Worked down east for a while.”
“What doing?”
“With horses. At the track.”
“Well, that won’t get you much of a reference. Take a course or something. You got your grade twelve?”
“Nope.”
“Eleven? You can take a machine-operating course with grade eleven.”
“Nope.”
The foreman barked an order at one of the men, then turned back to us. “Well, I gotta go. You think about it. Only place you can get a job anymore, without much training or education, is at the packing plant. You try there?”
“Not yet,” Dad said.
“My wife’s brother works there, but he’s quitting. Go ask about his old job. He’s a liver-spiker.”
Dad grabbed my hand, and we turned to leave. Behind us the backhoe started up, its motor vibrating. The operator sat in the seat and then expertly moved the machine ahead. Dad followed it with his eyes.
“Yeah, I’ll go see about that job,” Dad said. “Thanks.”
We walked across the public works yard and back onto the street.
“A liver-spiker!” I said. “Is that what I think it is?”
“I don’t know,” Dad said.
We walked along in silence.
“There’s gotta be something I can do,” he said quietly. “Someone, somewhere, must need a good man.”
17
Education
I felt angry at what was going on around this place. Just after Mom left for work the phone would ring and Dad would hurry to answer it. A short while later Uncle Al would show up, often with Mike and Jerry.
Sometimes they had coffee here and talked in low voices around the kitchen table. But sometimes they went outside to the backyard and sat at our old wooden picnic table, which Dad had moved under a tree at the far end of the yard so I couldn’t hear their conversations anymore.
Other times Dad waited for Uncle Al outside at the curb and jumped in as the big black car slowed to a stop. When Dad went away with Uncle Al, he didn’t return until about an hour before Mom was due home from the office. Then he’d flick on the TV and watch old crime shows or cartoons.
At first I thought Uncle Al was taking him out to Grandpa Hank’s for some driving lessons until Hank called and asked when Dad wanted to start. I had brought a driver’s manual home, but Dad hadn’t opened it.
I liked my Uncle Al, even though I felt nervous being around him. He was so powerful.
When he saw all the Sports Day ribbons I’d won, he said, “Congratulations, kid!” Then he counted out a ten-dollar bill for each first, five dollars for each second, and two dollars for each third. “And here’s more for being a good kid.” He slapped a twenty into my hand. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”
“Thank you. This is a lot of money.”
He laughed. “Get used to it, kid. There’s more where that came from. Lots more.”
Uncle Al wanted to help us. I knew that. Just yesterday he had taken me aside and told me about a job for Dad.
“It’s on a ranch, the Flying Bee,” he’d said. “That kind of work doesn’t require a man with much education — just a strong back. Friend of mine told me about it. Tell your Mom, but don’t bother saying the tip came from me.”
So I made up another story. Uncle Al had pulled me into his scene just as he had everyone else who came in contact with him. In school we had studied things like approach-avoidance conflicts where you were pulled between wanting to do something and not wanting to do it. We also learned about love-hate relationships. I was in one now. So I lied to Mom, truly believing it was for the good of the family.
“Mom, I saw a job on the bulletin board at the grocery store,” I said casually as Mom and I did the dishes together. “Maybe Dad would like it — working on a ranch.”
“Your father’s lost his confidence,” Mom said in a low voice so Dad couldn’t hear. “He’s heard no too many times.”
I really wanted to be proud of him — he was my dad, after all — but he had to be proud of himself, too. He had to quit being an idiot!
Later I heard Mom telling Dad about the job. “Try for it, Nick,” she urged. “It can’t hurt. The worst they can do is say no.”
“I don’t have a way out there,” Dad said sullenly. “How am I supposed to get back and forth to a ranch every day? They don’t come in with a van like the beet people do.”
“Maybe you could stay a few days at a time. They must have a bunkhouse,” Mom said. Seeing Dad’s gloomy look, she threw down the dish towel and sat wearily on a chair. “Oh, Nick, I don’t know. There’s got to be something you can do.”
“Maybe you could hitchhike out there,” I said.
Dad glared at me, but I didn’t care.
The ranch was thirteen miles southeast of town. Dad got up early the next morning and stumbled into the shower. Mom and I fixed him a big breakfast and packed his lunch.
He said goodbye like a man going to the electric chair. But in reality all he had to do was walk a few blocks to the highway and stick out his thumb.
After he left, Mom and I sat at the kitchen table.
“I wonder what story we’re going to hear when he comes home tonight,” Mom said, sighing loudly.
“Maybe he won’t be home tonight,” I said optimistically. “Maybe they’ll put him to work right away and give him a bed in their bunkhouse.”
“Maybe.”
After Mom left for work, I tidied up the house, but still felt restless when I was finished. I had to talk to somebody. But who? I decided to phone Hannah.
The minute she heard my voice she said, “Oh, Angela, I’m so glad you called. I’ve missed you! Please come over right away.”
“No, I can’t right now.” How could I face her family? What if her father refused to let me in the house? I was getting as nervous as Dad. “Let’s meet in the New Day Café,” I suggested. “I’ll buy you a sundae. I made some money.”
“Lucky you! I’ve been trying to get babysitting jobs, but there aren’t many. Did you find one?”
“No. My uncle gave me some money for winning those sports ribbons. See you in half an hour.”
We sat in a back booth. At first we talked about everything except our families — sports day, our school reports, what teachers we’d have next year, and whether there would be any cute boys in our class.
“I hear you’ve been seeing Ryan Phelps … going over to his house,” Hannah said. “You like him?”
“He’s okay. We play games on the Internet, stuff like that.”
“Looking up hot celebs’ fan pages?”
�
�Sounds boring.”
“No, it’s pretty fun.” I dug into my chocolate fudge sundae as if it were the first thing I’d eaten in days.
“Mom wants to see your dad’s art, but my dad won’t let her,” Hannah said finally.
I poked deeply into the tulip-shaped sundae glass, down where the chocolate lay deep and dark like my mood.
“My dad’s known all along about your dad,” Hannah said. “He said all bank managers get computer updates on people like him.”
I jabbed in the long spoon and scraped it around the bottom of the glass, making an irritating screeching sound. Hannah winced.
“People like him,” I repeated. “Now just what kind of information do you get on people like him?”
She shifted in her seat. “Well, you know, about people who rob banks. People with breaking-and-entering records.”
“My dad didn’t rob banks!” I shouted, causing other diners to stare. I wasn’t sure anymore what Dad had really done, but I wasn’t taking this kind of crap from her or anyone else. I might be secretly frightened and a bit ashamed at times, but Hannah was an outsider — a double outsider with her banking father — and this was strictly family business. “Anyway, that’s private information,” I snapped.
“Not really. Lots of people know. Banks, police, social workers, teachers ...”
“Teachers?”
“You think Mrs. Madsen didn’t know what you were going through? Why she gave you a passing mark in math?”
“I passed fairly.”
She leaned across the table. “Angela, it’s okay. Don’t be so defensive. Nobody blames you for what your dad does, or your uncle, or —”
“My uncle! He’s never done anything!”
“Well, he’s never been caught. Dad says he’s just lucky because he’s behind most of it.”
“He knows my Uncle Al?”
“Everyone knows him. He looks like a mobster, and he drives that big black Cadillac with those pink letters on it — Dial-a-Dream! Everyone’s scared of him. They say he packs a gun.”
Okay, should I slide down in my seat and hide, or should I blast her and make a real scene?
Neither. I took a deep breath.
“My family’s had some problems, but we’re doing okay. My dad paid for his mistake. Now he wants to put it behind him and go straight. He’s starting a new job today, in fact.”
“Doing what?” Hannah asked.
It was really none of her business, but I decided to try to give her a better impression. “He’s working on a big ranch, just for now, to get in shape.” Then before I could think about it I blurted, “In the fall he’s going back to school.”
“How can he? He’s too old!”
“He’s enrolling in computer school. He’s looking into buying a good computer with a high-end graphics card. And he’s learning to drive, too!”
“All adults should know how to drive.”
“Maybe some never had the chance or wanted to.”
“Oh, I suppose so.”
“So we’re starting now. Dad’s going to learn some completely new skills.”
“That’s nice.” Hannah’s face was red. She had barely touched her sundae. “You can maybe borrow my brothers’ books,” she offered. Then, warming up to the idea, she started talking and eating at the same time until ice cream and words were both dripping from her lips. “Josh got top marks in grade eight math and science. He kept all his notes. Andrew just passed grade ten with honours! He’s got lots of computer books. When you get your own computer, I can burn you a CD with his stuff on it.”
“Thanks. But isn’t that illegal?”
She giggled. “I don’t know. Is it? We download and burn music onto discs all the time. It can’t be any different. It’s not like it’s a program — it’s his work! I’ll help you get your dad back into the business world, too.”
We gave each other chocolate smiles across the table.
Skunks
Dad came home late. Rather, someone dumped him off at the curb around ten o’clock at night.
When he entered the house, he looked homeless and smelled worse. Mom and I helped him to a kitchen chair. His hair was messed, and he was covered with a coating of chaff from hay or grain. He was sneezing with an attack of hay fever, and his eyes were red and watering. His shirt was torn and dirty, and his pants had to be thrown out. Worse, he absolutely reeked of skunk. But it was the pathetic, beaten look on his face that was hardest to take.
I ran to fill the bathtub with warm water, adding bubble bath, while Mom punched open a can of tomato juice.
“Here, go into the bathroom, take off your clothes, and rub this juice over yourself,” she said. “It’ll help to take away the skunk smell.”
He dutifully shuffled into the bathroom. We heard him thumping around as he shed his clothes. Mom went in and returned with the clothes in a bundle. She shoved them into a garbage bag and took them outside.
Soon Dad was back, wearing a clean T-shirt and jeans. The smell was almost gone.
“Okay, tell us what happened,” Mom said. Her voice was low and smooth as if she were coaxing a little animal from its burrow.
Dad got a beer from the fridge and took a deep swallow. “Morning starts good. The air’s full of birds, telephone wires are singing away. I feel good. I get a ride real quick, nice guy, a salesman. He drops me off, and I walk a couple miles in. No sweat.” He took a sip of beer.
We waited, wondering how and when this happy story would go bad.
“So I go along till I see the sign flying bee ranch. I turn in at the gate and walk up the longest driveway in the world. A woman’s standing at the door of the house, shaking a rug.
“‘Hey, lady,’ I say. ‘I’m looking for a job. Foreman around?’ ‘My husband’s over by the machine shed,’ she says, and points. I go over there. A big black dog comes out, sniffs me, curls his lip. I don’t like dogs, you know that, scared of ’em, but I keep walking and I don’t look at him. So I find the foreman. ‘Yeah, we got a job,’ he says, ‘but it don’t look to me like you’re up to it. You don’t look in very good shape.’ I say, ‘Whaddya mean? I’ve just been hoeing beets! This job harder than that?’ So he hires me.”
Mom and I gave a cheer, but Dad shook his head sadly and put up his hand to halt us. The worst was yet to come.
“So the guy, he asks me where’s my duffle and sleeping bag. I say, ‘Hey, it’s nine o’clock in the morning. I ain’t going to bed yet!’ But he doesn’t laugh. He says, ‘You’re not planning on living in those clothes for a week, are you? You didn’t drive in here and you can’t walk out at five o’clock. When we’re haying, we’re haying! All night till the dew comes.’ I ask him, ‘What’s the job?’ And he gets real mad. ‘You never been on a ranch before? Haying means cutting and baling hay. Horses eat it.’ I tell him I know what horses eat. I used to work with horses at the racetrack down east. But he just sneers and says I won’t even be seeing the horses.”
Dad was quiet for a minute. Mom and I waited. My stomach started to cramp.
“The job they get me doing is called barging. I have to follow the baler. Behind the baler is a barge, a flat raft thing. I’m supposed to stack these square bales on the barge in a pyramid. When I get eight of ’em stacked up, I take a crowbar and hoist them off, so they fall stacked.” He bangs his beer bottle on the table. “It would take a magician to do that!”
Dad looked around for our sympathy. Mom and I nodded.
“You’ve got to have perfect coordination,” Dad said. “You’ve got to get the bales off right or they fall all over the place. My crowbar got stuck in the slats of the barge. I’d have to run along behind and get it, then catch up. And meanwhile bales are tossing around like popcorn. I’m sneezing and coughing from the seeds, pollen, chaff, eyes waterin
g, can’t see.” He stopped talking for a moment. “And then it happened.”
All breathing stopped. My stomach gave a violent lurch, and I leaned forward in my chair, listening intently, not wanting to miss a word. Sweat misted Dad’s forehead, and I thought he might faint.
Finally, Mom asked gently, “You want to tell us, Nick?”
Dad ripped the label off his beer bottle until it was peeled down in three even strips. “It was the little animals. The little skunks.”
“Oh, no!” Mom and I cried.
“The baler picked up a family of skunks. They went right through. Couldn’t do a thing about it.” Dad glanced up at us, his face haggard. “I could have bawled. Right there. Big tough man, eh?”
I moved over to Dad and gave him a hug. He smelled fairly good now, of my bubble bath. The skunk smell was just a faint memory. We sat there, Mom beside him at the table patting his shoulder, Dad with his arm around me.
“I’ve got an idea, Dad. No more stupid jobs. Ryan and I are going to teach you everything you need to know about computers over the summer. He has all sorts of software programs, and you can enroll in a course in the fall.”
“Computers? Me?”
Mom laughed. “Yeah, right.”
Dad laughed, too, but there was a small look of hope, even of interest, on his face. An expression that hadn’t been there when he walked through the door an hour ago, reeking like a skunk and hanging his head like a sad dog.
19
Poker Patience
July passed slowly: some babysitting jobs, hanging out in the backyard, reading, meeting Hannah at the New Day Café or for an afternoon at the swimming pool, and going over to Ryan’s. One day Dad came home with a laptop computer. “Borrowed it from a friend,” he said, and neither Mom nor I asked anything further. We had to get a computer sooner or later. Ryan offered to come over and help set up an email account and download some programs. He was excited at the idea of being Dad’s tutor. He okayed it with his mother, and the next day he arrived.
“You’ll be starting with Microsoft Office Professional, Mr. Wroboski,” Ryan said. Dad looked blank. “Then we’ll go online on the Net ...” He began again. “I’ll show you what a computer can do, Mr. Wroboski.”