A Cold White Fear (14 page)

“H
ave
you had any sleep?” I asked. “You must be dead tired.”

“I'm good, but thanks for asking.” Professor sank down into the cushions at one end of the chesterfield and gently lifted Larry's legs onto his lap. He stretched the bottom of the injured man's blanket so that it not only covered his own legs but also his chest and shoulders. “I've taught myself to get by on very little sleep.”

His hand moved slowly back and forth under the wool blanket, as if caressing his friend's feet. With his other he pointed to the plastic Santa in the faded red suit that was for the moment standing forlornly on an empty bookshelf. “Your Santa reminds me of my childhood.”

“That old guy is from my own childhood. It's not Christmas without him. His usual place of honour is on top of the tree.”

“It's a good thing to celebrate Christmas. I haven't done so in years. Maybe this year, eh, P'tit Chief?” He squeezed his lover's foot.

“You must really love Larry.”

The disquieting snakes on his face seemed to soften as he regarded the other man's sleeping face.

“Let's just say he's the one bright spot in my otherwise paltry life. But don't tell him that. It might go to his head.”

He bent over and kissed the feet. Larry smiled.

Jid made a slight noise, stretched, and then resettled himself in the chair. His eyes remained closed. Shoni crawled out from under the blanket and nestled in the crook of his neck. The boy's hand came out from under the cover, brushed the fur away that was tickling his nose, gave her another pat, and returned to sleep.

The fire spilled out its soothing warmth.

The scene seemed so peaceful that it was hard to believe danger was only a heartbeat away.

“What did you teach at McGill?” I asked.

“Who told you I taught there?”

Drat, was that supposed to be a secret?
But before I could think of a way not to implicate Larry, Professor continued. “I imagine Larry told you. The silly fool's rather proud of it.”

“I would be too. Not many can teach at the university level.”

He shrugged. “I specialized in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century French philosophy.”

“Sounds sufficiently esoteric. Where did you do your doctorate? At McGill?”

“The Sorbonne.”

“Makes sense to study French philosophy in Paris. I hope you had a good long stretch there to fully enjoy it?”

“I lived there about eight years. I was working on another doctorate when I left.”

“In a different area of philosophy?”

“Actually, it was in history, eighteenth-century French armaments.”

“Rather a change from philosophy to history, isn't it?”

“Not really. I found it helped me better understand the philosophers and their thinking if I was familiar with French society during the time they lived.”

“But French armaments?”

He laughed. “I like weapons, what can I say?”

I'm sure you do,
I thought. And doubtless he liked to use them too.

“But I take it you didn't complete your doctorate in history.”

“I had to leave rather abruptly. I've often regretted that I couldn't return to defend my dissertation. It would've knocked the Sorbonne's history faculty onto their collective ass.”

“What prompted you to leave?”

“A small matter concerning a misplaced stiletto.”

The thin line of his smile convinced me not to pursue this further.

“You mentioned that you grew up on a farm in Quebec.”

“Seems a lifetime ago. But yes, I was born in the same bed my father was born in and his father before him, and so on and so forth. Although my family has farmed this land since the late seventeenth century, it has never been able to provide more than a subsistence existence. And of course, my parents were too afraid to go against the parish
priest
.” He spat out the word. “They kept having kid after kid. I was lucky thirteen, the youngest and the brightest.”

“A farm that old has to be near Quebec City.”

“You know your New France history. It's located in the Charlevoix downriver from Quebec City. Separatist country, I might add.” Another grin spread across his face, but more of a challenge than an expression of amusement.

Now was hardly the time to get into an argument over separatism, so I ignored it. “Beautiful country. I spent a few days at an inn near Cap-à-l'Aigle.”

“The farm is inland from there. I grew up surrounded by jaw-dropping, spectacular beauty. But I don't think it rubbed off, do you?”

Any answer I gave would probably be wrong, so I said instead, “It seems a very big leap from a farm in the Charlevoix to the halls of the Sorbonne and ultimately McGill.”

“You can say I was lucky. My mother worked at a nearby golf course that was patronized by Montreal Anglophones and Americans. She'd often take me with her so I could make extra money chasing after lost balls. One of the patrons, a Montrealer who spent his summers at the family cottage at Pointe-au-Pic, befriended me.” He ran his eyes over the rich panelling surrounding us and up and down the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace. “It wasn't very different from this place and about the same age. You've kept it in good shape.”

“More my great-aunt's doing than mine. She lived here for almost sixty years.”

“That's the woman Larry remembered, right?”

“Yes, his father worked for her. But we've become sidetracked.”

He sighed. “Back to my life story, or the part of it I'm willing to share. Can't say I've ever told anyone this before. Must be something about this place. Reminds me too much of Mike's. Anyway, he decided to take me on as one of his good works. I was a mouthy brat back then. He somehow managed to see a spark of intelligence through the glibness and decided to develop it. He paid for my schooling with the Jesuits until I graduated from high school, at the top of my class no less.” His shoulders lifted in a Gallic shrug.

“Very generous of him. But I imagine this schooling would've been in French, and your English is perfect. So you must've picked it up somewhere.”

“From the very beginning of our relationship, he only spoke English to me, despite his French being very good for an Anglo. Maman didn't like it. She worried I would become too English, but she realized that this was one of the conditions of my getting properly educated.”

“What were the other conditions?”

He shrugged. “I'm sure you can guess. You see, Mike wasn't married.”

“How old were you when you met him?”

“Nine.”

I didn't know how to respond to this. Surely his mother would've sensed something wasn't right about the relationship. But perhaps she saw only what she wanted to see, believing it was more important for her youngest to get the education she couldn't provide.

“He died when I was twenty but left me enough money to complete my studies. It was that money that enabled me to finish my BA at McGill and spend eight years in Paris. It's gone now. I spent every cent of it.”

“What do you think he would say if he could see you now?” I knew I shouldn't be asking the question, but it flowed out before I could stop it.

“He say you dumb, stupid prick. You got caught, Dr. Big Shot Professor.” Slobodan stretched out his arms and stood up. “How many time you fuck the guy?”

I shrank back into the chair, waiting for the knife to fly.

And when it didn't, I opened my eyes to see Professor continuing to sit on the sofa, with the blanket still covering him. The only change was he no longer caressed Larry's feet. Instead, his hands were very still, as was his body — too still. And while the snakes framing his face remained equally motionless, his amber eyes seemed to bore through the skull of the Serbian. In a low, even voice, he said, “When this is over …”

Slobodan merely grunted and lurched out of the room. He stumbled up the stairs and slammed the bathroom door with such force, the banister rattled.

“W
hat
's going on?” Larry struggled to sit up.

“Merely Slobo having a temper tantrum. Go back to sleep, P'tit Chief.” Professor rubbed his lover's legs.

The puppy whined and jumped down onto the carpet. Before she had a chance to do any damage, a yawning Jid lifted her up. “Shoni's got to go outside.” Doing his best to hang onto the struggling puppy, he headed out into the hall.

“Might as well stretch my legs too.” Professor moved Larry's feet aside and stood up. He stretched his dancer's frame upward, raising his arms high over his head, then down to touch his toes. “My body's missing its daily yoga practice.” He continued to touch his toes, really the floor, for another minute or so before walking to the open doorway, where he blocked it as if on guard.

I struggled to get comfortable. “Can't you untie me? My arms are killing me.”

He continued to stare out into the dark hallway.

“Please, I promise I won't try to leave.”

At that point, Slobodan padded down the stairs. The light from the den lit up another of Aunt Aggie's Hudson's Bay blankets, slung over his shoulders as he limped past the tattooed man.

“Where are you going?” Professor asked.

“The big room,” he growled. “I sleep on soft sofa.”

“Put some wood on the fire.”

“Da, da.”
Slobodan's voice, along with his footsteps, disappeared down the hall into the living room.

The pitter-patter of paws running toward us announced the return of Jid.

“It's stopped snowing,” he said. “Sure is a lot of it. Looks awesome. I've never seen so much. It's as high as the woodshed roof.” He stretched his arms up toward the ceiling. “Way taller than me.”

Shoni placed her paws on my knee, her entire body wagging with her tail.

“Please, Professor, cut me loose. If the snow's as deep as Jid says it is, I'm not going anywhere.”

“Why should I trust you?” He lifted the puppy onto my lap.

Shoni slathered my face with moist kisses, punctuated by a nibble or two. Ski-jump noses and fleshy earlobes were her snack of choice.

“I promise I won't try to escape, if you promise you won't harm us. Ouch, Shoni, that hurts.” I strained to move my face away from her pinprick puppy teeth.

Jid took her away. “We won't do anything. We won't even tell Will.”

Professor whirled around. “Who's Will?”

“He's a friend.” I avoided eye contact with the boy.

“Do you mean Will Decontie?” Larry asked. “He still the police chief?”

“Police chief?”

“Yeah, the Migiskan Tribal Police,” Larry continued.

Larry, shut up
, I screamed to myself.

“Is this a police force associated with your reserve?”

“Yup.”

“Why didn't you mention this when we were going over the pros and cons of this location?”

“Sorry, Professor. I didn't think of them. The force is so small, only two or three cops. If they couldn't handle a bunch of bad apple kids on the rez, like me and my buddies, I figured no way they could handle some escaped cons.”

“They can always call in support. So how close is their station?”

“About a ten-kilometre drive from here,” I answered, increasing the distance.

“Red, why didn't you tell me about them?”

“Like Larry, I didn't think they mattered. Besides, they just handle reserve policing. This place is outside their jurisdiction.”

“So now you're telling me we've got cops on our fucking doorstep.”

“Slow down. Look outside. The cops aren't going anywhere in this stuff. It doesn't matter whether they're fifty kilometres away or ten. They won't be coming here any time soon. Besides, they would have to know that you guys are here. Without a phone — you broke it, remember — I sure couldn't tell them. So unless one of you guys did, I don't think they'll be landing on my doorstep.”

“I was going to cut you free,” he sneered. “But now that I know that you purposefully kept this information from me, I'm going to keep you tied up.”

He walked out of the room, shouting, “Slobo, what time is Jo coming?”

“Don't worry about him,” Larry said. “He gets mad fast but calms down just as quick.”

“Can you untie me? My hands and arms are really hurting.”

He shook his head vigorously. “Sorry. Professor'd kill me.”

Jid had been standing behind my chair while we'd been talking. I could feel his hands working away at the ropes around my wrists.

To try to distract Larry, I asked, “How are you feeling? Any better?”

“I suppose, but my gut hurts like hell.”

“You need to see a doctor. If infection sets in, it could turn out very badly for you. Is there any way you could convince Professor to give yourselves up so you can get to a hospital?”

“You gotta be kidding. You know what'll happen to us if we get caught? Three guards are dead 'cause of us.”

“But you didn't kill them, did you?”

“No.”

“Did Professor?”

“I don't think so. But it all happened so fast, I lost track of what was going on, and then I got hit.”

“If you turned yourselves in, chances are the authorities would be easier on you than if you were captured.”

He remained silent. He kept moving his eyes in the direction Professor had taken and then back to me. I felt that he was wavering.

“Don't you think it's better to be alive behind bars than dead?”

“But Professor's gotta job to do. That's why they planned the escape.”

“What job?”

“Can't tell you.” His eyes shifted to where his hands had been picking away at the loose blanket thread.

“Who are ‘they'?”

“Look, I said too much already. Don't let on to Professor that I told you, okay?”

“If you were in the hospital, they would give you methadone.” I wasn't going to give up, not yet.

“Yeah, but Slobodan said Jo's bringing smack.” He wiped his nose with his sleeve, closed his eyes, and pulled the blanket over his face. The discussion was over.