All the Broken Things (15 page)

T
HAT AFTERNOON
, Bo stayed on at school for basketball practice, his worst sport after volleyball. He practised jumping so he would be able to compensate for his height in a game. Mr. Morley measured his vertical at point-seven metres, and said, “Good.” Bo headed home late, and stinking of body odour, and starving. At Dundas and St. Johns, Ernie was waiting for him.

“I can’t,” Bo said. “I need to get home.”

“Pussy-whipped,” said Ernie, so Bo ran at him and thumped him to the ground.

Ernie grabbed his ankle, pulling him down on top, and they tussled. “I have to be home, Ernie,” said Bo. “Really.” He freed himself and stood.

“I’m gonna kill you, Bo.” Ernie stood up too, and brushed off the wet leaves that had caught on his sweater. “I’m gonna kill you.”

Some of the children from the neighbourhood came out of nowhere to watch.

“I can fight later,” Bo said. “I can’t fight you now, Ernie.”

“Later then, sure.” Ernie looked angrily at his fists, as if it were them and not Bo he hated. And then he swung at Bo, clipping him across the nose and mouth.

Bo recoiled. The hit was so hard it had taken his breath with it. The blood came thick and fast—a glob of
it from his nose, a red trail down his chin. Someone gave a great whooping yell. It crescendoed as Bo ran away. When he turned the corner, he lost the sound in the great rumble of a train hurtling downtown.

By the time he got home, the blood had crusted along the runnels and soft hairs at the bow of his upper lip. Rose barely turned when he came in. She was tucked up in the Naugahyde chair crooning to a Vietnamese cassette tape, and smiling. Her eyes were lit up and pretty. Orange was sleeping on a mess of laundry in the corner of the living room. Bo recalled a time when his mother might have noticed two lines of dried blood roving down his face, but she was either used to it or had given up. She never really looked at him anymore. “Mum,” he said. “I’m home.” He went down the hall to the bathroom and washed his face, then came back to see them.

“Hi, Bo,” Rose said.

He settled on the floor beside Orange, lying so that he could watch her face when she slept. He could feel the soft moving air of her breath on his face, and hear the tiny puffs as it left her lips. Sometimes, she went from being strange to being beautiful.

“The bubbles were nice,” he said.

Rose nodded. “A friend of Gerry’s came by today.”

“Who?” But he knew already.

“He said his name was Max Jennings.”

No, thought Bo.

Orange’s arm twitched in sleep, like a dog’s legs when it runs in its dreams. She was hitting in her sleep, he thought. Raging in her sleep. He swallowed, considering that Max might have seen Orange.

“You didn’t let Max see her, did you?”

He sat up, glaring at his mum.

“I thought she was asleep, but she had toddled up to the door while I was talking. And—” Rose hesitated when she saw Bo’s face crumple.

“And Max saw her.”

“He was very polite. He was kind.”

Bo imagined the secret glee with which Max would have regarded the distorted and warped body of his sister. He must have smiled. He must have seen the flow of green in her.

“He’s not kind,” said Bo.

“He said he made house calls to his favourite workers. He said to tell you to keep fit for the spring carnivals, that he enjoys working with you. Bo, he was very nice to me.”

“Okay,” Bo said. He did not want to tell his mother about the freak show or about anything that might make her think twice about letting him work for the carnival. He glanced back at Orange, sleeping still, and thought of Loralei, the muscles under her fur undulating as she moved, and how nice that was, and how good it was to tussle with her. How real it was.

“Mum?” he said.

“Yes.”

“When the carnival gets back in the spring, I might have to miss more school.”

“But Teacher—” she said.

“I know.” Bo slid over to sit nearer to his mother. “I know she’ll be mad, but I
need
to do this.”

Rose’s eyes closed and then opened. She looked up at the ceiling and her mouth twisted a little with some thought. Then she said, “Okay, but make sure all your homework is done, every day. All of it.”

Bo nodded and smiled, thinking of Loralei’s fur and the press of her body against his. “I will,” he said.

Then his mother said, “Teacher has organized a babysitter for Sister so that I can look for work.” She let her hand drop onto Bo’s head. He stayed very still while she combed her fingers through his hair. “She noticed that Sister was alone, and did it to help us. The babysitter starts in November, in two weeks.”

“Is that okay with you?”

“Not really,” said Rose. “But I have to look for work. I have to find something to do. And Sister is walking; I need someone to be here to make sure she is safe.”

“Maybe it’s okay,” he said.

Rose stopped combing his hair then, and pulled her hand away. She sang the unwinding strain that was the last song on the cassette, and when it had finished, she said, “Yes, maybe.” She pushed herself out of the chair
and walked to the hallway. She stopped at a mirror on the wall, straightened her T-shirt and made a face at her reflection. “That man did seem very polite, Bo.”

“Mum,” he said. “It’s okay. Forget it.”

Then she peered at herself in the mirror, smoothed her clothing again, before wandering to her bedroom. When Bo was sure she’d fallen asleep, he woke Orange. He wanted to take her through the streets and show her the dogs, and the trains, everything, but it was still light and he didn’t dare. Instead, he waited a bit, and then he snuck her to the tracks, and waited for a train so that he could watch her feel the suck of air, and see all the muted colours as the cars blurred past under the industrial lights. She watched in a trance as he held her there in his arms.

I
T WAS AFTER SCHOOL
on a Wednesday in November. Emily turned so fast when he shoved through the door, he realized he’d scared her. Except it was his heart racing. “What are you doing here?”

“Babysitting,” she said. “I really like Orange,” she added. And then she grinned so wide he thought he would fall in, and knew how awkward he must appear, because—well—this was Emily.

Bo pretended everything was fine by picking up a cloth and wiping Orange’s mouth. She’d spit her food down her
chin as if to say,
don’t clean me, I’m dirty
. “Don’t,” he whispered. He looked over at Emily. She was the
babysitter
?

“Is this your first time babysitting her?”

“Oh, no. I’ve been here lots of times. Your mum wasn’t sure when you’d be home. Rose—your mum? I think she’s on a date.” Emily seemed pleased to tell him this.

“Date?” No. She was looking for work. “You can go home now,” he said. “I’ve got this.”

After she’d gone, he bundled Orange into a blanket and tucked her on his lap. He sat on the green chair and waited, and waited, even as Orange slumped in sleep, and even as he, too, began to drowse.

A knock woke him. He laid Orange down on the floor beside the chair and found Teacher at the front door.

“Oh, hi! Bo!” She looked confused. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that I asked Emily to be here.”

“Practice was cancelled.”

“Oh. Well, can you let your mum know I’m here?”

“She’s out, Miss Lily.”

Teacher sighed at this. “I’m supposed to bring her to her doctor’s appointment. She wanted to look for work, and then we were supposed to meet back here. Didn’t she mention it?”

“She never goes to the doctor,” said Bo.

“Bo,” said Teacher. “Everybody needs to go to the doctor once in a while. It’s normal.” And then, when he just stared at her, she said, “Will you give her a message?”
Actually there were two. One was inside an envelope with
Rose Ngô
on the front in cursive; the other Teacher asked him to pass on: could Rose come to the school to speak with her the next day. Bo looked up directly into Teacher’s face when she said this. His horror must have shown, because Teacher said, “What is it?”

“Sister will be alone,” Bo said, though this was not what concerned him. He did not want his mother at the school. He did not want her to be seen.

“I’m trying to help, Bo.” Teacher’s face was so smooth, and kind. “It’s after school. You can be here for Orange, right? Or else, I can ask Emily.”

He shook his head even as Teacher pushed the letter toward him. Not Emily.

“Just give this to your mum, okay? We’re trying to make this as easy as possible. Really.”

Bo looked at the letter.
We
, he thought. She was delivering a letter from
We
. He knew this meant the group of people who had sponsored them, that this meant gratitude and owing. His throat constricted. He thanked Teacher and closed the door, and set the letter down on the kitchen table where his mum would see it when she got home. He went back to the living room, cradled his sister and waited.

R
OSE TRIED TO TIPTOE
past them.

Bo said, “Where were you?” and heard her sharp intake of breath. She walked over to the kitchen table and looked down at the letter.

“I’m home now. Go to bed.”

Bo stood with Orange hanging in his arms and carried her to her bed. When he was sure she had settled, he went to stand at the threshold of his mother’s room. “Who were you with?” he asked.

The door muffled her response.

“… not your business.” But somehow from this he knew right away that it must be Max.

“Mum, no.” This knowing felt like crying did.

“Hush, Bo. Go to sleep. I’m all right.”

“Mum. Teacher came by for you. She said you had a doctor’s appointment. You have to go and speak to her tomorrow at the school. Did you open the letter? What did it say?” Bo waited in the dark for her answer. He felt if she would attend to these things, she’d have no time for Max.

Finally, he heard her say, “Nothing.”

T
WO DAYS LATER
, when he got home from school, Max Jennings and his mother leaned into one another at the table—Max’s glass tilted mid-air—as if they had
suspended their conversation and were waiting for him. Orange was splay-legged on the floor between them. Bo picked her up.

Rose looked strange. And then Bo thought, no, not strange, she looked happy. She wasn’t smiling but there was something different, some freshness, and he felt only distress at this. Why should Max give her happiness?

“The prodigal son!” said Max, and added, “I have been regaling!”

“Max,” said Rose. She brought her empty glass toward him and he filled it sloppily from a gin bottle. His mother saying Max’s name was a hateful thing to hear.

Orange fought Bo’s hold on her, and so he let her dangle to the ground to stand. She caught her balance, and then caught it again.

Rose gave him a pained look, but then stopped herself when Max put his hands out toward Orange.

“No!” said Bo, but Orange waddled over to Max and let him catch her up.

Bo noticed that Rose was holding her breath. If there were air, he would scream. And then Rose laughed, and her face was so open that even Bo could see how beautiful she was. She let all this stifled beauty shine onto Max until the laughter faded.