Nights Below Station Street (10 page)

Next he found himself in jail in Richibucto. And after a day on the road, with seventeen beer to sober himself up, he found himself sitting in a chair in the kitchen with Adele trying to feed him soup.

As he told her this story, Adele said nothing. Now and then she would sniff, as if she wasn’t listening, and turn a page of her magazine.

“Now I know it’s a disease,” he said hopefully, almost to himself. “I never knew that before.”

He looked at his hands, and rubbed them together, and then looked at the picture she had of Ralphie sitting on her night table.

The curler on her head made her look as if she had a unicorn horn just above her forehead.

Then Joe told her that he drank when he was young, but that maybe he couldn’t drink anymore, and was going to do his best not to drink again. But that didn’t mean they would ever be rich. He smiled clumsily. He said he remembered
a lot more than she might think – yes, he did. He remembered when they lived downtown, and there was no heat in the apartment, and Adele got colds. He remembered that And Rita almost lost Milly, and the social workers came and were going to take away the children. He remembered that. He remembered how Adele used to carry soup cans about in her dress pockets, and a big can opener, because she thought that’s what was needed to cure his hangover, and she would hand it up to him when he came home – and that one time she kept a doll he’d won for her at the circus under her pillow. He bet she didn’t remember that. He smiled and looked about, and then coughed. And then suddenly without even knowing he was going to do it, he asked her to forgive him.

“I see,” she said, as he spoke. “I see.”

She glanced at him quickly and her eyes got round, and then she glanced back at her book.

“I see,” she said. “Yes, of course – I see.”

The Russian ship
Gorki
had been stranded here for three weeks. A Petty Officer, Terrisov, became friendly with Myhrra. And she showed him about the river, took him to the curling club, and explained the rules of the game to him, and for a time seemed to forget her problems.

There were tours of the Russian ship organized, and times allotted for the Russians to go skating. The ship was being repaired, and for a time it was only natural to be friendly to stranded foreigners until they left. For some reason, at this time Ralphie became friendly with Terrisov as well. They discussed hockey and boxing, professional versus amateur sport, and complimented each other on their respective teams. One afternoon when Myhrra was with them, Myhrra said someone had told her that the Russians were superior in hockey, and in sports in general. She looked at Ralphie and sighed deeply, as if she was now tired of most Canadians.

Terrisov diplomatically said that though the Canadians were great hockey players, what bothered him was that they refused to put
fun
in their sport. They would undoubtedly benefit from training harder and earning less money.
He neglected to mention the 1972 series. It was not mentioned by Terrisov, and Myhrra knew nothing about it. She only nodded her head as if she had finally found someone who agreed with her. Ralphie, listening more than he spoke, felt overall that Terrisov was acting something like an older brother to them, and therefore could be much harsher to them than he was.

There were certain things that Terrisov could not get away from and one was the curfew put upon the men on the ship. The curfew was for eight o’clock and any visitors to the ship went on organized tours during the afternoon. Byron and Myhrra were continually down near the ship or on the wharf.

During one of these tours Byron happened to be caught picking up some loose Russian cigarettes and putting them into his pocket.

The Russian he took them from noticed and spoke in Russian to Terrisov. Terrisov took them out of Byron’s pocket The other Russian went away speaking to himself. Byron looked at Myhrra and began to yell at her. Terrisov contemplated something a moment, his shoulders thrust back, and as little Milly grinned, Terrisov who saw the grin, suddenly said:

“This is not done here – anything you want, you ask. We don’t have thieves here.”

Then he looked at Myhrra, who blushed, and then he picked up Milly, who was still grinning, and continued on.

There was a feeling that they shouldn’t do anything to hurt the Russians’ feelings, because the Russians were innocent – innocent, abrupt, and overbearing – a feeling that Ralphie had. Whenever he spoke to Terrisov he thought instinctively:
They will never admit a fault to us – therefore we don’t want to offend them
.

This was what happened to the bridge. The ship had
drifted with the current and hit the span, creating a bulk along the underside of the bridge and causing a million dollars’ worth of damage. The Russians were silent for days and then they made a statement about it It was the Norwegian ship’s fault, the ship with the load of telephone poles had not moved out of the channel properly, or at the right time, and to avoid hitting it on the port side they had shut their engines, and had drifted with the tide waters – it was the only thing they could do – and they hit the bridge. It was lucky no one was injured but the other ship was already out to sea, and what could be done? They had made out their report to the harbour master and were now preparing to leave. Restitution? No! It would not be proper for them to pay.

This idea that it would not be proper fascinated Ralphie. What was supposedly proper and what wasn’t was a part of their make up more than any other sailors Ralphie had ever met.

Adele said she did not like them ever since the 1972 hockey series. She saw how some of her friends – and some radio and television commentators – started to lose heart in the Canadian team, and even took to ridiculing it. At her young age, she did not understand that criticism of your own in Canada was often considered fashionable expertise. It was her and Joe’s favourite game – one which she still watched every Saturday night – she could never understand the criticisms that were levelled against it Adele told Ralphie that she had to stay in the bathroom throwing up during much of the games, and when the Canadians lost a game she would go about the house like a ghost refusing to eat, and prayed, her lips moving slowly: “Oh God – let Pete Mahovlich get a goal.”

Nor could she read the reports in the paper about it, or listen to the radio – because, to her, so many of the reports
seemed wrong. There was hardly a thing about September 1972 that she remembered, except that we played eight hockey games against the Russians, which we won – and she met Ralphie Pillar for the first time.

For Adele who had always loved hockey, and especially the Montreal Canadiens, this 1972 series between the Canadians and the Russians, was the one spiritual happening she could think of. It might have seemed silly to a few, but the greater majority of Canadians thought like she did. And she felt betrayed by anyone who happened to downplay the event in any way. Especially when those who didn’t know what it signified downplayed it to show
their
level of expertise and fair play.

Adele with her feet thrust back and her toes wiggling would make up names for Russian hockey players while Ralphie went around the apartment.

“How about,” Adele would say, with her innocent complexion and a spot on her nose, “Alexi Snipmyweineroff. Or,” she would continue mischievously, “Symka Feelmyarseoff.” Then she would look at Ralphie through her eyelashes and grin. “As long as you are going to add ‘off,’ Ralphie, you can get a pretty good Russian name, like, ‘It’s Feelmearseoff who passes over to Snipmeweineroff, back to Blowmeholeoff.’” And with this, she would sit there, wiggling her toes.

And after a suitable pause she would say: “Seaman Rotchercockoff.”

Once Myhrra went to the ship alone. It was at night. There was oil on the water, and the wind was blowing heavily. She could smell tar, and her hair blew against the left side of
her face. She went down to the ship using the old path, crossed the ditch with its ice, and the road. Some sharp snow hit her eyes and they watered. The ship’s lights cast a glow over the front streets of town.

The ship was ready to go the next day and Terrisov was expecting her. But she felt uncomfortable. She had been to the ship for the last two weeks and now felt foolish. For some reason, she did not know there would be women and children on the ship – and Terrisov, once she got there, seemed indifferent toward her, and even indignant about something. Tonight, one woman kept looking at her, as if she assumed she knew all about her and Myhrra was guilty of something. Myhrra’s platinum blonde hair, which was wet and looked darker, and her large round earrings – which she had put on because she thought they made her look good – now felt ugly.

One of the women wanted to protect Terrisov from her – probably she thought for his own good – and Terrisov, who might have once thought it was a great idea to have a woman come aboard, was now nervous. He showed her a picture of a small town outside of Leningrad, and talked about his wife who was studying engineering. Then he looked at Myhrra, and for some reason, with her dyed hair and blue slacks, which were carefully upturned at the cuffs, and the zipper of her pants, which seemed to protrude as if she had a paunch, she felt belittled. It had been a long time since she had felt this way. She sat on a chair in his room and looked at him, and smiled and looked about when he said anything. Two men came by, and they stood in the doorway, and she smiled, and they stood there for a few moments watching her. Then one man went, and another man came. He said something in Russian, and the first man grinned, and then their shoulders shrugged as Terrisov said something to them which sounded unpleasant.

There was a chess game going on and Terrisov took her to watch it. She didn’t know anything about chess. The room was crowded with people, and when she turned about, the same woman who wanted to protect Terrisov from her was staring straight at her, and Myhrra became frightened. Once when Terrisov said something to her she laughed loudly and coarsely – but only because she laughed that way when she was nervous.

Then they went back along the galleyway, passed some doors to Terrisov’s room, and she sat back down. His whole neck and face were red, and for some time he kept looking about, as if he didn’t want to put his eyes on her. Her whole dressing up and getting ready seemed terrible at this moment.

It was all so different from how she thought it would be, and all so different than he himself had led himself to believe it would be.

She lit a cigarette, which she held in the sort of affectation of sophistication she had learned from childhood until this moment, and she, too, began to talk. She spoke of her ex-husband Mike, and how she was sorry for him, and how he was getting married to this young girl – and how she was going to go to the girl and warn her all about Mike the next day. (Myhrra said she was going to do this although she knew in her heart she wasn’t) And she gossiped about her friends. She told him she couldn’t get anywhere in a town like this and the whole river was just as bad. Then with that affectation of sophistication that she had learned from childhood, she smiled, and butted her cigarette carefully.

“Ah what a sad person you are,” Terrisov said, because, quite by chance, he realized as she spoke that he would have an opportunity to say this – and the line, for some dumb reason, stuck in his head. The little woman with the
shiny black hair passed and looked at them just as Terrisov spoke, and it sounded as if he was lecturing her. Then Terrisov quite suddenly looked out the doorway and waved at her, joyously, as if to let her know he too understood some sort of reprimand toward Myhrra was needed.