The Man Game (48 page)

Does Molly know aboot Wood's? he asked.

Toronto couldn't resist a shudder. His body convulsed. In his eyes, Sammy saw the guilty look, sheepish, caught, cornered. Molly did know about Wood's. Another secret surprise. The Indian was normally such a safe, quiet presence, and far better at disguising his thoughts than he or Molly. Treelike. Then he felt that the giveaway in body language was beginning to seem less telling. Toronto was still shaking. His shoulders twitched, his hands and legs were trembling.

Is something the matter, Toronto? he said.

Mr. Erwagen, he said, tearfully. I think I am dying again.

Hallo, she said, klahowya, wake
up
. Tell me aboot the tunnels.

Clough stiffened in his cot. Tell me aboot the tunnels? What did that mean? He wasn't sure yet if the female voice was real or imagined. He didn't believe there existed a voice of such chocolate consonance. The right side of his brain ignited. The other lobes wouldn't quite. Hello? Clough? The familiar crusty bleb that had formed in the eyeducts made it sting to even think about opening them; plus the daylight was
pure violence; luckily the sound was imagined; dream; he was pretty sure of that now.

Wake up. Coming to what remained of his senses, he still hadn't opened his eyes. His first thought was disconnected: Erwagens' house to light the lamp? He dreamed Toronto and Sammy outside on the verandah, watching as he raised his iron javelin to zippo the lamp. Squeaked open the lamp door and buzzed the javelin's flint to light the wick on the little glow worms and shut the glass again. He loved to watch the wick catch and the trembling flower of light grow just wide enough to lead him to the next lamp.

Wake up,
you
.

Seeing
Molly
seated on the edge of his bed … why, he must be asleep still. He scrubbed his dream-face from eyebrows to beardends and when he pulled his hands away, she was still there and he was definitely awake.

Tell me aboot the tunnels, Molly said.

Tunnels.

With her bosom contained in undulations of pleated cotton and her hair in a Siwash beadworked ribbon, Lord, wasn't Molly pretty, posed at the end of his bed like that while he cowered naked under the blankets.

Well, the tunnels, he said, blinking strenuously. What a you heard aboot tunnels, Ma?

She rolled her eyes, said: I'm not here to scold you. Wake up, man. Be honest with me. I'm not so easily fooled so don't waste your time. Let's talk. Your men play well, considering you probably only had a few weeks with them.

Why, what the—I say, ma'am, what're you on aboot, eh?

I must know if my men,
our
men can use the tunnels.

Our
men? Your men? What's this aboot
played well
?

Are you even awake? She looked around the shack, said: Do you need a drink? How can I bring you to your senses? Get out a bed, you foolish man. She started to tug at the bedcovers and he squeaked with indignity, so she stood, crossed her arms, and waited for him to dress. Quit your poor acting, she said. I've no time for you to deny it. Listen, man, our mutual
friend RH Alexander is threatened by the man game. Doubtless you know he's convinced Mayor McLean to outlaw it, and this should make you as unhappy as it does me.

Clough put his feet on the ground, and if he got the blood to finish tingling in his left, he'd stand up and slap her. His equilibrium didn't immediately follow his need, and for what seemed far too long the world persisted in feeling horizontal. Gravity was pulling on the left side of his body. He knew that if he stood up he'd fall that way and if he lay back down he'd feel like he was standing upright. So when he did fall he really felt the mistake he'd made. It was an unfortunate side effect of being a drunk. He knew that. He weathered through it, waited it out, on the fence there for a minute or two whether or not to vomit, shit, or die, but when it was over and he was normal again he pulled his pants up and secured his tremendous belt buckle, lit the stove, and cooked a pot of coffee to start the afternoon. Overnight the westerly draft under the door had brushed his evaginated wool socks into a corner where dust and animal fur nested together. He shook out the woollies, and amid a rank odour, tugged them on.

She sat down on the table, faced him, and said: Does Alexander know about the tunnels?

Confidential information, eh, Mrs. Erwagen. Scrubbing his face with his hand, he sighed heavily, releasing a noxious odour, and said: Oh, yeah, he uses them, a course, what a you think? Clough stared into his tin billy at the coffee grinds inside, and using some timber, lit the stove to reheat the water. When it looked ready he poured out two cups full, took a sip off the hot surface, and placed the mug down. He said: We built them precisely for Alexander, the mayor, Oppenheimer … people on that level, not yours, with all due respect.

She looked at her palms, as if for better answers. Her eyes were devastating, but her bosom was tremendous. She said: They use them at night, then?

No, I wouldn't say that, no, he said, there's a tunnel
right
from Hastings Mill that leads in one direction to an
opium den
and in the other to the coach house in back a Wood's. Matter
a fact, I've got the chain gang working right now on the tunnel that'll connect the
court
house to Dupont Street. Fancy that, eh? Sorry to be the one to break it to you, Mrs. Erwagen. Ho-ho, I'd say your highfalutin friends use them day and night.

Who knows aboot them? The po-lice?

Hell, no, that's the whole point.

Constable Miller?

Well, now … I mean, no, I don't think so.

Can our men use the tunnels? Will you give us access?

Our men, why, who do you mean by
that
, our men? Our men for what, eh … for … He scratched and tugged his neck flesh as his defences failed. He said: Listen
here
, Mrs. Erwagen. I don't know how
you
knew that
I
knew, but …

Only observant.

Observant, eh. Why, Jesus, let me tell you, Mrs. Erwagen, I expected you to be
right furious
when you heard Furry & Daggett challenged them that night on Granville.

Not at all.

And how in tarnation did you figure it was
me
coaching them?

I thought to myself, Who else?

He was suspicious. No one said a word? Not Campbell, not Litz?

Why would Litz know?

Well, I mean, for example …

He watched her reset the pleats on her skirt.

Who would be your traitor?

He said: Damn you, lady.

Whyever?

You need to be put in your
place
. You're coming in here talking aboot—and
I'm
the one who named the damned sport, after all. Not you. You didn't even name it. I was the first person to call it the man game.

You? I hardly think so.

Call me a liar? Was it you who named it?

No. But—

At the game behind Calabi & Yau's Bakeshoppe.

I heard a vagabond, a sailor, never Clough.

You need to be put in your
place
.

Put in my place, she said, calmly. I am in my place. And you are in your place. Why be furious? These are your motives. Fine. Kumtuks. But you must a known that we've been waiting for you. All along I wanted more teams. Litz and Pisk have been waiting. I waited patiently. I was surprised actually, to see you out so soon. I thought it would take longer to convince Furry & Daggett.

So soon—

When you practise for only two or three weeks, it was going to be difficult to ever win, but I'm so glad you tried. How is Meier? His cuts sounded quite awful.

What a you think you are, eh? This little game of yours is not right for men.

And thank you for asking aboot Pisk, hm, she said. He's
dy
ing, by the way. So you might never get your revenge. Not
my
game, I should add. Litz and Pisk are not my marionettes, if that's what you believe. I don't control them and I doubt you have much control over Furry and Daggett. Don't exaggerate my role. We want competition.

Well, you make it sound fine
now
, but I don't like your influence. I got to say it. This talk a competition, eh. In all honesty, Mrs. Erwagen, I never trusted a gypsy.

I'm not a gypsy.

Nevertheless, alls I meant to do was teach you a lesson. That's it. That's where I saw eye to eye with Furry and Daggett. I never told what I knew. I appealed to their vengeful, murderous nature. I'm not involved in—. It didn't go according to plan. But a
wife
meddling in the affairs a men. Why, you're just liable to get yourself hurt. Why don't—, now, wait a minute, did Litz and Pisk know aboot us, too? And from who? Who'd you hear from, eh?

I taught them from the very first day to attract competitors. It's been months. We beat you. I hope your men will be more prepared next time.

His hand started to shake. For some reason, she seemed downright pleased. What's so funny? he said. Mrs. Erwagen, he said, I don't know who you are, but Vancouver is no place for a lady a your calibre. Say to yourself, I'm not going to
med
dle no more, I'm going to—what I mean is stick to your other friends, and there'll be no trouble.

She played with her full tousled locks of black hair, then broke into a full smile that showed her top teeth. Set him back in his chair with that smile. Hair dolloped on the left of her face like that, a single ear poking out. What a grand spanking smile. He was dizzy from love's sudden apnea.

I don't know …, he said. If the mayor outlawed the man game …, he was losing her smile with every word. He said: My guys want to keep playing. But I'm not going to make them break the law.

I took you for another kind a man, she said.

Why, what's that supposed to mean?

She lowered those eyelashes, said: That's fine. If you prefer to quit after such a humiliating loss, that's your business. I just assumed your pride would insist you receive a rematch. That's what it's all aboot, isn't it? Especially with that contentious point against your man, what was his name? Clampon?

Cam
pbell.

I didn't come here to talk aboot cowardice, she said. I didn't expect to. I asked you a simple question, Clough.

What the fu—? What's so special that you got to know aboot the tunnels? Figure it out for yourself if you're so keen.

For my safety, for the safety a my invalid husband, for the safety a our men who play an illegal sport. The tunnels, she said. I ask you a favour. I owe you and I promise I will repay you plenty. Allow
our
men to use the tunnels. With the po-lice, it's the only way.

Was he going to let this lady push him around just because he decided moments ago he loved her? He didn't think so, but maybe he would, maybe what he needed was a push. His confusion was so intense he felt it in his hair. He put his fist down on the table, said: I've heard enough. No way I'm
taking orders from a—, he bit his tongue. Protecting her from his urge to strike her left him exhausted. He contemplated his lap. He didn't want to raise his eyes. Tears risked flying out.

M
a
—, he said.

Darling, Clough, she whispered. You silly fool. She petted his single hand with her soft fingers. Among all the methods of torture in the books of God, none matched the touch of a lady's hands on the hand of a one-handed man. Her feminine side on the craggy knuckles of his fist was more than his soul could bear. At last a bosom to accept all his secrets.

I'll get you maps, he said.

No one must know aboot our meeting, said Molly in such a way as to suggest hot intimacy, and she added: Needless to say, I want to remain anonymous for as long as possible. Please ask any a your acquaintances who know my identity to keep my participation in the man game a secret. For my dear husband's sake. He knows nothing a what I do, how I occupy my time while he's at work.

Nothing? said Clough.

Nothing at all.

Poor daft man, said Clough aloud.

A single deception to save a man's soul.

Clough stared at her until he felt ready to pass out. He let go of her hand, and like a bird it immediately returned to her, and he rubbed his entire face over once, scratching long and hard at the beard. When I saw the game, I felt a kind a passion and fury that nothing has stirred in me since my boyhood. I'd a torn my clothes off right then and there for you. I admit. I wanted to play.