Sid and Andy troop along after Harry, through a smaller door beside the kitchen. A hidden away office greets them with couches and what looks like a private card table. A pretty woman, maybe thirty, has several wires disconnected from an amp amidst an array of other sound components on a tall television stand. Uncle Harry puts his arm around her shoulders, turning her to face them.
“Marlene, these are two of your cousins.” He holds a hand out towards each of them. “Sidney. Andrew.”
“Oh hi, I actually go by Marti. I heard about you Sidney, you met Dad in Calgary when he was there.” She smiles sweetly. “And I hear you live down in California, Andrew. In a big house, they say.”
“Well hi yourself, Marti.” Sid returns.
“No more big house.” Andy says. “Small apartment now. That big house was just a nasty rumour. You can call me Andy.”
Marti looks at him with amused eyes. She seems to appreciate Andy’s dissipated high profile, without judgment. She turns back to the amp and starts to explain her understanding of the wires and how they connect. She’s testing the sound system through a small set of speakers bolted to the television stand.
“We really need a set of pliers or a crescent wrench.” Marti decides.
Sid cringes, imagining stripped bolt heads. “I’ll go ask Uncle Francis if he has any tools.” He hopes to be a mechanical parts saviour.
“Hey Sid, I’ll follow you. I have to talk to Teresa about music.” Uncle Harry guides Sid out the office’s outside door, leaving Andy and Marti to puzzle over the wires.
“I just wanted to talk to you before everyone shows up, Sid.” Uncle Harry’s beam settles down to a half grin.
“You still not drinking, are you?” Sid’s eyes search his uncle’s face.
“Not since Claresholm.” Harry looks straight back at Sid. He stops, leaning his shoulder against the outside wall of the hall in the calm fall sun. He sighs. “But man, did I ever come close.”
“Yah?”
Uncle Harry’s eyes scan his nephew’s face. He takes a deep breath. “Yah, sure … well … I go back one day this spring – back to the gully where I tossed the shotgun. But now I have a 26 of Seagram’s, uncracked. I just can’t take it any more. Same old story.” His head drops. Sid lifts his hand to his uncle’s shoulder, and Harry looks up. “I mean, I was depressed for two weeks straight – shit – I was pretty down all winter, knowing what I did with my life … what I could have done.” His grin is now a shattered remnant.
“Uncle, you know the promises in the AA Big Book – we will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.”
Harry’s eyes dart back and forth, looking at his nephew. “I don’t even know why I have the bottle. I just had enough that day.” Uncle Harry grunts in frustration. “So then it takes me an hour to find the shotgun …” His voice softens. “That hour is probably my saving grace. Or maybe it’s a Saving Grace that gives me the hour, I dunno. I finally find it, rusted all to hell and full of crap, I’m a lot calmer, but I’m still pretty pissed … and now I’ve got the gun.”
“Tough place to be. Did you turn it over … you know, to a Higher Power?” Sid asks. The situation sounds hopeless, salvable maybe by the Divine.
Sid leans his shoulder against the wall, facing his uncle. Harry slides his hand up higher on the wall, grasping, like he’s holding the building up with a new strength. Or does God’s strength work through him?
“It’s like a déjà vu, like a flash back. There I am in the very same place with two options; a bottle and a gun. I don’t want to drink, but I don’t really want to live either.”
Sid listens, not saying a thing for once.
“So I know what to do first; I toss the bottle high in the air to get rid of the drinking option, just like I did before.” Harry lowers his arm to animate. “I swing on the bottle and go to fire.” He mimics a gun on his shoulder, following the target and squeezes the trigger.
“Whiskey bottle skeet shooting.” Sid can’t keep it in. “You could be a champion.”
“Yah, well two things – the gun doesn’t fire, and the bottle smashes on the only rock around.” Harry chuckles. “Another saving grace. I mean that gun lay there in the leaves and dirt all through the winter. Like me. So now my second option is gone too. How can I blow my brains out with a seized up gun.” His grin brightens back up to half. “I’m devastated – but at the same time, I’m thrilled. ‘Cause all through the winter there’s something growing in the background, inside me, something hard to describe.” Harry’s face bounces back to a three quarters campaign beam. “So I take the gun all the way down the gully to the river this time. I grab it by the barrel, and heave it as high and far as I can. Big slash.”
“Take a long time to find that gun now.”
“I know God is with me that day, ‘cause not only do I feel a little better on the way back to town but that feeling keeps growing. In fact, by the time I get home, I’m happy as a lark. It’s a miracle, man, a real honest-to-God miracle. Whatever that was growing in the background, just takes right over.” The grin spreads wide, back to full election-day glory.
“Yah.” Sid pauses for a moment. “God works in weird ways sometimes. Hey, you know Auntie Lola’s here? She’s back at the cabin.”
“That’s what Teresa said.”
“You were upset about Ksandra, I mean, it wasn’t fair the way she died...” Sid hopes the campaign grin will mix in to even out some of Uncle Harry’s past.
He sees pain and rage flash for a moment in Harry’s eyes, but something else seems to calm things. “Yah, OK so Loli came. Well, I’m working on Step Nine now, so this is my chance with all three sisters.”
Step Nine recites itself through the back of Sid’s head, proclaiming its directive to make direct amends or restitution with those a recovering alcoholic feels they have harmed in the past.
“There’s Uncle Francis. I’ll go ask about the tools.” Sid sees his other uncle come out the yellow door, heading for the maroon truck looking like he’s going to check the crops when he knows they’re good.
“I’ll go look for Teresa.” Uncle Harry drops his arm again, leaving the building to stand on its own.
Sid shakes his head in amazement, as Uncle Harry walks off. A hopeless case, now converted into a useful member of the family, and the human family for that matter. The value of a man revived from the dead, now that must post a bell ringing gain on the spiritual market-board. Surely as much as a newborn child, or one of those born again into religion.
###
Sid walks up on Uncle Francis. “Nice truck, Uncle.”
“Yup. Took it through the Shellbrook car wash last week. Gonna sell this one and get a new one.”
“Marti needs wrenches. You got any?”
Francis winks. He digs in behind the seat, pulling out a box of tools. Sid smiles at the prospect of a good set of flat wrenches.
“Kaiser tonight?” Sid asks.
“You bet.” Uncle Francis beams, scooting off on his next moment’s task.
Sid wanders back into the hall with the tools, needing to break in on the deep wire conversation between Marti and Andy. They have a cassette playing and the sound is successfully transmitting through the television speakers.
Uncle Harry bursts back through the door. “Teresa brought some music. There’s a whole series of speakers mounted around the stage. We have to find connections to those ones; we have to get sound out in the hall.”
Sid smiles a little cautiously now at his uncle’s enthusiasm. In AA, they talk of the ‘pink cloud’ … a temporary state of euphoria at the beginning … always temporary.
The four of them file out of the office, leaving the little system playing. The acoustic strings of the seventies follow them out, lyrics about city girls, girls who learn early on how to open doors with only a smile, to get a rich old man into their lives, no more worries, lots of lace and going out in style … They spread out around the stage, searching for a connection. Marti finds a panel with some jacks on on
e side. She sends the others back for the stand.
“Hey, you guys want a beer?” Andy asks on the way past the kitchen. Sid and Harry both stare.
Then Sid starts to laugh.
“No thanks Andrew, it’s kind of early.” Sid looks at his cousin. Uncle Harry just grins and shakes his head.
Andy looks from one of them to the other, churning in the moment.
Sid picks up on it. “You know Andy, I used to drink and the morning was my favourite time.” He sighs deeply. “It just didn’t work anymore after a while. Oh well.”
“Same here, Andy, I just quit drinking last summer.” Uncle Harry takes a turn. “If you think Sid had problems, you gotta hear mine. My whole life used to be inside a bottle. I knew the bar room hours like the back of my hand. But now I quit, and it was the best thing I ever did.”
Sid reads Step Twelve scrolling itself across the back of his mind. Practicing principles in all affairs, carrying the message to others – if they want it, of course.
Andy listens blankly, caught off guard.
“Drinking made me feel damn good – especially when I first started.” Uncle Harry goes on. “Man, it really pissed me off when booze stopped helping me feel better. Damn whiskey used to be my best friend! Anyway I got a new drug now, a new way of living. I’m higher on life now than I ever was on the whiskey.” He eyes Andy with understanding. “But I know booze works for some people, I sure do know that.” He grins broadly.
Andy recovers. He grabs himself a cold one from the fridge and follows them into the office. The city girl in the song is now staring out the lonely late-night window, things are so far gone, she feels just like a fool. They shut off the cassette and unplug the stereo, wheeling the stand out into the hall.
As they approach the stage, the yellow door chain rattles and Jamie and Amy step in with their kids. Auntie Teresa comes walking out from the kitchen to greet her daughters and grandchildren. Of course, there’s nothing that will stop Uncle Harry from jumping into the fray. He’s back on the election trail, and his new constituents are the ones to connect with.
“Wow, Uncle Harry. It’s really you.” Jamie greets him after hugging her mother. “It’s so good to meet you finally.”
“I thought you were busy in the bar, Uncle.” Amy stands off squarely.
Like a shrewd campaign manager, Uncle Harry explains. But as a teetering new alcoholic on the road to the spiritual, he holds closer to truth. “I was busy there, and I know it was for a long time, that’s for sure Amy. But no more bars for me, that’s the place of the dead. I found God, man. I’m alive now.”
“Really Uncle Harry? You found God? You can go to church now.”
“Oh no, Amy. My God isn’t the God of the church. I have my own version of God. No goddamn church for me. No way.”
“You shouldn’t swear Uncle.” Amy admonishes, looking to her mother and sister. “Jesus doesn’t want us to swear.”
“Sure, sorry Amy. But Jesus isn’t the way I understand God, that’s all. You see, I don’t drink any more. That’s my connection with God. It’s got nothing to do with Jesus.”
“There can’t really be more than one God, can there?” Jamie asks, as a teacher to students.
Sid feels his hand wanting to go up, as he speaks out an answer. “Maybe there can be more than one human understanding of the very same God.” He looks at the others; he can’t stop himself now. “And if we humans were created by God, surely we can’t comprehend out Creator completely, so if each of us only has a partial understanding, those pieces of understanding might not overlap each other exactly. So there can still be only one God, but maybe two incomplete understandings.”
“All I know is God as I understand God was the one who kept me alive, when I wanted so much to die.” Uncle Harry says. “And there surely was no Jesus around, just a tiny inner peace and some other ex-drunks showing me the way.”
“That sounds like the Holy Spirit at work.” Auntie Teresa says. Her sister Anna, who has been frowning deeply, nods for the first time.
Uncle Harry’s smile drags its heals. A moment of quiet anticipates clash. Or peace.
Andy listens, nursing his cold morning beer.
Sid swallows. “You know, I went with these guys to mass in Saskatoon last year Uncle Harry.” His eyes appeal to a fellow alcoholic. “Some of the church words are just like the ones in the Big Book.”
“Goddamn Catholic church. Anyways, Jesus drank a lot of wine.” A dark spot spreads behind Uncle Harry’s politically friendly mask. Then, for some reason, it fades back. “Oh look I’m sorry. Amy. Sid. Yah, OK maybe I can read the Bible some day I guess, but it’s gonna be a cold day in July before I step back into a Catholic church.”
“You were an altar boy, Harry.” Auntie Anna glares at her brother. “You should remember that.”
The veins on Harry’s forehead swell. Like Sid’s uncle is using every bit of his, or God’s, wall holding power to restrain himself – not to say a word. Sid understands.
“Spirituality is quite similar to religion.” Sid tries again, speaking carefully. “But it’s kind of different too.”
Harry’s forehead veins pulse down slightly.
“OK, yah, Jesus had some good things going.” Uncle Harry agrees. “He taught a lot of good lessons about loving your neighbour as yourself; I remember some of that stuff from the altar boy days. You’re right, Anna.” The edge in his voice is mostly smoothed out. “He just wasn’t around when I quit drinking, that’s all.”
Sid’s mouth starts talking before he even realizes it’s him. “Religious people go to church and think about going fishing.” His gut twists. Was this the best thing to say? But he has to finish when they all look at him. “Spiritual people go fishing and think about God.
“Well, I’ve never gone fishing in my life.” Auntie Anna retorts quickly. “So I certainly never think about it, especially not in church. We go there only to listen to the priest, to hear the scripture, the holy word. That’s what we go to church for.”
“Sorry Auntie, it doesn’t include everyone.” Sid backs off quickly. “It’s just something I heard, it can’t be about you.”
“You both need to go to church.” Auntie Anna states coldly, staring at Sid and Uncle Harry. Then slightly warmer, a little softer. “Well, at least you don’t drink any more, Harry, that’s all I can say.”
“Yah, that’s the thing Anna. Teresa.” Uncle Harry’s voice mellows. “I am so sorry I followed the path I did.” He takes a deep breath. “I know my apology doesn’t mean that much, but I do want to talk to each of you. There’s something I want to ask of you girls ‘cause it’ll help me not drink.” His humility pacifies, his whole demeanour now demands nothing, only asks.
“What?”
“Just a minute of your time. If I could just talk to each of you …”
They look at their brother quizzically, now, and Sid watches a people connection form he feels sure fits into some spiritual stock or other. Anna and Teresa look at each other, nod at Harry, and start talking about the kitchen again.
Sid knows the Twelve Step procedure. When he talks with each of his sisters, Uncle Harry will ask for something they may give or may not give at all. Simple forgiveness. Like in Catholic confession, he will admit his wrongs – but directly to the person wronged, not to a priest. Just to help ensure his freedom from his uncontrollable need to drink. Sid has seen the results so many times of this process, experiential evidence for the presence of God. A direct dividend from a direct investment, at least in AA’s version of God’s will.
Andy has been listening ever more intently. His half-finished beer sits forgotten. Sid wants to start preaching, but he bites his tongue hard now, he knows what AA’s say. You can give someone the key, but you can’t open the door for them. Attraction without promotion. This bit of attraction, however, brings flashing visions of upward projections on the market boards.
“Should we go get Lola?” Sid calmly asks his cousin.
Andy n
ods his ascent, and they wander out to the Subaru.
“You wanna drive?” Sid dangles the keys in front of Andy.
“Sure.”
They pull out on the sandy road, turning left at the store.
“That sure was a party at the last reunion.” Sid mentions as they come down past the boat launch. Several boats are moored at the dock or beached in the sand. Sid spots 210HP written on the side of one.
“Yes, life can be quite a party.” Andy sounds serious. They roll on past the old campground with its tall pines.
“You don’t drink Sid? Nothing else either … for fun I mean?”
“Not any more. But I sure used to. It used to be a lot of fun. Like Uncle Harry.”
Andy glances at Sid.
“Hey, we could drag Uncle Harry out to another beach later. We could all have a talk, if you want.”
“No cocaine?” Andy strains. “There’s a lot of drugs in California just like it.”
“I tried a few drugs … you know, whatever came along.”
“Can you do me a favour?” Andy glances over at Sid as they cruise between the opposing gazes of cabins and lake.
“Yah, sure.”
Andy hands his cousin what looks like a case for sunglasses.
“Throw this in the fire for me, will you?” Andy stares straight ahead. Sid opens it to see some carefully wrapped paper packages.
“Sure thing Andy. No problem.” He drops the case into his front shirt pocket.
They turn left away from the lake, up the street and over into the grass ditch.
“We can keep our shoes on this time.”
Sid smiles at his cousin. “Or should we take them off, just cause we’re in Saskatchewan.” He laughs as they open the doors of the Subaru, stepping out onto the soft grass.
Chapter 18
“Harry, is that you?” Auntie Lola walks up beside her brother in the midst of his campaign when they enter the hall.
The campaigner’s voice falls silent as he turns slowly around.
“Loli …” He hesitates.
His bright face sinks gradually towards the floor, his eyes well up and a tear forms on his left cheek, rolling down ahead of a glistening trail.
“Harry. How are you?” She moves a little closer, awkward in her step. “You’re looking good.”
Sid and Andy found Auntie Lola still engrossed in conversation with Frank back at the cabin. She broke away to come along though, sitting silent as a fish under water for the ride to the hall. Sid’s glance in the rear-view revealed her solitary focus on the passing scene – now Sahiya Lake, where her cousin Ksandra took her final swim.