He shakes his head.
“What? You don’t like Butterfoot’s music?” His eyes go sad, and he looks behind me to the DJ booth in the big tent. I turn and look with him, but all we can see are the flashing lights and the movements of people swaying. “He’s come down here,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
Violet floats through the crowd. Violet’s loud voice tickles my ear. “Look at my Indians! Gorgeous, exotic creatures!” She’s arm in arm with a guy who’s too pretty to be real. Behind them, a woman in a short frilly skirt, a small boxy hat angled on her head, carries a tray. “Postcards!” she calls out. “Send your loved ones a postcard courtesy of Soleil!”
I turn to Violet. “So this is the soiree, eh? I pictured something a little more fancy.” She laughs, and the pretty boy laughs, and Gordon has turned his back to us, not out of rudeness, I know, but out of not belonging.
“You feeling me, girl?” Violet asks, touching my arm lightly so that the hairs stand out.
“I feel a vision quest coming on,” I say.
The pretty boy nods like I’m a shaman who’s spoken wisely. Violet laughs again.
“Where’s this famous Soleil?” I ask.
“She never shows up till everyone is here already,” Violet says. “Rule of the land.”
“Are you joking? If I threw a party in Moosonee I’d make sure to be there from the moment the first guest arrived till the last left.”
“Aren’t you polite.”
“Not really. Just worried they’d steal everything I own.” Again Violet’s laugh, which is a pretty laugh. It makes me happy.
“Give me some of what you’re having, ladies,” the pretty boy says to Violet.
I’ve already turned away from him. I look out at the lights of Manhattan all around me, below me. I could get used to this. When I look back, Gordon is gone, and something under my breastbone shifts, then sinks to my stomach. I try to drown it with a big gulp of the champagne. It bubbles up in me, and I imagine it shooting out my nose. I start laughing at the black sky that’s so close I can touch it.
The night is full on now, and the lights of the city twinkle in the billions. I’ve stayed here at this rail, asked the man with the tray of tall glasses to make sure he comes back to me every once in a while. Should I tip him? I stare out at the night, and when I turn around, the people on this rooftop rush in a wave toward the door, then recede, then rush up again. Is everything okay? Should I worry? Somebody nearby says that Soleil has arrived. I watch, fascinated by the people’s movements. They’re trying so hard to look bored.
He approaches out of the dark from my left, and I don’t know he’s there till he is upon me. He takes out his small round glasses and cleans them with a white handkerchief. I notice again the winged skull tattoo on his ring finger. He puts his glasses on and gazes out with me at the billion lights. I want Gordon close by.
“Beautiful night, Suzanne,” he says.
The wave I’ve been riding rushes down. “I’m not Suzanne.”
“My mistake. I forget your name.”
For the first time I can hear his French accent. “I’m her sister. Do you know my sister?”
He looks at me and smiles. The grey front tooth. He is ugly just underneath the facade. “Oh, I know her well. I knew Gus, too.” He looks back out at the twinkling of the night. “You seen them? Know where Suzanne is, by chance?”
“Why do you ask?” I pray for the waiter, for anyone to come up now. But the action is where Soleil is, at the far side of the vast rooftop.
“Just wondering. Haven’t seen them in a long time.”
I need to know. I don’t care anymore. What will he do? Throw me over the railing? The thought makes my stomach drop as I look down to the street and the tiny cars so far below. The photo of a beautiful woman, an image from some old book my mother has, flashes behind my eyes, the woman lying serene on the roof of a crushed car in a New York from long ago.
“When’s the last time you saw my sister?” I dare to look over to him, but only for a second. A thick chest. I picture him bench-pressing small cars. He continues to stare out at the skyline.
“It’s been a long time. Too long.”
“How long?”
He looks to me. He smiles the grey smile. “A couple of months, sister of Suzanne. Tell me your name again, girl from France.”
“Yours first.”
“Daniel.”
“Annie.” I hold my hand out without wanting to. He takes it in his. Small hand. “You’re a biker,” I say. I have little to lose, the anger of thinking that this dirty man might have something to do with where my sister is burning in my throat.
He laughs. “I own a motorcycle. I’m a businessman, from TroisRivières, Quebec. I was in business with Gus for a while.” I want him to tell me more but stay silent. “Your sister, her boyfriend, they walked away owing me some money. Just disappeared on me.”
“Oh yeah?” I want to scream for someone to come help me. I can feel the heat pulse from him. How he barely holds it inside. “How much?”
“Let us just say a lot.”
“What kind of business were you doing together? Real estate? Used cars?”
“Aren’t you the funny one. We can call it real estate.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I have heard from friends,” Daniel says, “that Gus is most certainly in town. If you see him, please remind him that I request his presence at his earliest convenience.” I watch Daniel’s mouth move. “And if your sister wasn’t smart enough to take a vacation from him, I wouldn’t mind a quick chat with her, too.”
Violet appears, shouting over the music. “Daniel! My dangerous biker has been allowed across the border!”
He grimaces out to the sky. I see it, like a snarl. Then I watch his face turn to a gentle smile as he turns to Violet. They hug. I slip away.
The waiter with his tray of tall glasses cuts through the crowd. I take two and down the first, then give it back to him. He smiles the same cute, dumb smile.
“Have you seen the one I’m with? Indian? Long black hair in a braid?”
He shakes his head and smiles his dumb smile again. “Not for a while, ma’am.”
I take another glass from his tray. Shit! I’ve lost my purse again, that little thing Violet calls a clutch, so small it only holds a pack of smokes and a lighter and two hundred American dollars. I must have left it by the biker. What’s his name? Daniel. Shit.
“You look worried,” the waiter says.
“I lost my purse again,” I say.
“It’s under your arm,” he says, smiling brightly, before walking away.
I wander, sipping from one glass, acting like the other is for my lost partner so I don’t have to talk to anyone. People everywhere, drinking and laughing, watching me as I wander, some reaching out to touch me.
I smile and move on through the faces, the bodies becoming a tunnel I walk through. The scents of these bodies mingle, and their teeth flash. It takes everything I have to walk slowly, looking ahead, smiling, acting like I’m searching for somebody and it’s important and I can’t stop now to talk till I find him. I want to scream and throw the glasses and run away from here.
I pass a man who is the famous actor I’ve seen in so many movies, and he looks at me and his eyes widen before he can stop them, and he smiles his white smile. I smile back and can’t believe it, it really is him.
I need to find Gordon. My head is full of air and light and now a dark shadow creeping somewhere up the side. This half of what Violet gave me, it is only feeling stronger, and not in a good way like it has before. Not in a controllable way. My hands are going to shake so that I spill the champagne. I am afraid to open my mouth to a stranger and talk for the fear I don’t know what will come out of it. I’ll be stared at even more. People will gawk in shock this time, or they’ll laugh. If I am forced to talk to anyone, I will talk in Cree. Yes. This thought rushes over and calms me, and I stop dead in my tracks, right beside a group of shin
ing white people. I sip on champagne. Look cool. It’s okay. A woman in the group, she smiles to me and says hello.
“Wachay,” I answer.
The others turn to me. A thin man in a tight T-shirt holds up his glass in a toast. He looks just like another famous actor, but shorter. The woman, she’s definitely someone famous, but I don’t know who she is. I sip with them and push on, feeling their eyes on me. I must find Gordon, sit down and talk to him about this windigo, Daniel. That’s what he is. Daniel will eat me if given the chance. He says he’s seen Suzanne recently, that Gus is somewhere in this city. That’s good, no? The bikers haven’t done what I have begun to allow in my imagination. Right? Fuck. Can’t think straight. Please. No one talk to me right now. I’ll just talk in Cree.
Like I’ve beckoned my worst nightmare, the ones in the crowd ahead of me part. She stands there, Soleil, shining under the carefully planned lights like she means to stand here all night. God. She has. It’s all making sense to me. She orchestrates everything in her life, right down to exactly where she will stand under just the right lights at her own party. Skin glittering, her blond hair shining like a halo around her thin face. She’s like one of these models. She is one of these models. The young goddess of them. She talks to a tall, dark-haired man, then flicks her fingers at him, smiling. He walks away as if commanded. I want to duck back into the crowd, but her eyes lock onto me. A second of cold computing, and then recognition. She waves, now to me, beckoning with her thin hand. The crowd around me almost sighs and parts a little further. I can’t escape. I must walk this runway to her, all eyes on me, wondering who I am. Who am I?
Both my hands clutch glasses. My tall heels wobble. I’m not even close to learning how to walk right. I teeter at first, a moose calf in a short dress. Walk to her. Walk to her now. She is my keeper. I will speak Cree to her and it is this alone that clicks that gear in my head and whispers to me the words that straighten my back and allow me to glide, not walk, to the shining girl.
She leans to me and kisses a cheek, the whole crowd, the whole world, watching how I will react. My two champagne hands shiver. I pull back, but then she leans again, kissing my other cheek. I kiss back, the smacking sound of it making me want to laugh. It must come off as a smile because Soleil smiles back at me broadly. “You must be Suzanne’s sister. How goes it, girlfriend?”
“Excellent. And you?” The people around pretend they aren’t listening, leaning in just a tiny bit closer. “Soleil, thanks for putting me and my friend up.” I pause for a second, knowing what will come out next might be the fakest thing I’ve ever said. “My people say meegwetch. Chi meegwetch.”
Soleil beams. “It’s nothing, girlfriend.”
I realize suddenly she doesn’t remember my name. Something in that knowledge makes me feel better. Screw it. “Ki minoshishin,” I say.
She looks at me strangely, a thin smile on her lips.
“In Cree,” I say, “that means, ‘You are a beautiful woman.’”
“That’s hot!” She grabs my arm. “That’s really hot! Say something else!”The pretty ones around her, they all begin to vibrate with her enthusiasm.
Something in my head tells me this might be the most truly enthusiastic she’s been in a while. “Annie Peneshish ntishinihkason. Winipekohk ntocin.”
“What did you say?” she squeals, stamping her feet.
“My name is Annie Bird, and I come from James Bay in the Arctic Lowlands of Ontario.”
“Girlfriend! That is such a crazy fucking language. More please.”
I begin speaking Cree in earnest now, the words at first awkward and chosen poorly, telling Soleil that her hair is green, she has small tits, that she’s too skinny and needs to eat more moose meat. Oohs and aahs come from Soleil, and then from the ones around her. I know to stop my talking before she bores.
“Girl, you’re beautiful,” Soleil says. “You rock. Just like your sister.” She kisses my cheek and hugs me in a weak arm grasp. The crowd pulls in toward her again, and I’m given my escape as they tighten around Soleil in a hungry throb.
Inside, away from the crush of the rooftop, I walk by white couches draped in socialites. Beautiful flowers everywhere, and tall, green grasses in vases, lights above that look bright but shine on the people below so that they glow. God, I will wet myself if I don’t find the bathroom. I see two women come out from a hidden door in the wall and I rush there.
I lock the door, shivers down my back as I sit and pee and think. The fear that keeps trying to edge into me comes again, and so I stand and try to flush it down the toilet. The image in the mirror shocks me. That’s me. The thick silver choker lies around my neck like I am some kind of goddess, my skin brown as a nut against my lavender dress. Damn! Let this night go on forever. But then I think of Daniel the biker crawling back up the pipe and out of the toilet.
Outside is warm on my exposed skin, and the crowd is bigger. Time is just an idea. Deep night. I know it. And it feels, as I stand outside in the air again, that this might go on forever if I only allow it. I can walk among them, these strange people. They look at me, and they see something in me that makes them want to smile or just stare or talk amongst themselves behind hands. I’m not afraid anymore. I walk among them like I am equal. A hint in my eyes that, maybe, I’m better.
I see her, now, in the black of the night behind her, black skin glistening in the darkness, her shaved head glistening. I walk toward her, skirting couples talking and sipping on glasses. The smiling waiter with the champagne cuts across and stops for me to take another from his tray.
I am to her before I see him in the circle, speaking with her. It’s too late for me to turn away. I’m carried into them. Kenya smiles, her teeth white against the rest of her. Daniel, he, too, smiles. Grey mouth. Dirty.
Kenya hugs me, her long arms wrapping around my body easily, the arms pushing me back. “You look good, sister.”
“You’re still beautiful,” I say, the words foolish, but Kenya takes it in stride.
“Aren’t you sweet.”
“You know him,” I say, lifting my chin to Daniel. No time to waste, and I have him now in a place I can force him to defend.
Kenya glances his way, looks back, and smiles, the bad taste in her mouth. “Danny boy, he knows everyone. Don’t you, Danny?”
He smiles at me. Winks.
“He knows my sister,” I say. “He’s looking for her, too.”
Kenya raises her empty glass. “Darling?” She looks to Daniel. “Do you mind getting me another?”
He smiles again, looks like he might say something, then walks away.
“Daniel is the friend you think you feel sorry for,” Kenya says, “then you let him close. And once you allow that, he never leaves.” She frowns. She’s about to say something more, but she doesn’t.
“Tell me,” I say.
She leans closer to me and whispers into my ear. “He’s connected, Annie. He makes connections in their world. Soleil finds it sexy and frightening to know any of them, and so she lets them come. Bad move. They’re a plague. Once you open your door to them, they’ve already moved in.”
Daniel returns with a glass for Kenya and hands me another. “Tell me your name again,” he says.
“I don’t understand you. I’m from France,” I say to him, kissing Kenya on the cheek and walking away, feeling part foolish, part happy. This night, I know now, this night won’t last forever.
“Postcards!” the woman calls, making her way through the crowd. “Send your loved ones a postcard! Courtesy of Soleil! Let your loved ones know you are fine and you are partying!”
I grab her arm, stop her. “If I wrote one to someone, how would it get there?”
“By post, silly!” She smiles like a robot.
“But if I write one now, and give it back to you, will it get where it’s going?”
“Just make sure to clearly address it, and it will arrive, courtesy of Soleil!”
“Wait for me, then,” I say. “Don’t
leave.” I select one of the postcards, one that looks like it comes from the 1940s, the blocky Empire State Building with rays of light shooting from it.
Dear Mum,
I’m doing fine. Doing good. Having a wonderful time here. Sorry to be out of touch, but I’m OK. Will write again soon.
I hesitate before signing it.
Love, Suzanne
27
THERE YOU ARE
In this place where I walk a few feet, a few miles, a few days, sometimes stopping to look around me for signs of others, in this place where I am no longer hungry or thirsty for the rye or a cold Canadian, I come to some important realizations. Always simple, these realizations, but they’re important nonetheless. I’ve tried to peer through the gauze that separates me from the living world so that I may see you, so that I can look upon the faces of my two sweet but stubborn nieces once more, but there’s nothing I can do here to help you, I’m afraid. I’ll just keep whispering my story to you in the hopes you will hear even the echo of it and that it somehow feeds you just a little, that my words help you where they can.
I knew after goose hunting with old Koosis on the island that he and his family had come for a reason, had found me there for some purpose. Nothing I could prove, but something I knew in my bones. I stayed at my camp the next few days after our time together, working my blinds and killing many geese. I stayed in my blinds for long hours, got enough to know that I’d eat for a while. But then I thought of the work it would take to prepare them for winter and compared it against what I knew winter would bring, so I worked even harder at the cleaning and the plucking, as if I were a long-dead relation, and stocked my pantry for the bad months.
Those few days passed in the long hours of work, and I lost track. I woke with a start before dawn one morning, my breath white in the air, the little wood stove I’d just begun using almost dead, and realized that the family on the shore had very well left already. I got up and stuffed some extra clothes and food into my bag. The morning came sharp and still with cold. I pulled my heavy coat from my winter pack but decided despite the morning freeze it’d be too warm in the afternoon. The frost on the ground lay thick as snow. Winter was coming quick. Digging further under my winter clothes, I found the Mauser in its blanket and pulled out the bundle, then dug through the clothes for its clip and a small box of shells Gregor had found for me on one of his trips down south.