Miriam Toews - A Complicated Kindness

I woke up on the hood of the car in the middle of a pretty blue field. The Comb told me I gave it up real sweet, and I said oh my God, the car, I forgot it at the Mac’s. He gave me a ride to my car and said check your pocket. The key was still in the ignition and I got in and drove around for a long time trying to find something good on the radio and a place to get high, so I guess that’s where I ended up. I still had my can of Mountain Dew but it was empty. It was clear to me I’d found myself a home. I could live in the car, walk into town for supplies. I could pick up American radio stations that sometimes played real music late at night. I’d sleep during the day. Get a night job doing…something. I’d have my dad over for dinner and we could eat sitting on the hood of the car watching the sun drown and then throw the leftovers of our dinner overboard to the seagulls. I was thinking about that when Jesus Christ came walking across the water in a suit and tie carrying two cardboard cups of takeout coffee.

He put the cups down on the hood and took off his jacket and put it around my shoulders. The shiny smooth lining felt nice on my bare skin. Then he reached around and took two muffins out of the inside pocket where he always kept his church bulletin, folded twice, like he was planning to kill flies with it later on.

We’re on M, right? he said.

No, I said, N. It’s the next day.

I don’t have anything starting with N, he said.

I stared at the muffin.

Is that a nut? I asked.

It’s a nut muffin, he agreed.

I’m not looking forward to tomorrow, I said.

No, he agreed again. We did some staring off into the distance.

But Nomi, he said. There is the flip side to that.

The dump looks like an island, doesn’t it? I said. A clean island. I mean, it’s super tidy. You’re the world’s best dump cleaner.

We’re cleaning up the banks of the Rat today, he said.

Who is? I asked.

My students and I.

I looked at him. Yeah? I said. He puckered his lips and nodded slowly like the dipping bird I bought him.

Did you know that fear is something you can actually smell? I asked. The sun was sparkling off his head. He took off his glasses and breathed on them and then wiped them off with a handkerchief that he struggled for about five minutes to get out of his pocket because of his sitting position. He held them up, squinted at them, put them back on and stared at me. A clearer me.

Is that better? I asked. How many fingers? I held up three.

That’s for unconsciousness, he said.

We sat quietly, listening.

You can do anything, he said. I knew it wasn’t true. I knew he was saying, really, that he felt as though he could do nothing for me any more. But that also wasn’t true.

What’s the flip side, Dad? I asked him.

To what? he asked.

Before, I said, you said there was a flip side to not looking forward to tomorrow.

Oh, he said. Faith.

Faith is the flip side? I asked.

I think it is, he said. That tomorrow will be better. That sounds simplistic to you, doesn’t it? he asked.

Yeah, I said. It does kind of.

Well, he said, there you go. I think my dad might have been giving me a triggering point, but I’m not sure.

The Mouth and his silent wife came to our place for coffee and he spoke loudly, in echoes. Or maybe it just sounded that way because our house was empty and could barely absorb anything louder than a whisper. They stood in the front entrance next to my dad’s shoes and notes and my dad and I sat on the kitchen counter, on either side of the sink, listening.

It’s been determined, said The Mouth.

What has? asked my dad.

Nomi’s excommunication, said The Mouth.

I looked at him and whispered yikes, shit.

Based on what criteria? asked my dad.

Lack of attendance, said The Mouth. And other various…we can’t have church members setting fires…and…He glanced at me briefly. I hadn’t changed out of my cut-offs and bikini top. I was still wearing my police boots and I had streaks of dirt all over my legs. I smiled and nodded.

We understand, said my dad.

You know, said The Mouth. He cleared his throat. Some of your neighbours are wondering what’s going on, just in terms of…there’s a cross in your backyard, and your front window…it’s shattered, isn’t it?

Yes, said my dad. I nodded. And…The Mouth looked around and shook his head. You have no furniture?

We’re…said my dad. He looked at me.

We’re cleaning up, I said. My dad nodded.

I see, said The Mouth. He smiled sympathetically.

Rather thoroughly, he said. I’m sorry Nomi.

Oh, that’s okay, I said. I’m…there’s…no, no. I waved my hand around. I smiled at my Aunt Gonad. The corners of her lips twitched slightly, like she was involuntarily coming to.

More coffee? I asked. The Mouth said no, they had to attend a ribbon-cutting event in honour of the new blade on the windmill at the village museum.

Oh, said my dad, that was quick.

Yes, said The Mouth, we’re thrilled.

I can imagine, said my dad. Let’s hope lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place, he said.

That’s right, said The Mouth. The windmill adds so much to the tourist’s experience of genuinely understanding how we once lived.

Exactly, said my dad. I nodded.

Those were the days, I said. I turned the tap on.

Water? I asked.

No thank you, said The Mouth.

I leaned over and drank from the tap. I stayed there, eventually soaking my entire head, until I heard the front door open and close.

And all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags, and we all do fade as a leaf and our iniquities, like the wind, have taken us away. That was my dad speaking. Intoning morbidly.

Is that a verse? I asked. Or did you just…I waved my arms around in the air.

Nomi, would I just…he imitated me, waving his arms. It’s a verse. I shook my head and got some drops of water on his glasses.

Sorry, I said.

Not at all, he said. I’d given him another opportunity to clean them.

Here, said my dad. He handed me a tablecloth to dry my hair and wipe my makeup off.

So what’s…your lung capacity? I asked.

Oh that, he said. Your face is grey now, he said. From rubbing your makeup. I looked at my reflection in the fat blade of our only remaining knife. I found a clean corner on the tablecloth and rubbed some more.

Should we…I’ll cook something delicious tonight. I’ve got a new system.

He nodded. Systems are good, he said. One needs a system of some sort.

And laundry, I said. Where are we at? I’ll get that done tonight, don’t worry. I thought about laundry. I ran downstairs and checked to make sure we had a washer and a dryer. When I came back up my dad was putting on his shoes.

May I? he asked. He held his hand out. I took the car keys out of my pocket and gave them to him. I thought he might have wanted to say something else because he stopped at the door and turned around to look at me.

Forget something? I asked. His glasses were very clean. Our eyes met and seemed to fuse, briefly, and then he left.

I pulled the tablecloth over my face and walked to my room without bumping into a thing because there was nothing to bump into, except something big and hard in the middle of my room. I took the tablecloth off my head and saw my French horn. I sat on my bed and took it out of its case. I blew into it a few times. I turned to face Christina’s World and blew as hard as I could. FUCK YOUUUUUUUU! she said. I opened my eyes and stared at myself in my dresser mirror. He was right. My face was grey. My head was bristly now. I held the French horn to my mouth. That’s better, I thought. Brass obliterated my face. I opened my case and found some of my old band music. And then I packed it all back up and took it with me to Abe’s Hill.