Ann-Marie MacDonald - Way the Crow Flies

Their parents wake up and Mike tells them that she was sick.

“Not feeling well, old buddy?” Dad asks, picking her up. Madeleine rests her head on his shoulder and slips her thumb in her mouth for just an instant. Maman isn’t fooled. Nothing is said, but a plastic sheet appears on Madeleine’s bed. She can tell because of the crinkle.

AT BREAKFAST, Jack looks up from his paper. “They’re going to test all the sirens in southern Ontario today.” He asks Madeleine, “You remember hearing the sirens once or twice in 4 Wing, when I’d have to go off on a drill?”

Madeleine remembers — that is, her insides do. Her knees do.

“Well it’s the same thing,” says her father. “Nothing to worry about.”

After breakfast, Mimi says, “Madeleine, come here, what’s this?” She is standing in the bathroom with the laundry hamper open. Madeleine’s underpants are in her hand. There is a brownish stain.

“Um. I don’t know.”

“Did you have an accident?”

Madeleine turns red. “No!” Mimi sniffs the underpants. Madeleine turns away; Maman is horrible.

“It’s blood,” says Mimi.

Madeleine can’t swallow. She just looks at her mother.

“Are you bleeding now? Let me see”—reaching under Madeleine’s school dress, pulling down her underpants—

“Maman!”

“Don’t ‘maman’ me, je suis ta mère.” She examines Madeleine’s underpants — spotless — then pulls them back up. “What have you been doing?”

“Nothing.” Madeleine can feel her cheeks on fire.

“Sit down, Madeleine.”

She sits on the toilet lid.

Mimi says, “Look at me.”

Madeleine does.

“What happened to you, chérie?”

Madeleine swallows. “I fell.” She sees the air begin to float sideways, as though it were slightly liquid.

“What were you doing?”

Madeleine blinks to make the air stand still. It works. Maman is still looking at her.

“It’s okay, Maman’s not going to be angry.”

Madeleine says, “On a bike.”

Mimi sighs and says, “Madeleine, did you take your brother’s bike again without asking?” Madeleine nods yes — I’m not lying, I have taken his bike a couple of times without asking. “And you hurt yourself on the crossbar.”

Madeleine nods again. It’s true, that actually happened once and it really hurt. “It really hurt,” she says.

“I can see that,” says her mother, stroking her cheek. “Oh Madeleine, when I was your age my papa wouldn’t let me have a bike.”

“Why not?”

“Because of this.” She holds up the underpants. “Écoute bien . I’ve said I don’t want you riding boys’ bikes, not your brother’s, not anyone’s, do you understand why now? Next time you find blood on your panties, ma p’tite , you have to tell Maman.” She tosses the underpants back in the hamper. “Because that’s part of growing up.”

She kneels in front of Madeleine and strokes her pixie cut. “A few years from now you’ll bleed a little bit once every month, and that’s how God prepares your body so that one day you can get married and have babies.”

“Oh.”

“But you’re a long time from that, don’t look so worried.”

“I don’t want to get married.”

Maman winks and sings, “Someday, My Prince Will Come.”

She leaves the bathroom. Madeleine stays to pee. It takes a while because it stings.

Mimi hands Jack his hat as he heads out the front door and says, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Missus.”

“When are you back today?”

“Why, are you entertaining the milkman?”

“I can do better than that.”

He grins. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

They made love last night. It’s a likely time of the month. Whether it was reckless or hopeful to risk conceiving a child at a time like this makes no difference to how she feels at the thought. So happy.

Jack kisses his wife — not the usual peck goodbye, almost a going-off-to-war smooch — right on the front step. She laughs and pushes him away. “I’ll be home early,” he says. “I’m dropping by Madeleine’s classroom.”

“At ten o’clock this morning, the quarantine began,” says Mr. March. “I don’t have to tell you what that means.”

The class is silent. Someone is in big trouble.

Mr. March says, “If one single solitary Soviet ship crosses the quarantine line, it will be sunk.” He taps his pointer across his palm. “How many of you have bomb shelters at home?”

No hands go up.

“Well what are your parents waiting for? Nuclear winter?”

Obliging laughter.

He whacks the pointer across his desk and everyone dives.

“Ricky Froelich babysat me last night,” says Marjorie at recess.

“Tell us another one, Nolan,” says Auriel. Lisa and Madeleine have been carefully threading Auriel’s oxfords with red licorice shoelaces.

“He did so,” says Marjorie, widening her blue eyes. “Honest Injun.”

She has joined Majorettes. She has brought her baton in for show-and-tell and is twirling it in an arc over her head. Showing off.

“That was so funny I forgot to laugh,” says Lisa.

“For your information,” says Madeleine, “Ricky had a basketball game last night.” The baton falls to the asphalt and bounces on its rubber tip. Madeleine looks up and sees Grace Novotny hovering behind Marjorie.

“Hi Grace.” She feels a bit mean, aware that she has greeted Grace only in order to enjoy Marjorie’s annoyance when she sees that she’s being followed by the class reject. But Grace says “Hi” back and Marjorie doesn’t seem the least bit surprised.

“You’re just jealous,” she says.

“Jealous of what, pray tell?” Madeleine’s voice drips with scorn.

“Of me ’cause I’m Ricky’s girlfriend.”

The three of them laugh sarcastically, “Hardy-har-har.”

“And!” shouts Marjorie. “I happen to be the boss of the exercise group!”

“Shut up,” says Madeleine, getting up and walking away casually, willing her friends to follow her. They do.

“And you’re not,” Marjorie chants. “You-ou’re no-ot—”

Madeleine stops and faces her. “What’s so big about the exercise group?” It’s a dangerous question. Marjorie puts on a simpy smile, tilts her head and swivels in place.

“You know what, Marjorie?” says Auriel. “If you had a brain you’d be dangerous.” Auriel always knows what to say. “Come on you guys, let’s go to the teeter-totters.”

When the bell goes, Madeleine catches sight of Colleen, but they don’t greet each other. Colleen is in grade six, after all. But more than that; it’s impossible to imagine playing with Colleen at recess. She is an after-school friend. And after-school is as far from the grade four class at J. A. D. McCurdy as the Mississippi is from Centralia.

Jack leaves his office at a quarter to three. He will just make it in time. He quickens his pace to avoid a knot of fellow officers strolling across the parade square; he knows what they’re talking about and he’s sick of talk. The mood around the station started out energetic this morning, almost upbeat — typical air force, chipper in the face of danger. But a general frustration set in when the advancing afternoon brought nothing new from Ottawa. Dief has yet to endorse Kennedy’s “atomic diplomacy” or place the military on alert. He’s stalling. Waiting to see what the Brits will do. Jack shakes his head: are we a country or a colony?