Nobody Cries at Bingo Read Online Free PDF Page B

their equal. Their church also had the best picnics — or so I heard. We could never go because Mom was fiercely loyal to the Catholic Church that her parents had raised her in. Her brother, our Uncle Larry, felt no such loyalty and belonged to the Mormon, Catholic and United Churches. His kids loved picnics.
    Mom recognized their truck as it stopped beside us. “Oh shit, it’s the Mormons.”
    Two neatly dressed men stood outside Mom’s door. They were tall and slim with cashew-coloured hair. Standing next to one another beside our car, they looked like that photo you get with your picture frames before you pull it out and insert the one of your sloppy relatives.
    The man addressed her: “Ma’am, do you need some assistance?”
    In the backseat, Celeste and I whispered to each other.
    â€œHow come he called Mom, Man?”
    â€œAre Mormons the same thing as cops?”
    â€œWhy are their pants so neat?”
    Up front, Mom considered her options: wait for help in the cold car or take help from strangers? She looked in her rear view mirror. There were no car lights coming up the reserve road so she reluctantly admitted that our car would not start. We were transferred to their truck in a few minutes.
    The Mormons lived nearby in three large trailers. Even though we were poor, we associated trailers with poorer people. For instance, Uncle Larry lived in a trailer.
    The Mormons were well off. They lived in trailers because the conversion business sometimes had them moving from place to place in search of a better source of souls. They had not yet established a permanent church on the reserve (and never would) but when they did, the trailers would be sold and they would set down roots and basements.
    Their trailer was welcoming. We were astounded by the size of their living space. Not for the last time I realized that trailers were like icebergs; you will always underestimate their true size by forty per cent. Even more shocking was the realization that they had no TV. My siblings and I noticed this immediately, but we were too polite to mention it.
    Two lady Mormons greeted us at the front door. They took our jackets and hung them up in the closet. My mom, suspicious, kept her jacket by her side.
    One of the women offered us some cold juice. With the minus twenty-degree weather outside it was an odd choice. Perhaps the Latter Day saints do not feel the cold.
    My mom thanked the woman. I could tell she was troubled because Mom drank only coffee from morning until night. However, she was respectful of other people’s beliefs and instead of complaining, said, “Orange juice, what a treat. Yum, that hits the spot.”
    After the sharing of juice, the Mormons stared at us and we stared back at them. With no TV, we were at a loss. They had children but they were in bed as it was way past six pm. One of the Morman ladies brought my brother a blanket as he fell asleep on the floor. First, of course, he bounced his head rhythmically for about two minutes before finally dropping off into unconsciousness. With nothing else to do, everyone in the room watched him. The Mormons looked from David to Mom, back to David again.
    Celeste kicked David. He grunted and continued knocking his head on the floor.
    â€œIt’s how he gets to sleep,” Mom explained.
    The women continued to stare at him. None of us thought they were being rude. It was a strange thing to witness; even we thought so.
    After David fell asleep, the silence in the room threatened to crush our skulls.
    â€œDo you have any books?” I asked the Mormon lady nearest to me.
    Mom glared at me. We were under standing orders not to make a fuss in someone else’s house.
    I couldn’t help myself. Unlike Anne of Green Gables, I had no imagination. I had to be constantly entertained with cartoons, a book or a wrestling match with one of my siblings. Already I could feel my shaking hands creeping towards my sister’s