The Rest is Silence Read Online Free PDF Page A

Margaretsville fire hall in her Lada. She had cleaned the dash with lavender so it smelled nice, but there was no hope for the seats. They were covered with cat fur. I never tire of that stretch of road running downhill from Victoria Vale to Margaretsville, especially when it opens up out of the trees and beyond the fields of hay the water and sky are separated from each other by the wide ribbon of land on the other shore. I was in a good mood and sat sideways so I could watch Jenifer drive while I teased her about the cat hair on the seats. She has a lovely face and is thoughtful and fun, and I was attracted to her that night.
    The dance took place in a large room beside the garage that housed the fire trucks. Most of the picnic tables set up at the back of the room were filled with people drinking beer or coffee. In front of the heavy woman at the canteen counter lay brownies, date squares, and cookies covered with Smarties. I gave the woman two loonies for a date square and a cup of strong black tea.
    The fiddler was a leathery man who played jigs and reels that made it impossible to sit still. He sat stiff-backed in a wooden chair, one foot tapping the rhythm on the stage. I danced with Jen. Between sets, canned music played through the speakers. Jen didn’t want to stop dancing, so I twirled her around as best I could. I felt dozens of pairs of eyes watching us, wondering who the new guy with Jenifer was, dancing like a flustered chicken. A slow song came on and we kept dancing. Jen is almost my height and I was relishing how good it was to have a woman in my arms again when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
    â€œI’m cutting in,” a deep voice said.
    I pulled my cheek away from the softness of Jen’s hair and turned to see the creased face of the fiddler, the bill of his John Deere cap aimed at my nose. I looked at her as we separated, then reached for his hands. He shoved me away.
    â€œNot you, you fairy,” he said. “I wanna dance with her.”
    I snorted, pretending I’d been joking, and found a picnic table at the back of the hall. If it hadn’t been such a long walk uphill in the dark, I would have started right then for home. When the song ended Jen came and joined me. I didn’t look at her.
    â€œSo now you’ve met Art.”
    â€œLucky me.”
    â€œHe’s blunt but really quite sweet.”
    I grunted like a caveman. The rest of the dance was ruined for me. All I could think of was that everyone had seen me reach for his hands.
    â€”
    The screen door at the back of the house slams shut and I am woken from my daydream. Lucy comes running around the corner wagging her tail and sneezing the way border collies do when they like you. She is followed by a young woman whose motion is the opposite of Art’s: fluid, graceful, lithe. There is no wagging, no sneezing, but her eyes make up for that. Their irises are black, and huge, as she stares at me and says nothing. Unnerved, I put my head back down and poke around the pipe.
    â€œI’ve got a strange request.”
    Her voice is soft like water running through my cupped hands. I look up.
    â€œWill you sit for me while I sketch you?”
    â€œYour grandfather seems to think it’s important that I get to the bottom of this hole.”
    She laughs. She smells of geraniums. “Art won’t mind if I borrow you for half an hour. I’ll pay you for your time.”
    I lay the shovel beside the hole. “They don’t call them odd jobs for nothing.”
    I reach out to introduce myself. She eyes the dirt on my fingers suspiciously.
    â€œIt’s only soil. I haven’t had to deal with the pipe yet.”
    â€œI’m Lina.”
    Her hand is cool and has the rough skin and strong grip of someone who could be digging the hole instead of me. It’s as if I’m clasping the handle of a whip that runs up her arm, coils through her core, and whose tips end in the black centres of her