Steam

originally published in Vancouver Island Almost Free

Lisa had always thought it was cheesy, this clock, with its off-key hooting. Every summer it was surrounded by tourists who must, she had thought, merely be desperate for a point of interest. She used to imitate its odd sound for the amusement of her friends: Hoon hoon HOON hoon. Hoon hoon HOON hoon.
Now, twenty years later, in the middle of December, she almost apologized to the thing. She wanted to hear that hooting again, for old times’ sake. But it was getting colder, and Sylvie was getting heavy in her arms.

7:25. Would they hear the tune at the half hour? Or was it only on the hour? Lisa couldn’t remember. She looked at her daughter, at the solemn little face turned upward, watching the steam billow and vanish into the dark.
“Do you like it, honey?”

Sylvie nodded, her eyes on the steam.

“Are you cold?”

“No. Yes. No.”

“Do you have to pee?”

Sylvie shook her head.

Seven-thirty now. The clock wouldn’t sound until eight, then.

“Well, let’s walk back to the Skytrain, okay? We’ll take another ride.”

“I want it to go up, up, up high.” Sylvie illustrated with a swoosh of her arm.

“Okay, honey, well, this time when we go on it, it will go higher. You’ll be able to see a huge ball of lights called Science World. Then we’ll get off and take a bus up to Auntie G’s.”

“Are we staying over again? At Auntie G’s?”

“Yes.”

“Yaaaay!” A pause. “Mommy.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“When are we going home?”

“I’m not sure, love. Hey, can you walk a bit now, sweetie? My back is a little sore.”

Sylvie slid down.

They walked back along Water Street toward the station. The merry hum and clink of restaurants. Everything bathed in the appealing light of Gastown.

They stopped in front of a rock and mineral shop. A TV stood in the window, showing a documentary about gem mining. A trick projection threw multicoloured gems of light onto the sidewalk. Lisa looked at Sylvie’s coat and smiled.

“Look, honey! They’re on you!”

Sylvie lifted one arm in its sleeve and squealed . Then she looked up at her mother’s face, searching.
“Ahh! They’re on you too, Mommy!”

“It’s neat, isn’t it, Sylvie? “

“Uh-huh.” Sylvie pumped her fingers, trying to imprison a red gem of light.

Suddenly a voice roared: “MERRRY CHRRRISTMAS!”
The sidewalk was suddenly filled with Santas. A river of them, spilling into the holiday traffic. All shapes and sizes. Sleek female Santas, rakish lad Santas. Woolly, spongey, tattered, and fluffy beards, dirty beards, sparkling beards. A swaggering Santa with a single glossy Christmas ball hooked into his tights at the groin. Lisa stifled a screech of laughter with her gloved hand.

Sylvie stood against the wall and pushed some hair back from her eyes. She watched the Santas with the air of an anthropologist. That hair, Lisa thought. I wish she’d let me put a barrette in it.
The Santas kept flowing. Some in conversation, some looking around. A kind young Santa noticed Sylvie and knelt down, fishing in a pouch at his side. “Merry Christmas.” He offered Sylvie a candy cane.
“Thank you! What do you say, honey?”

“Thank you.”

Lisa lifted the girl once again onto her hip. Sylvie clung to her expertly, minimally, as a young goat adheres to a cliffside.

A non-Santa face emerged from the crowd. Older. A fume of alcohol, but steady enough on his feet and no threat.

“WELL!” he puffed, addressing Lisa. “I guess THERE. GOES. SANTA! It’s like: ‘MOMMY! Why are there so many?'”

Lisa didn’t explain that it was no bubble burst; she and her husband — ex-husband – had never led the kids to believe in Santa – not really. But she played along with the joke. “Mommy, some of them are girls!”
Her companion guffawed.
Lisa lifted Sylvie higher on her hip and plunged into a gap in the Santas, moving upstream. The man fell into pace beside her. The Santas parted and flowed around them.
“I’m Lisa. This is Sylvie. We’re just headed to the Skytrain.”
“I’m Bill! Nice to meet you two!”

As they rounded the corner to the station, Lisa stopped. “What’s. . .that fire?”
“Oh, you haven’t seen that?” Bill chuckled. “Not been here for a while, eh? Yeah that’s a new restaurant or something. They have those torch things on the – whatsit. Patio.”
“I grew up in Vancouver. I’m on the Island now. We’re visiting. It’s hard to explain. . .” Lisa trailed off.
“No, I gotcha,” said Bill. Life, eh? It’s messy!”
“Yes,” Lisa murmured, looking at the fire, and the strange light it cast on the building’s façade. “When I lived here, there was none of that stuff in the station. Just a deli and a bookstore, I think it was. Not even Starbucks — just a one-off cafe.”
“Yeah! Gastown is totally different, eh? It was nothing in 1969. Just a bunch of whatever stores, right? But it had those bumpy things, though.” He searched Lisa’s face, stuck for the word. He pointed to the ground.

“Cobblestones?” Lisa suggested.

“Yeah, cobblestones! Yeah, I was around here back then. This was my patch, you know? I stole one hundred and twenty-six cars from this neighbourhood. Back in the day.” He grinned and straightened himself. Lisa noticed now that he had a swollen eye, dark purple and blue.

A pause. Then Lisa raised her eyebrows. “A hundred and twenty-six?”

“YEAH! Got my education in jail, eh. Got my high school and I did my trade too.”

“Oh? What’s your trade?”

“Heating and refrigeration. Got my ticket. On the inside! Haha! When I got out, I got sent on jobs, eh. I didn’t even have to do nothing. I just stood there and watched the other guys work, haha. I was the –the — ” He patted a breast pocket containing an imaginary document.

“Um, overseer? Supervisor?”

He grinned . “Yeah! I was the guy telling them it was all legal and good. Haha! Think of that!”

Lisa smiled. “That’s cool.”

The Santas kept streaming into Gastown.

The companions approached a statue in the dark. A winged woman bearing the body of a soldier to heaven.
“I love this, eh.” said Bill.
“Me too,” said Lisa. “I just learned that it’s a victory, not an angel. I always thought it was an angel when I was a kid.”
“That’s not an angel?”
“Apparently not. It’s a mythological figure — Roman. She symbolizes victory.”
Bill gazed up at it. “Some victory.”
Sylvie was now fast asleep, slumped in Lisa’s arms.
Lisa sighed. “Well, I better get her – back.”
“Yeah! Little cutie.”
“Are you coming inside?”
Bill opened the door for them.
“Uh, no! I’m – not allowed in. To Waterfront, eh. Long story.” He looked down.
“No, I gotcha,” said Lisa, quickly. “Life is messy.”
Bill looked up at her. He cleared his throat.
“Yeah.”
“Take care, Bill.”
“You too, Lisa. Take care of little cutie there.”
“I will.”
Lisa carried Sylvie inside.
She looked out of the station window for a moment, watching Bill. The Santas were all gone now.

With a solemn face Lisa watched as Bill looked left, then right. She watched as he turned and vanished into the dark.