Winner, Alice Munro Short Story Competition, 2012
The rusting door of my little Nissan truck slams behind me as I shuffle across the parking lot toward the treatment plant. A whiff of sewage hits my nostrils and I pause, turning to gaze with longing at the blue waters of Lake Huron, just steps away.
I’ve still got a few minutes before my shift starts. Hurrying along the path toward the lake, I inhale deeply, sucking in the fresh, clean air. I know the foul smell of the treatment plant is with me, embedded deep within my pores, clinging to my clothes and thinning hair, but I hardly notice anymore. Ten years ago when I first landed the job, I became obsessed with cleanliness, taking long showers at the plant as soon as I’d finished for the day. I’d open both windows of my truck, even in winter if it wasn’t too cold, and zip down Number 8 toward our old place near Vanastra. The country air whizzing through the truck was never enough to get rid of the shit smell, so as soon as I got home I’d shower again, in spite of Judith’s daily complaints that our water bill was going to be sky-high. Judith always insisted I didn’t stink, but I knew the stench was still there, lingering in my nasal cavities, never quite leaving me.
Now, with Judith gone, it’s hard to remember to shower, especially since I can never really tell the difference. Bad smells always stay with you, no matter how much water you throw at them.
Rrring. Rrring. I reach into my jeans’ pocket and pull out my cell phone. Mom. Who else? “Yeah?” I say.
“That’s how you answer the phone?” Her voice has a whiny yowl to it, like an angry cat. “Tracy, you know, from the gas station? She’s got a cousin just moved to Goderich. She’s single. I think you should meet her. Tracy says she’s pretty.”
“Uh-huh?” I don’t bother rolling my eyes.
“Come on Jake. It’s been, what, five years? You’re not getting any younger and I don’t have any grandchildren.”
“I got to work.”
“Just meet her. Why not?”
“I’m hanging up now,” I say, closing my phone and sticking it back in my pocket before she can respond. She doesn’t understand. I need to be alone. It’s what I deserve. The smell of wet cigarettes hits my nostrils. I look around briefly for the source, but that’s just a game I play with myself. I know the smell is inside me.
I stand for a few minutes on the grassy cliff and gaze out at the lake, still as a lagoon today. Sometimes it swells with white caps, the winds rushing over the miles of open water, conducting the waves as they rise and foam.
It’s a busy morning down at the port. One ship must have left early – I can still see it on the horizon – and another is on its way in between the breakwalls. A third is docked. Still, I see only two tugs today. From this distance I can’t tell which ones they are. Probably the Debbie Lynn and the Donald Bert. Maybe the Ian Mac. Once the ship’s all the way in the channel, the tugs will press their noses to the side of the enormous black hull and power with all their might, churning up the grey-blue water until it foams white.
My uncle was once curious how strong the currents created by the tugs were, so he lowered himself down the rusty ladder into the channel. He was sucked under in seconds. He would’ve drowned if his friends hadn’t been right there to pull him out.
I wouldn’t have that problem. The stench emanating from my insides is too overpowering for friends.
_________
The big tractor mower chews up the fallen leaves as I make passes up and down the fence line of the plant. This’ll likely be the last mowing of the year. Weather’s getting colder and the green things are dying. Going dormant. That sounds nicer. It’s what the reverend said, before. Going dormant. Much nicer than dying.
A man with a golden retriever saunters along the dog run that encircles the treatment plant. He gives me a wave before making his way west and disappearing among the sumacs that grow all over the embankment leading down to the lake.
I haven’t seen the girl with the beagle in several days, and that’s good. It’s wrong of me to watch for her. She usually comes out around 8:30. I can’t tell how old she is. Not a teenager, else she’d be in school, but close to it.
I don’t think she’s as pretty as Judith was, and not as curvy or soft looking, but there’s something about her that makes me think of Judith. Something about the way she walks, fast paced, long strides, almost as if she’s marching in a band. There’s a confidence to it, a certainty about it that was like Judith.
Sometimes the girl stops at the top of the bank and looks out at the ships. I wonder if she’s ever been out on the water. Does she know how it feels to have the fresh lake air hitting her face, to see nothing but clean water all around?
Judith never liked the water. Sometimes, on a hot summer afternoon, we’d go down to the beach, but she never went in the water. Never even put her toe in. Not like Marie. Marie was a great swimmer.
As the tractor mower roars slowly down the length of the plant, a scene from an old movie pops into my head. A look of passion, lips-pressed-together kisses, and the pounding surf. Burt Lancaster and that red-head. All that water washing over them, trying to cleanse their wicked, sexual desires, but of course it couldn’t. Water doesn’t have that power.
I imagine myself in that scene instead of Burt Lancaster. No, that’s wrong. I shake my head to jiggle the thought away. I don’t deserve to imagine myself in a scene like that, not with that red-head, not with the girl with the beagle, and certainly not with Marie. What Marie and I did is finished, in the past. I should never have done it. I’m not that kind of man, or at least I didn’t think I was. After the fire, I ended it. I couldn’t see her again. I haven’t seen her since the funeral.
Nobody knew the truth, but that doesn’t matter. I knew. Jesus, if Mom knew she’d stop pestering me with all this crap about seeing someone new.
I try to picture the movie scene with me and Judith, arms around each other, sand and water swamping us as we succumb to our passions, but I can’t do it. How could it be Judith? She’d never have let her hair get wet.
I get the mower put away and start toward the maintenance building. A flash of movement catches the corner of my eye and I turn my head to see the girl with the beagle not more than ten feet away on the other side of the chain link fence. She must have come up the embankment. The beagle’s snout is buried in a patch of weeds right at the edge of the fence and I’m close enough that I can see the frenzied movement of its dark nose. When she sees me looking in her direction, she smiles and kind of jerks her head up, a casual greeting.
“How you doing?” she calls, her voice strong and clear. “There are good smells here.” She grins and motions toward the dog who suddenly picks up my scent and, tail wagging energetically, pulls her toward me. It puts one paw through a link in the fence, as if it wants to shake my hand.
“Nice dog,” I murmur, more to myself than to the girl.
“I’d love to let her run free here, but beagles tend to forget they have a home. Too many rabbits. She loses her mind.” She lets out a laugh, like bells ringing.
I glance at her, being careful not to meet her eye. She’s older than I thought, with little lines around the edges of her eyes and lips.
“Have a nice day,” she says, giving the leash a tug. The beagle follows reluctantly.
I watch her walk away and the smell comes flooding into my sinuses, not the sewage smell, the other one. Wet ash. Burning. It’s the smell of guilt. Sewage is gross, sure, but at least it’s alive.
I don’t bother showering before I leave the plant. I’m not going anywhere besides my crappy apartment. No need to go to the grocery store or the bank, and I never go to restaurants. Judith and I used to go to Kate’s Station for dinner on weekends, but that was before the fire. That was before Judith went dormant.
I start down Sunset Drive toward the other end of town, far away from the lake where the rents aren’t so high. I guess I was lucky the tornado skipped my building. It pummeled the houses one street over. I feel awful for those folks. Still, I can’t help thinking the tornado would’ve done it. If I’d been just a bit closer to the storm, it might have blown that awful stench away for good. And that would have been that.
__________
Three days go by without any sightings of the girl and her beagle. I make a point of staying away from the storage shed, just in case she happens to be coming up the embankment. Three long blasts from the harbour tell me another ship is leaving. I can’t quite make out the channel from where I’m standing, but I know the tugs are there pushing, helping the freighter maneuver away from the pier, toward the open lake. If I could stand on deck with my chin raised slightly, would the smell finally leave me?
I take my lunch break outside on my favourite bench, the one right at the top of the steps that lead down to the beach. Someone built it and had it installed in memory of a loved one. At times I think I should do something like that for Judith, but I’m not sure I have the right. I think I forfeited any claim to Judith the night she died.
I take a bite of my tuna sandwich. I like tuna. For the time it takes me to eat my sandwich, the only thing I can smell is fish.
I’ve taken only a few bites when I feel something soft brush against my legs. I’m about to jump up when I realize it’s the beagle, its leash dragging along the grass. The dog makes its way under the bench, practically between my legs, its nose searching the air.
Before I can decide what course of action to take, I hear a voice from a distance calling, “Can you grab onto her leash?!” I turn in the direction of the voice and see the girl running along the fence line of the treatment plant. “Please!” she calls. “Please grab her leash!”
I pick up the leash with one hand while keeping my sandwich high with the other. The dog puts its front paws on the bench, trying to get as close to my tuna as possible.
“I’m so sorry!” the girl calls when she’s about ten feet away. “She got away from me. I’ve been trying to find her for almost an hour! I thought she was down by the beach at first. I tell you, this is the last beagle I’m ever getting!” She takes the leash from me and pulls the dog away. “Nancy,” she scolds, “you’re a bad dog!” Nancy wags her tail, not terribly bothered by the reprimand.
“Anyway,” she says, “thank you for holding on to her.”
“Good thing I was having tuna,” I say softly.
She laughs at this. Bells chiming. To my surprise she sits down on the bench beside me. “Man, just need to rest for a minute. I’ve been running up and down that hill.” She glares at the dog. “Such a bad dog!” Nancy rests her head on the girl’s leg.
“You work at the plant here, right?” she asks. I nod and consider getting up, but I don’t want to appear rude. “Do you like working there?”
I expect to see the typical condescension on her face, but she seems genuinely interested. I shrug. “It’s okay.”
“Well,” she says, “it’s certainly got one of the best views in town.”
I gaze across the blue water and nod.
“I’ve seen you looking out at the ships,” she says, her voice light. “You know I’d love to go on one. I applied for a job as crew when I was in high school, but I didn’t get it. I have a friend who sails though. And I’ve tried kite surfing.” Nancy strains at her leash, hoping to continue along the dog run path. “No, Nancy,” she says, pulling the dog back. “Lie down.” Nancy stops pulling but remains standing.
“You ever go kite surfing?” she asks.
I glance at her. Why does this girl want to talk to me? Surely I stink like shit. If I leave now will she be insulted?
“A lot of people go down to the Cove, early morning or evenings, when there’s no kids or sunbathers around.”
“I’ve never tried it,” I say softly. “Looks tough.”
“It’s not so hard once you realize you’re in control. That’s what you need to do it well. Lots of control. You might think the wind has you, that you have to go where it pulls you, but you don’t. One pull, one heave, and you change course. You just need to have confidence in yourself.”
I look at her face as she speaks, being careful not to meet her gaze. I was wrong to think she’s not as pretty as Judith. She catches me looking at her and gives me a smile. Then she casts her eyes down, suddenly interested in whatever Nancy’s smelling behind the bench.
“Well,” I say, “control can sometimes be exhausting. I think if I ever tried it, I’d just go wherever the wind wanted to take me.”
She nods her head slowly, as if she’s giving serious thought to my words. “You might end up crashing into the shore, or worse, out in the middle of Lake Huron.”
“Might be peaceful out there.”
She gazes out over the lake for a few moments and then looks back at me, like she’s studying me. It makes me nervous and my cheeks flush hot.
“You’re funny,” she says, not smiling. “I like men who take control. You should try it.” She lets her eyes wander down over my chest and back up to my face. I can’t breathe. Is she attracted to me? No, that makes no sense. I’m wearing dirty coveralls and I work with shit. “I’m Cassie,” she says, extending her hand. “And you are?”
I hesitate. “I’m Jake,” I say, “but my hands are filthy.”
“I don’t care about that,” she says with a laugh, so light it makes me dizzy. “I’ve got dog all over mine.” She still holds her hand out and I shake it tentatively. “I know a couple of die-hards who’re planning on kite surfing tomorrow evening. There’s no way I’m doing it in October, but I thought I’d go watch. Maybe you could join me.”
I nod slowly before saying, “Well, I’ve got to be getting back to work now.”
“Oh, nice meeting you,” she says as I get off the bench. I can feel her eyes on me as I walk away. The smell of guilt and wet ash consumes my senses.
____________
For an entire week I avoid going down to the boardwalk and pier. I don’t even look out at the freighters coming in. If I have to do any outside work at the plant, I keep my eyes at close range. If there are people walking their dogs around the fence line, I don’t know anything about it.
On Friday it rains, not just light showers but a teeming downpour. Around mid-afternoon the sky lightens and I even catch a glimpse of the sun through a cloud, but by the time I’m ready to leave the plant, the sky’s darkened again. I get in my truck and pull out onto Sunset Drive when I hear a shout from behind me. I wrench around and see the girl, Cassie, and her beagle running toward me. For a second I think I can just keep on going, pretend I don’t hear her, but maybe she actually needs some help.
I pull over and roll down my window. She huffs up beside me, soaking wet in a green raincoat. The dog wags its tail.
“Hey!” she says, her smile radiant. “Glad I saw you. I missed you the other day. You should’ve come. The wind was serious!”
“Ah, sorry,” I mumble. “Something came up.”
She acknowledges my lie with an accepting nod. “Hey listen,” she says. “I’m really sorry for asking but…” She glances up at the sky over the lake. “There’s a huge black cloud rolling in and I’m afraid I’m about to get even more soaked, if that’s possible. Would it be rude to ask for a ride? Nancy can go in the back.”
A few drops of rain start falling, just light for now.
“Um, are you sure you want a ride from me? I could call you a cab.”
Her smile disappears. “No, that’s okay. A cab’ll be like fifteen minutes. I could be home by then. It’s no biggie. See you.” She gives the leash a tug and starts walking.
I’m an ass. “Hey,” I call. “Come on. Get in. I just thought you wouldn’t want a ride from a stranger.”
She looks at me as if I just told her a good riddle. “You’re not a stranger. You’re Jake. What? Are you an axe murderer or something?”
I pause before saying, “Something.”
She laughs and hurries around to the passenger door. She goes to pick up the dog to put it in the back.
“Hey, the dog can get in the front. It’s fine.”
She gets in and encourages the dog to jump in after her. She forces it to sit on the floor at her feet. The smell of wet dog fills the cab. It’s a welcome relief.
“Thanks,” she says.
“Where we headed?”
“Over by Number 21. You know the apartments there?” I nod and we start off. I keep my eyes fixed on the road ahead. “You married or something?” she asks.
“Something,” I say, glancing at her.
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“So why you seem nervous? I’m not an axe murderer, not that I’d likely admit it if I was.”
I don’t know what to say so I just shrug. The rains starts falling heavily and I turn the wipers on.
“That’s my favourite house,” she says, pointing out her window. “See the pink bicycles in the garden? I love it when people do neat stuff like that. Some day I’ll have a garden. You have one?”
I shake my head. “I’m not too good with looking after stuff.” My eyes concentrate on the frenzied movement of the wipers but I can tell she’s looking at me.
“I’m sure you’re better than you think,” she says. “Where’s your place?”
“Over on East Street.”
“Oh wow,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Did you get hit by the tornado?”
I shake my head. “Somehow it missed me.” For a few moments the only sound in the car is the swish of the wipers.
“Just up here,” she says, pointing at the apartments ahead on the right.
I pull up to the curb. Nancy squirms, eager to get out.
“Thank you,” she says. Then, her voice softer, “You want to come in for a drink?” Her eyes are focused on the dog.
“No,” I say after a moment, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” she asks, her face raised toward mine. She smiles shyly, her lips pressed together.
I stare out the front window at the rain pelting down. “I can’t. I’m just not interested. I mean…” I breathe in deeply, audibly. “I don’t want…” How can I explain?
“Right,” she says, the lightness gone from her voice. “I thought maybe… but I’ve got laundry to do anyway.” She opens the door and climbs out after the dog without meeting my eye. “Thanks for the ride,” she mumbles, whirling around and hurrying through the rain into the apartments before I can respond.
____________
The rain keeps falling. For three days it teems down, almost without any break. The blue waters of Lake Huron turn steel grey beneath the heavy clouds. From my bench at the top of the steps, I see only a whitish-grey fog. The breakwalls have disappeared. The harbour, too. I know the ships are there. I can hear their three long blasts as they head out into the foggy abyss, but they’re hidden from me, lost in the rain. The world around me is retreating into nothingness. But not the smell of wet ash. It stays with me no matter what.
The girl too, Cassie. The rain has hidden her. If she and Nancy are going for walks, they’re not doing it around the treatment plant. Even after the rain stops and the sun peeks through the cracks in the clouds, I don’t see her. An entire week of sunshine comes and goes, and still there is no Cassie. Maybe all that rainwater has washed her away.
______________
The frigid autumn air stings my face as I climb out of my truck. The beaches are deserted, of course. The chip shack is closed up tight and has been since September. No other vehicles are parked here. They’ll return again in the spring and summer.
The Debbie Lynn and the Dover are chugging around in the channel, getting ready for the ship that’s on its way in. They’ll soon head out beyond the breakwalls to meet it, but for now, it looks as though they’re simply having fun.
I step onto the pier and the wind whips at my cheeks. The smell is strong today. The cold air seems to isolate the worst smells. I’ve wondered if it might fade with time, but I know now that will never happen. It gets worse every day.
The ship approaches the breakwalls and the tugs chug slowly out of the channel toward it. The wind is stronger toward the end of the pier, the smell more intense, and I see someone leaning against one of the big, concrete bollards. By the time I realize it’s her, it’s too late to turn around. Cassie stares at me, her eyes wide with surprise. I nod in greeting and allow my eyes to drift toward the edge of the pier to where I know the rungs to the channel water are.
“This is a surprise,” she says, drawing me back to her. I walk slowly toward her and sit down on the cold concrete. She follows my movements with her eyes. We sit in silence for several moments. “I’ve always liked a good story,” she says. She waits for me to speak, but I don’t know what to say. “My grandmother used to say that the quietest people are the ones with the loudest stories.” She raises her eyebrows at me and then gazes out at the approaching ship. A full minute goes by before I start speaking.
“There was a fire,” I say, my voice low, “but before the fire, there was a conversation.” I press my eyes shut for a moment thinking it wasn’t really a conversation. It was just my voice and the confidence draining out of her body, like muscles collapsing.
“Judith, my wife, she was confident like you,” I say, glancing at Cassie. “I told her I was leaving her. I wanted to be with someone else. I still loved her I think, but my head, my whole body was filled up with Marie.”
I wait for Cassie to say something, to tsk tsk, but she just watches me.
“She didn’t ask who,” I say. “She just looked at me, watched me, just the way you’re watching me now. But not like you. See, I could see the strength leaving her, her confidence disintegrating. I could see it clear as day, but I just repeated, I want to be with someone else.”
The ship is part way through the breakwalls and the tugs rush around it, getting ready to push.
“Then we went to bed. I slept downstairs on the couch. At first, I just felt the warmth. It felt good, like a hot sun on a summer’s day. I heard my voice being called. Jake! Jake! It was far away. There were crackling sounds, and popping too. And my name. I thought it was Marie calling me into the water, wanting me to join her. I thought I was dreaming. I could feel the hot sun and hot sand, and I could hear the water lapping at the shore. But this sun was too hot. I opened my eyes and there were flames so close by, so bright. The heat was so intense. But I still thought maybe it was a dream. Things just weren’t making sense to me. You know that happens sometimes, when you wake up suddenly from a dream?”
Cassie says nothing, but I think she inclines her head slightly.
“I heard my voice again and I still thought it was Marie. But now I figured it was coming from outside. I was certain at the time. I was. I avoided the flames, felt my way through the smoke and went outside. I didn’t call the fire department. I didn’t go upstairs to see if Judith was still there. I just found the front door and stumbled out. I fell down in the grass still thinking Marie was somewhere nearby.”
I don’t say anything for a few moments and Cassie finally speaks. “Fires can be disorienting. That’s what they say.” I feel a scoff somewhere inside me.
“I think it was the cool air outside that started me thinking straight. Marie wasn’t there and my house was on fire. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. It was like my brain was on pause. I don’t know how long it was before I remembered Judith. I called out for her and there was no answer. I thought maybe she’d run across to the neighbour’s house so I waited another minute or so.” The ship’s nose is almost at the channel. The tugs push. The water churns and foams. “I waited,” I repeat.
“By the time I realized she was still inside, it was too late. I tried to go back in and get her, but the doorway was all flames. I couldn’t get through. The fire department got there a few minutes later. Some went in and the others started pouring on water. They drenched the house, soaked it. But when they came out and set her body down on the grass, it just lay there, not moving, burnt. Dead. Dormant. Soaking with water, but still dead.”
Cassie remains silent. The only sound is the wind and the roar of the tugs, pushing on the hull of the freighter.
“Everyone told me I did the right thing. You can’t go back in, they said. It’s not your fault, and I said okay, but I knew. At the funeral everyone talked about how much I loved her, how good I was to her, and I said okay, but I knew. The smell reminds me.”
“What smell?” Cassie asks.
“Burning. Wet ash.” The tugs are right beside us and the ladder beckons to me. “Sometimes I wonder if drowning would be a good way to die. My sinuses would fill up with water and the smell might leave me, finally. My uncle once wanted to see how strong those currents are,” I say, jerking my head toward the fast moving water of the channel. “He went in and almost drowned. His friends saved him.”
Cassie looks at the churning water for a moment and then back to me. She gets to her feet and walks to the edge of the pier, close to the tugs pushing at the freighter. She sits down, her feet dangling over the edge of the pier.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Come away. That’s dangerous.”
She turns her head and grins at me. “Is the current really that strong?”
“Yes,” I say, “it is. Besides, the water’s freezing. Come on. Get up.” I follow her and reach down to take her arm. She lets me pull her up and away from the edge.
Her eyes travel all over my face as she inhales deeply. “I don’t smell anything,” she says. “Just a bit of seagull poop.”
I chuckle slightly and breathe in with her. I nod. “Yeah, a bit of seagull poop.”
“Do you still smell the burning?”
I breathe in and out slowly. After a few moments I say, “A bit.”
She smiles. “I’m cold. Are you cold? Did you drive down here? Want to give me a ride back up the hill?”
I take in her easy smile and find myself nodding. As we walk back down the pier, arm in arm, I glance behind me at the churned up water and leave the tugs to their task.
The end.