Immersed in the View Read online

  “I don’t remember every place I’ve ever been. Most, maybe, but not quite all of them.” His voice was teasing.

  Margie sat back in her seat and tried to relax and not think about the duty she was facing.

  Cruz was able to get to the parents’ house pretty quickly, much faster than Margie would have liked. She took a deep breath and hoped that the lump in her stomach would go away once she did the notification. There was no way to fully prepare for these things. It was like ripping off a Band-Aid. She could completely psych herself out worrying about how bad it was going to be, or she could just pull it off and cry about it when it was done.

  “Ready?”

  Margie nodded. “Yes. It’s not going to get any easier.”

  “Nope.”

  They got out of the car and approached the door. Cruz didn’t knock as loudly as he had at Hungry Bear’s house. Margie wasn’t sure if it was because they were not as likely to still be asleep, or that he was showing respect and didn’t want to scare them. They stood to the side slightly until the door was opened by a tiny Siksiká woman, bent over, hair almost completely white.

  “Oki, Grandmother,” Margie said, lowering her head and bending down slightly to get closer to the woman’s face. “We are from the Calgary Police. May we come in?”

  “Yes, come in, come in,” the woman agreed, backing up a few paces to make space for them. Margie looked at Cruz. She hadn’t been expecting this. She hoped that the old woman was not the only one who was home.

  They followed her into the house and she motioned for them to sit down in the couch and easy chair. She sat down on another chair, maybe a dining room chair, with a straight back, but cushioned. She leaned forward to study them, her eyes quick.

  “Is there someone here with you?” Margie asked. “Or are you the only one at home?”

  “Alice is here. And her husband, Michael. No work today.” She gazed away from them. “Canada Day,” she said flatly. “A day to show pride in your country.”

  Margie leaned as close to the old woman as she could manage, but there was still too much distance between them for Margie to place a hand on her arm or her shoulder.

  “I am proud of my family,” she said. “And proud of my community. This has been a very hard time for all of us, and they have been very strong. I can tell that you are a strong woman. Like my Moushoom, you are a survivor.”

  “We had to be strong to survive. It was that… or die.”

  Margie said nothing. They both allowed some time to pass. Eventually, Cruz spoke up, uncomfortable with the silence.

  “Do you think we could get Alice and Michael in here. So that we can talk to you all together at the same time? That way we don’t have to repeat ourselves.”

  The old woman studied Cruz openly. “Where is your family from? Are you a brother?”

  “I am from the Philippines.” Cruz hesitated. “I hope I am a brother.”

  She nodded. “Your people and my people knew each other many, many moons ago.”

  Margie had heard of trade between the Pacific islands and the North American tribes, but didn’t know whether it was true or not. Sometimes stories were just stories. Scientists believed there was a relationship between the Siberian tribes and the Alaskan Aleuts, but it seemed to be easier for them to believe that those peoples had crossed on the ice or a land bridge than to believe they could have built boats and sailed across the ocean. As if no one but Europeans could build seaworthy boats.

  Cruz was willing to accept this. He nodded to the old woman and waited.

  “Alice,” the old woman called eventually, directing a remarkably loud and clear voice toward the back of the house. “Come out to speak to the company. And bring your husband.”

  There was a bit of chatter back and forth between them, too fast for Margie to follow the Siksiká words. Then a woman in her fifties or sixties, with a warm, round face joined them.

  “It is so hot. We should sit outside.”

  No one made any move to get up. Alice sat down with the older woman, who Margie assumed was her mother or grandmother. A few seconds of silence passed, and then her husband came into the room as well. His face had sharper planes, not soft and round like Alice’s, but narrow and angular as if he had been chiseled from stone. Despite his severe appearance, he gave Margie a smile, showing off several missing teeth.

  With all of them assembled, it was time for Margie to make the notification. She looked at Alice and Michael.

  “I assume that you are Bruce Hungry Bear’s parents?”

  They exchanged looks of anxiety with each other, then looked at Margie and nodded. They didn’t ask what had happened. But they knew it was something bad.

  “Bruce’s body was discovered early this morning,” she told them, as quickly and compassionately as she could. “We believe he died sometime late last night or early this morning, but will need to wait for the Medical Examiner’s report before we can tell you more. I’m so sorry.”

  Alice let out a high-pitched keening, wailing for her son. Margie wanted to take her hands and to hold her and give her comfort. But Alice turned away from Margie, into her mother, head lowered into her chest.

  “I’m so sorry,” Margie repeated. She looked at the father. His face was stoic, but his shoulders collapsed inward, holding in grief and pain.

  For a long time, there was no conversation, only Alice’s wailing and a chanted song from her mother. They hugged and held each other, pulling Michael into their circle as well. A tiny family, lost in themselves.

  The room was unbearably hot. Margie tugged at her collar and tried not to look as uncomfortable as she was. Sweat was dripping down all their faces, mixing with tears.

  Eventually, the family was able to turn outward again, looking to Margie to give them more details, to make it all make sense to them.

  “How? What happened?” Michael asked.

  “We don’t know yet. We will let you know what we find out. When was the last time you saw him?”

  They looked at each other. “Yesterday. He was just here,” Alice said, as if Margie must have gotten her facts wrong. He couldn’t be dead if she had just seen him the day before.

  “What time was that?”

  “Supper… then he went home. He said he was meeting with friends later.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “I… no. He had a lot of friends. I don’t know who he was going to see.”

  “What were they going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Getting together to talk. Play games.”

  “Would there have been drinking?” Cruz asked.

  “He was clean,” Alice told him firmly. “No alcohol, no drugs. He wasn’t into any of that.”

  “Had he been?”

  “Why? Because he was an Indian?”

  Cruz shook his head. “Because of your choice of words. Clean. And that he didn’t use any alcohol or drugs. Most people will have a social drink. Those that don’t, it is often because they have had addiction problems in the past.”

  Alice didn’t answer right away, maybe not believing him, thinking that he was already prejudiced against her son. “Yes. He’d had a problem with alcohol.” Alice looked at Margie, then glared at Cruz. “Many of our people have. How can we have strong families and communities when our children are taken away from us? Over and over again, generation after generation. Not just the residential schools. Not just the Sixties Scoop. Now.”

  Margie nodded. Cruz looked over at her and wisely kept his mouth closed. He probably didn’t see it in the city. It wasn’t as bad in Calgary as it was in Manitoba. Over and over again, in trying to deal with the violence of the streets, she had seen them. Displaced children who had been unable to establish bonds. Brothers and sisters who were so lost by the time they reached adulthood.

  “He wouldn’t have been drinking,” Alice repeated. “He was through that. He was back on his feet. He was clean.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Margie was quiet in the car, thinking about the devastated family. She knew that she should take the opportunity to talk it through with Cruz, but she needed time to ponder and think things through on her own first.

  If Alice were right and Bruce Hungry Bear had not been under the influence of alcohol or drugs, then how had he ended up in the pond? Mac had remembered a previous death there, determined to have been an accidental death, no foul play involved. Someone who had been so intoxicated that he had apparently wandered into the pond at night and gotten turned around or passed out, eventually drowning. Tragic, but at least not violent.

  If that was what had happened to Bruce, then at least his family would know that it had just been an accident. That might be some solace to them. But if that was not what had happened, then what?

  “Did Dr. Galt point out any injuries?” she asked Cruz. “After I had gone?”

  “Some bruises, but not anything that he could clearly identify. Maybe a fall. Not stabbed or shot. Not that he could see on his initial inspection.”

  “Face? Head? Hands?”

  “Head. He’ll know more once he’s had a chance to examine the body fully. Can’t tell if there are any bruises on the torso or knees until he’s got the clothes off. He’ll do x-rays, tox screen.”

  Margie kept her face frozen, willing herself not to grimace or make any sign at his reference to a tox screen. Of course Dr. Galt would have to check whether Hungry Bear had been intoxicated or under the influence of some drug at the time of his death. That was routine. They couldn’t just take his parents’ word for it that he wouldn’t have had anything to drink. Parents were often the last to know. Since he was an adult and didn’t even live with them, he could be drinking a lot without their knowing. Kids told parents stories to keep them happy. Margie had done it. She was s
ure that Christina did it. They liked their parents to think the best of them. It was uncomfortable to disappoint them.

  Cruz returned Margie to the parking lot at Valleyview to pick up her car and go home. There was one other car in the parking lot, a lone dog walker, probably. Margie glanced over the park but didn’t see anyone walking. They might have parked at Valleyview and then taken the Twenty-Sixth Street pathway rather than staying in Valleyview. Or they might just be around the bend where she couldn’t see them. Maybe behind the trees that had initially screened Hungry Bear’s body from her view.

  “You okay?” Cruz asked.

  “Yes. Long, hot day. That’s all.” Margie looked at the time on the dashboard clock. It was still only mid afternoon. Hot, but not the end of the day. “Looks like I still have some time to spend with Christina. If we can stand the heat.”

  “Go to the mall. Cooler there. Or a movie if the theaters are open. I heard that some of them have reopened, but I haven’t checked them out.”

  Margie shrugged. “Not really in the mood for a movie.” Though they might watch something on the computer, stretched out on Margie’s bed under the air conditioner. Margie just didn’t feel like going out and being around people who were celebrating the day. While she was happy about all the restrictions other than masking in public places being terminated, there weren’t many other reasons for her to celebrate Canada Day. “Maybe we’ll go to see my grandfather.”

  It had been a couple of days since they had seen him last. It would be too hot for them to take him out. He would need to stay in the cool of his apartment. But they could have a nice visit there. When the weather cooled off, they could make him some more bannock. Until then, she wasn’t using anything other than the microwave to heat their meals.

  “It’s nice to have a grandfather in town!” Cruz’s voice held a smile. “I would have to take my kids back to the Philippines to see their grandparents. Not something we can afford to do very often.”

  “Can they Skype?”

  “When my brother goes to my parents’ house, he takes his iPad so that they can talk to the kids. My wife’s parents don’t have anyone to help them out with technology, so we don’t see them very often. Sometimes if they have to go into the city, there is a room in the library where they can connect.” He shook his head. “Not the same as having someone in town that you can talk to face to face.”

  “He lives just a few blocks from us so we can go see him often.”

  “Nice. I bet he really looks forward to seeing you.”

  Margie’s car’s air conditioner was just starting to blow cold air when she got back to the house. She sat there for a moment in the parked car, just enjoying the cool air. But then she turned it off. She didn’t want to overheat the engine, and she didn’t want to get used to a colder temperature and then deal with being hotter again. She went into the house.

  “I’m home!”

  Stella, usually exuberant when one of her people returned home, let out a couple of barks but didn’t get up from where she was lying in Margie’s room.

  “Hi, Mom. We’re in here.”

  Margie found Christina lying on the bed just where Margie had imagined her, in shorts and a halter top. Her black hair, which she sometimes wore loose, was braided to keep it off her neck and back.

  “Sorry to be away so long.” Margie petted Stella and scratched her ears. “How are you guys managing?”

  “It’s hot.”

  “No kidding.”

  “It’s really hot.”

  “I know, honey. I wondered if you wanted to go visit Moushoom.”

  Christina perked up. “Yes! It’s way cooler there than it is here. And I want to see him. That’s not second, it just came out in that order.”

  “Okay, why don’t you go get ready, and we’ll pop over there?”

  “I just need to get some sandals on.”

  Margie looked at Christina, carefully considering her response.

  “What?” Christina demanded. She sat up and looked down at herself. “I’m dressed. I’m clean. Hair done. I’m ready to go.”

  “Maybe something more appropriate for visiting your grandfather?”

  Christina stared back at her. “What is not appropriate?”

  “I’m just thinking of something that covers a little more skin.”

  “That will be too hot.”

  “It’s up to you…” Margie didn’t want a fight over it. She knew that Moushoom wouldn’t criticize Christina for the way she was dressed, no matter what he thought of it. “It just might make everyone more comfortable.”

  Christina looked down at her cleavage and shrugged. “I don’t see what’s wrong with it.” She got off the bed and used both hands to pull the hem of her shorts down an inch, but they still showed off much more of her long, brown legs than Margie was comfortable with. But what of it? They covered more than a bikini would have.

  Margie just smiled and nodded at Christina, not making a big deal of it. “Okay, find your sandals, then, and we’ll head out. Are you hydrated?”

  The teen rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom. I’ve had plenty to drink.”

  “Not just coffee, right? Because that’s dehydrating. I don’t want you getting sick.”

  “We’re only walking like three blocks. We’ll stay in the shade. And it’s cool at Moushoom’s.”

  “Okay. I’m going to grab a water bottle for myself. You want one?”

  Christina patted her leg to call Stella to her and gave Margie an annoyed look. “Yeah,” she agreed finally. “Grab me one too.” She sighed dramatically.

  Margie went to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of water bottles from the bottom of the fridge. She knew she should be using a filter and refillable bottles instead of the cases of bottles that she had picked up at the grocery store, but it had been more convenient to just grab the flat. It was bad for the environment, and she should be doing more to take care of Mother Earth.

  Christina snapped the leash onto Stella’s collar and slid her feet into her sandals, and they were off.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Moushoom’s room was cool compared with the temperatures outside and at Margie’s house. Warmer than she would have kept it if she had central air conditioning, but older people were often cold, so she imagined that was why it was as warm as it was. She was relieved, at any rate, that everything was working as it should. She always worried about the elderly in extreme temperatures. Without fail, whenever they had extreme hot or cold snaps, elderly people died.

  But those were mostly people living by themselves or on the street. Not people in care centers like Moushoom. If they had problems with the air conditioning, they would have someone in right away to fix it. They would let Margie know if there were any concerns about her grandfather’s health or their ability to provide for his needs.

  At least, she hoped so.

  There were other family members in town, but Margie was the closest to him, both by blood and distance-wise, and the others had been happy to put her name down as his emergency contact once she had moved in.

  She’d heard horror stories about the conditions in care centers, especially at the beginning of the COVID crisis. People living in filth and without the necessities, alone and isolated, bodies piling up too fast to be dealt with. She’d been relieved when she moved to Calgary and found Moushoom in a clean, neat, well-ventilated room with diligent caregivers close at hand, an emergency alarm on his wrist, and allowed visitors if they were masked and sanitized.

  “There are my girls,” Moushoom said with pleasure, a big smile on his face.

  Margie’s heart felt as if it would burst. She loved him so much and had only been able to see him once or twice a year when she had lived in Winnipeg. Now that they were close at hand, they were making up for lost time.

  “Hello, Moushoom!” Margie bent down to give him a hug around his thin shoulders. She remembered Hungry Bear’s grandmother, how old and wizened she was. But still so strong. It had taken a strong will for the past generations to survive and go on to raise their families, despite the best efforts of the government to stamp out the traditional ways. She could see that strength in the survivors. “How are you feeling today?”