All the Broken Things (25 page)

Bo pulled his bottom lip under his front teeth, chewed on it.

“Come on,” and Soldier Man was off, elbowing the dirt down the incline toward the pond, day waking around them. Bo crawled after him. Soldier Man whispered, “We look out for each other, right, kid?” He said it like Bo would save him. “You got my back, right?”

“Sure,” Bo said, but did not look him in the eye. Bo stared straight, squinting into the scene that he imagined was playing out in Soldier Man’s mind. Crazy fuck. The trees, the undergrowth, danger lurking.

“See? Fuck—down, kid.” And again the hand shoved Bo low to the ground.

From here he looked back over his shoulder to the shelter and saw Bear’s nose rising, crinkling up, scenting. Maybe there was something after all. He stared where Soldier Man was looking, and sure enough, there was someone moving about, some early adventure-seeker, maybe some other vagrant who slept in the park too. Some no one.

“We got to—”

The interloper turned toward them.

“Shit.”

“Stop—” said Bo, but Soldier Man was sliding left and beckoning him to follow, shushing him. Bear was on her haunches. She wasn’t going to move anywhere. Bo signed for her to stay and Bear saw, but acted like she hadn’t. He imagined a worst-case scenario, her bounding out to greet this stranger, blowing their cover, or worse, attacking—claws ripping body. Bo was terrified that his vivid thinking would make this happen, tried to stop it.

“Bear, come.” She swung her head toward him, acknowledging but not budging. “Get,” he said. Nothing.

The shadow below shifted through the green that grew around the pond. “Insurgent,” said Soldier Man, and pulled out a gleaming knife.

“Put that back,” said Bo. Jesus.

And Soldier Man turned on him, rustled his shirt collar, whisper-yelled, “Don’t tell me what to do, boy,” and then, “You cover my ass or leave. I never should have trusted a slant. You little fucker.”

Soldier Man shimmied farther down the incline toward the shadow. Bo heard a thick “ugh” and a thump, and then nothing, his heart pumping too fast.

He stood and yelled, “No!” and then he saw a glimmer down the hill and realized what he was looking at—Gerry waving.

“No, Soldier Man,” he yelled again. “It’s nothing. It’s Gerry. Please.”

He did not know if Soldier Man could hear him. Bo felt fear heating him, so potent he could not halt it, and so he tore through the bramble until he was close enough to see the veteran. He lunged at him. He expected his fists to drive deep into Soldier Man, expected some emptying out of this fear. But it was like his body hit a wall, and then hit it again and again. He was a rag doll up against this force. Soldier Man was slamming him against the ground, grunting, wheezing. When the beating finally stopped and Soldier Man backed away, Bo turned his head and Bear was beside him, crouched—curious, worried. She licked him, along the cheek and nostrils.

“Ah. Ah,” Bo said. It was good that was over. His body began to ache.

“Sorry, kid,” Soldier Man said, and Bo could see the worst of it had rattled right out of him. Soldier Man rocked himself. “I’m real sorry.”

There was a rustle and someone hooted, and Bo looked up moisture-wicked pant legs to Gerry’s smiling face looming above him.

“Kid,” he said. “At last! How you been?” Gesturing to Soldier Man, he added, “Who’s this freak?”

Soldier Man stopped rocking to say, “Fuck you, asshole,” and then stood, stooped, and ran off.

“He’s a friend,” said Bo. He stood, feeling for anything broken, but he was fine.

“Jesus, kid,” said Gerry. “With friends like that, you don’t need enemies.”

“He just has some weird thing,” said Bo. “And anyway, I’m okay.” He rubbed his chest where Soldier Man had pummelled him, and he leaned against Bear. She swung her head and pulled her lips back, her nose going crazy as she scented Gerry.

“Bo Jangles, I missed you!” said Gerry. He looked down on Bo with the dumbest smile.

“Yeah?” said Bo.

“I’ve been looking all over hell’s half acre for you, boy,” Gerry said, and then he sat and stared at Bo and Bear for a bit. “How’s the bear?” he finally said, and then, “Christ, it’s good to see you, kid.”

Bo hated to admit it but he was relieved to be found. “She’s okay.” He pursed his lips to stop from crying, shook his head. “How are you?” he said, instead of
What happened
? or
Why
? or
How
? or any of the things he wanted to know about his mother, because most of all, he did not want to cry.

“That’s it, Jangles. That’s the spirit. I’m excellent. Never felt better.” Gerry smiled at him. “Bear learn any new tricks?”

And Bo couldn’t help himself. “Yeah. She can ride a bicycle.”

“No shit?”

Bo’s chest was cinching, a band constricting him, holding his heart back from this, but the rest of him was won. Gerry at least knew him.

He said, “Where’s Orange?”

Gerry rummaged in a grocery bag he had brought, evading the question. “Hell, Bo, you’ve made Max a happy man. Every newspaper in the city is talking about a series of mysterious bear sightings in High Park. Some people say it’s hysteria, and some think bears are coming to the city because they’ve run out of food. But we—me and Max—we think it’s money in the bank.” He laughed.

“Where’s my mother?”

“Yeah,” Gerry said. “There’s something—”

“What?”

“Forget it, kid. It’s time to get the show on the road.” Gerry waved his hands around. “The Canadian National Exhibition. It’s showtime.”

“How do we get there?”

“I sure as hell ain’t going to piss her off by putting her in a cage right now. We’ll walk. You still got the leash, right?” He reached over and let Bear sniff his hand. “Oh,” he said. “She might need a bath.”

So Bo packed his journal and the photographs into his rucksack, clipped Bear to the lead and headed for Grenadier Pond. There, he unleashed her and let her
bound down toward the water. When she lingered in the marshy edges, Gerry threw a stick.

“She’s not a dog,” said Bo.

But Bear plunged after it and swam around in circles. In this way, most of the dirt came off her. When she was back on the shore, she shook, spraying them, and Gerry laughed and said to Bo, “Your turn.”

“I’m good,” said Bo.

“No, kid, you stink.”

Bo made a face and, to appease Gerry, crouched at the water’s edge and scooped water up to wash his face. He took his filthy T-shirt off, rinsed it, threw water into his armpits and then put his T-shirt back on. “Now I’m good.”

Gerry said, “If you say so,” and laughed. He handed Bo the leash, and also a muzzle he had brought.

“No way,” said Bo.

“It won’t bother her and she’ll be safer with it. If she’s freaked out by the noises and the cars, at least we don’t have to worry about her biting anyone.”

“She doesn’t bite,” said Bo, but he slipped it over her snout anyway, and watched her sniff it and then try to tug it off with her paws. “Good girl,” he said. “It’s okay.”

“Here,” said Gerry, handing him a box of Pop-Tarts. “Give her one.”

Bo opened the box and broke a Pop-Tart, and fed Bear half through the muzzle. Then he ate the other half, enjoying the sweet of it. He watched Bear lick her lips.

“Let’s go then,” he said.

“Sure, kid,” said Gerry.

The sun was rising, and though Bo was nervous after these weeks in the park, it was marvellous not to have to hide anymore. They took a paved path across the park and exited onto High Park Boulevard. The bear stopped periodically to scent, and worried garbage she found along the way. Children followed them. They pointed fingers and laughed. A crowd surged ahead through Parkdale, and then, whenever stoplights caught them and made them wait, they turned to gawk.

“The Ex,” the children chanted. “The Ex. The Ex!”

“Step right up, folks,” whispered Gerry.

A
S THEY APPROACHED
the CNE grounds, Gerry said, “Jangles, this carnival is huge. She sprawls over 192 acres.”

“Like High Park,” Bo said.

“Yeah,” said Gerry. “Except completely different.”

Bear tugged the lead, bounding as if she knew their destination. She was entranced by the wild assortment of new people and creature smells, the rotting food she located along the gutter. She slipped her tongue through the muzzle’s bars before they could scold her, and scarfed back what she found.

“She needs to build the fat back on, I guess,” said Gerry.

And Bo saw then that Bear had become skinny. Her coat gleamed but her ribs rippled under it. Bear nuzzled a crust in the gutter.

“Where is Max?” said Bo. He tried to make it light, like no big deal.

Gerry didn’t respond, just stared straight, a strange smile playing out upon his lips. Bo stared at him too long and almost tripped over a curb. Someone slapped Bo on the back, said, “Atta boy,” and again, “The Ex!” Kids yelled, “Look! The Bear Boy!” to anyone they met, and in this way the crowd increased, young and old, so that their arrival at the Canadian National Exhibition became a small parade. A larger crowd undulated at the entrance and then parted to let them through. A great rolling sound of awe spread out as they were seen: a boy and a bear, the one the newspapers had been talking about.

But before they were allowed through the gates proper, a CNE official wanted proof from Gerry that Bo and Bear were, in fact, part of the midway. While Bo stood helpless, wishing for the cover and quiet of High Park, Gerry pulled out some papers and handed them over. The man tugged on his beard and stared at the papers and then at Bo.

“Animal needs immunization records.”

“I’ve got those in my office,” Gerry said.

“By the end of the day, then.”

Gerry nodded, and they were in.

T
UCKED IN ALONGSIDE
the grandstand to the southeast was the midway. The freak show was in full swing, a string of banners advertising T
HE
C
ONGRESS OF
F
AT
. For a dollar you could watch Baby Louis jiggle (
My
,
but he is fat
) while his twin sister played the banjo. Orange, Bo thought.

He tried to catch Gerry’s eye, which avoided his. “Come on, Gerry. Where is my sister? Where is my mum?”

This is when Gerry stopped and took him by the shoulder. “She’s dead, kid,” he said. “Your mum died.”

All around Bo, and Bear, and Gerry, the crowd seemed to contract and then expand, so that for forever, Bo would recall this moment, the moment he learned he was an orphan, amid a frenzy of coloured T-shirts and sickly carnival smells and spectacle.

“No,” Bo said.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wha—? How?”

“In good time, Bo Jangles. Look at this—” Here Gerry gestured widely, to break the tension, to change the subject, to run away from that story to the freak show. “The ten-in-one, just like I promised you. One kilometre of unique misshapen acts.” He looked like a proud father. “I manage the whole shebang.”

“I’ll kill him,” Bo said.

“No, you won’t,” and Gerry put a hand on his shoulder.

The crowd pressed through the corridor. The place smelled like ketchup and cotton candy, vinegar and sugar. Bear sat down and swatted wasps off her snout, snagging her claws in the muzzle, and Bo couldn’t tell if she was upset or calmed by it. She tried to snap at the insects but her mouth was bound, an interesting new thing, and she tested this.

“Bear,” Bo said. “It’s okay, girl,” but she didn’t care. She was off in her bear head. Bo watched her for a bit then glared at Gerry. “Where is she?” he said.

“Who?”

Bo sneered at him. “Who do you think? Orange.” He looked down the corridor of curiosities, to try to see if he could find the banner that belonged to his sister, but the banners snaked back and turned in a reverse loop and he knew he would have to walk the gauntlet to find her. And then what?

“She’s not here, Bo.” Gerry was back in the friend game.

Bo’s lip quavered. His mum. And he had forgotten about Orange too long and now she was gone too.

Gerry said, “She isn’t here.”

“Well, where is she?” Was she dead too?

“Max promised to protect her—”