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Gil visits his son, Melvin, in the border town of Windsor, Ontario. After all, talking in person is the only true way to have a private conversation these days. Park and Dan come along as well. The strong military presence is a little unnerving, but at least the pool is great. Anything to take the weight off Gil and Dan's old bones. 

Transcript

So Park and I flew to Windsor, Ontario, so I could have a private conversation with my son. It was the first time I was on a plane in nineteen years. I can’t afford to fly these days unless it’s really important, but Park was with me because his father had bought him a seat in coach, but I was in standing third class, holding the rail. It wasn’t too bad. I mean, yes, it was a bit cramped with the other passengers, but at least it was only an hour, and when the plane touched down it was so perfect that it was hard to tell when we were actually on the ground until we felt the pavement under the wheels. Besides, one good thing about being crammed in with other passengers is that you can lean on each other when the plane starts to sway. Toronto was a three-hour flight when I was a young man, and I remember hitting the ground so hard on a foggy night on the St. John’s runway once that an old man in the first row swallowed his false teeth. Or at least that’s what he kept yelling, but the stewardess didn’t believe him. They kept looking around the floor while he kept saying that he nearly choked. Hopefully they were easier coming out than they were going down.   

I asked Delilah Henries to babysit Dan. 

Joking. 

The dog came with us. I daresay a plane is traumatic for a dog too, but at least it was only an hour. And truth be told, the cages in the pet compartment looked way more comfortable than third class. Or even coach. Well, you’re not supposed to call them cages now. “Crates” is what you’re supposed to say. People don’t like “cages” because it makes the dogs feel like animals. I can’t blame them I suppose. I’d never want Dan to feel like an animal. 

Luckily I could keep in contact with Dan, because every crate had a video dispenser where I could video chat with him from my palm and shoot treats into the cage. I had to get Lig to show me how to use it, but I managed to give him a few “good bois” and a few treats when he got bored. I wish Park up in second class could have shot treats into my mouth when I got bored. Even if it was dog treats. I tried them once. They’re not half bad. Better than most of the biscuits they sell in the stores these days. I don’t buy biscuits anymore anyway – you only get five and a half in a pack.  

Park met me at the luggage pickup. “How was the flight?”

“Boy are my arms tired,” I said. Park thought that was hilarious, but I don’t know why. Anyone would get tired standing and holding on to a rail for an hour.

  Dan was rolled out in his crate and when they opened the door he didn’t want to leave. I had to drag him out by the collar. I’m not used to big bursts of energy from him anymore, but when I did get him out and he saw all the potential crotches to sniff in the airport he bolted away too fast and the leash slipped out of my grip. Park had to run to catch him, but he had already done a half dozen hit-and-runs before he caught him.  

 Melvin was waiting for us at Arrivals. His girlfriend was with him. Not a bad-looking woman, I must say, but when I got up close, I realized she was about ten years older than him. I didn’t notice on our video chats. Maybe she had the catfish filter on. An older woman is fine, but it seemed out of character for Melvin. If I’m not mistaken, I think every girl he ever had before her was nothing less than five years younger than him. One girlfriend was twenty years younger. Although that didn’t last long. She was too mature. 

Audrey gave Park and me a big hug each. She even gave the dog a hug. He went for his usual target, but Park held him back.

“That’s okay,” she said. “He’s just being a dog, and I smell like roses down there anyway.”

“I can vouch for that,” Melvin said. Park gagged, and I just pretended I didn’t hear it.   

Melvin’s “new car” was an old car, a 1977 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am like the one Burt Reynolds drove in Smokey and The Bandit. And Melvin drove it about the same way. Audrey insisted on getting in the back with Dan and Park, so I sat in the front. To be honest I wish I had been in the back so I couldn’t see what was going on. It had a standard transmission of course, but I had not seen someone control the wheel, brakes, and gas to a car in forever, let alone a gearshift. One time if a man couldn’t drive a standard, he wasn’t considered a real man, but now most kids under thirty can’t drive period, other than telling their car where to go. I was kind of surprised by how nervous I was seeing human hands on a steering wheel and knowing there was no backup if anything went wrong. I just didn’t trust it. Well, I didn’t trust Melvin behind the wheel of anything, especially an old hunk of steel traveling the speed limit. 140 km an hour was made for autonomous vehicles, not my son. He was supposed to have a special class of license for an old car like that, but I didn’t ask, because I knew he didn’t bother with it. He would just keep driving it illegally until the cops pulled him over, but there isn’t much highway patrol since cars went autonomous anyway. There’s only a half dozen gasoline pumps in Ontario now and he had to spend half a tank of fuel to get to them. So instead he would fill up a 45-gallon drum and keep it in his garage. And knowing him it was black-market gas anyway, so he probably didn’t pay the going rate a liter. 

The thing I found most surprising was the military vehicles and soldiers, everywhere. 

“What’s with all the army?” I said. 

Melvin looked at me, confused. “You do know there’s a war going on a few miles south of us, right?” 

“Yeah, an American war, but not a Canadian one.” 

“You didn’t know this was a border town?” Park said.  

“Well…no, I didn’t really think about it,” I said. Everyone in the car thought this was funny. 

“We’re right on the fuckin border,” Melvin said. 

“Is that Chinese soldiers over there?” I asked. “The ones with the grey uniforms.”  

“Japanese, Dad. They’re all just kids though. It’s weird how, even when you’re my age, you think of soldiers as being these big, older, hairy-arsed men who could beat you up in a bar fight, when they’re just snot-nosed kids. Half of them look like they can’t grow hair on their face yet, let alone their arse.” 

When we got to my son’s place I was impressed with the house he almost lost. Park was out in the pool with Dan and Audrey in minutes. Summer is basically eight months a year in Ontario now so although the Newfoundland ocean was cool, it was still swimming weather at Melvin’s. Even the dog took advantage of it. He was shy at first, but once he got in the water and remembered that the water took all the weight off his old bones, he didn’t want to get out. I’m not much of a swimmer, but neither did I. 

With the price of water, pools are a thing of the past for most middle-class people, but Melvin found a way to cheat the water meter. Are you surprised? 

Meanwhile, me and Melvin had that long-awaited talk. As we walked down the street the first thing I told him was who Reverend Tom really was, and that it looked like the church might be behind it all. 

“Really?” Melvin said. “What do you know —the church isn’t useless after all.” 

I didn’t respond to that rude comment, I just told him my plan: We would go into a partnership. He could use my boat, and I would harbour the magas at my house. We would split the profit fifty-fifty.

“Fifty-fifty?” he said. “That doesn’t sound fair to me. I’m taking all the chances. I’m the one who’d go to jail.” 

“I’m helping you, and I’d be using my own house, so I’d get in the same amount of trouble that you would.” 

“I’m not so sure about that.” 

“Well, what about fifty-five for you and forty for me? Don’t forget that it’s my boat.”

“Who’s getting the other five percent, Dan?” 

“What?” 

“Never mind. Sure I could buy my own boat if I did enough trips.”

“Melvin, once I gets enough for the shot, it’s all yours. I’m done. So can’t you just agree to this for now? You’ll have enough too, eventually, for the shot. You’ve got a lot more time than me. I could start losing my marbles with dementia any time at all at my age. Or I could get cancer, or have a stroke, heart disease, slip on a banana —God only knows. I’m on borrowed time, don’t you understand that? And take it from me, I knows we might not always see eye to eye, but when your father goes, it’s a part of your life that’s gone forever. You don’t even realize how big he is in your life until he’s not there anymore. Your mother is gone. Do you want both of us gone?”

He had nothing to say to that for once. 

“What about the girlfriend?” he asked. “She’s not going to want me in Newfoundland twenty-four-seven.”

“Bring her with you.” 

“At your house?” 

“Don’t have much choice I suppose. The magas will stay in the basement.” 

“Can I tell her what I’m doing?”

“That’s up to you, but you’re responsible for her. The Church might be upset if she turned out to be a blabbermouth. I’m guessing all this. I don’t really know. I don’t know what they would do.”

“Well, she used to be in a secret cult, so she knows all about secrets.” 

“A cult?”

“A secret cult, The Normals.”

“The Normals? Never heard of them. Protestant or Catholic?” 

“Protestant. They worship Norm MacDonald.” 

“Never heard of him either…or did I…was he an actor?” 

“A comedian. Canadian too.” 

“Didn’t he die a long time ago?” 

“Cancer was the story, but they say he went into hiding because of millions of dollars he owed in gambling debt. When he pays off his debt he’s going to come back and free the world with his comedy. Apparently, the top brass in The Normals are in contact with him, but they say he’s waiting for the perfect time.”

“Perfect time for what?” I said with a snort. 

“For a comeback, but first they have to collect enough money to pay off the debt. The problem is that the interest is through the roof. Especially with those loanshark mobsters he got the money off.”

“Sure he’d be as old as the hills now if he was alive, wouldn’t he?”

“Yes, but apparently he knew Aron Bekker, so now he looks like he always did. Old and cranky.” 

“I don’t think the timeline adds up there ol’ trout. You’re talking about this like you believes it yourself.” 

“Well, I’m what she calls agnostic. I’m not sure what that word means to be honest. I think it means, confused?”

“Do they have meetings and stuff?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What did they do there?” 

“Talk about his philosophy, study his stand-up, study the youTube clips…S and F.”

“S and F?” 

“Suckin and Fuckin.”  

“Judas! Is there any need of that language? I’m your father for God’s sake.” 

“Geez Louis, you asked.”

“So every meeting was a big orgy?” 

“Lord no! The ladies would go into a dark room, pull the sheets up over themselves, and a man would come in and lay down on top of her.”

“Sex?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Well, what did he do?” 

“Just lay there for a while. Then get up and leave.” 

“Well why was it called suckin and…you know.” 

“That was just the name.” 

“That is the weirdest thing I ever heard in my life.” 

“Doesn’t matter. She’s out of it now.”

“Well, that’s good. Why did she get out of it?” 

“She got fired. Everyone gets fired from the cult after five years, except the top brass. You have to take the teachings and find your own way. I mean technically she’s still a Normal, but she’s not allowed at the meetings anymore.”

“Too bad he’s not alive to see it.”

“He is alive. She says he is anyway.”

“Okay. I thought it was just part of the story. So who’s at the head of it all? Where does the money go?” 

“Archbishop Eget.”

“They’ve got Archbishops and it’s a secret cult?” 

“They just say it’s a secret to suck people in.” 

“So why do you think Audrey is good at keeping a secret then?”

“Because I was with her a year before she told me.” 

“Did anyone ever see him after he died?” 

“Well, there’s a video of him in meetings with Archbishop Eget. You can watch it on youTube, but it could be deepfaked. Who knows these days? She thinks it’s real.”

“Do you think it’s real?”

“I’m agnostic.”

When we got back to the house, everyone, including Dan, was still in the pool. It was the happiest I had seen him in a long time. He was like a pup again, smiling and barking with his tongue hanging out. There must be some Lab in him because he always took to the water like a duck. You can always tell if a dog is a natural swimmer, because it will swim with its eyes and nose just peeking out of the water, slow easy strokes with their strong four legs, like they’re not even trying. Just like a duck. 

So I decided to go swimming too. It had been so long that I didn’t even know if I still could. Melvin was shocked to see me get in. He said he didn’t even know I could swim. And I was shocked to see Melvin get in seeing as he still had a cast on. 

“I’ll be fine,” Melvin said, “it’s waterproof.” 

“Are you sure?” Audrey asked.  

“I’m sure. I’ve been getting ultrasound treatments so it’s healing up fast anyway.” 

I got in the shallow end first, and started swimming out in the deep end. I forgot how much hard work it was. When I looked up everyone was laughing at me. 

“What are you all laughing at?” I said between gasps. 

“You’re doing the dog-paddle!” Park said. “Do long strokes or swim on your back. You’re going to drown yourself that way.” 

“I didn’t learn any of that. This is good enough for me. In my day everyone did the dog-paddle.”

“In your day people were still doing the Charleston.”

I don’t have a clue what the Charleston is. Sounds like a weird name for a swimming technique. Lig tells me it’s a dance move, so I’m still as confused as ever. He tells me he can explain further but I’m not interested.

So anyway. Audrey tried it herself and said, “Holy crow, it certainly is a workout.” She barely got to the other side of the pool before she gave up and went back to the butterfly.

“That’s not swimming,” Melvin said to me. “That’s drowning. If you ever fell in the salt water, even in the summer, you wouldn’t last ten minutes.”

When I got to the other side I was beat to a snot. I forgot how hard it was to swim, although it didn’t look hard at all to watch Melvin. I realized it was the first time in my life that I ever saw him swimming. He was a natural, like my brother. Amy couldn’t swim a stroke. She was even more nervous than me when it came to the water.  

“Well, what do you do?” I asked my son and grandson. “How do you swim on your back? That seems like the easiest. Whenever I tries to float on my back I just sinks.”

“Because you’re not relaxed,” Melvin said. “Just watch me.” He lay on his back in the water and barely moved his arms. “See if you relax you barely have to work at all. Take deep breaths too, to blow up your lungs. Helps you float.” 

“That gut helps you float more than them lungs do.”

“He’s full of hot air too,” Park said. 

“Oh I can vouch for that,” Audrey said. “You might see it bubble up to the surface now in a minute.” 

“What is this, Shit on Melvin Day?” he said. “I’m here trying to teach my poor old father how to save his life if he falls over a wharf and all you assholes can do is poke fun.” 

“Yeah, because you never pokes fun,” Audrey said. 

“Yeah, but I’m good at it.” 

I tried to imitate what he was doing on his back, but I wasn’t having much luck. I would get a few strokes in and my face would start slipping under the water. Then I would panic and start sinking further, and then I would turn around to the dog paddle again. And every time I did, Park and Melvin would laugh themselves silly at me.  

“Stop it!” Park said, “I’m laughing so much I don’t have the strength to swim! I’m going to drown from laughing!”

 “Seriously,” Melvin said, finally, and swam over next to me. “Just watch.” He turned onto his back. “Take a deep breath, and turn over to your back, let your ears go under the water, and completely relax like you’re going to lie down. Forget about swimming. Just take a deep breath. Imagine that the water is going to hold you the same way a bed would.” 

I was up a little past my waist and I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly lid back into the water, not thinking about swimming, or going under…and to my surprise I began to float somewhat. 

“Just slowly kick your legs, extend your arms out, and every now and then, when you let out air and start to sink a bit, give yourself a push backwards with your hands against the water.” 

I did as he told me, moving my legs in an easy fashion, and pushing against the water when I started to sink. And to my own shock I found myself swimming on my back. Not as relaxed and well as Melvin and Park, but a darn sight better than I was before. Even though my ears were under the water, I could still hear the muffled whoops from them as I glided backward. It wasn’t until my head hit the edge of the concrete pool that I realized that weren’t yelling in support, but trying to warn me. 

At first, there was no sight, but I could hear my heartbeat. Then I looked up and could see that Melvin had me in his good arm and was carrying me to the edge of the pool. He had a worried expression on his face as he looked down at me, and then the sound came rushing back in and all I could hear was him saying “Dad, Dad!” over and over. It was the first time in my life I had ever been in my son’s arms like a child, and even thinking about it now, chokes me up. I had carried him as a little boy to bed like that when he fell asleep watching Trailer Park Boys reruns on Netflix with me, more times than I can remember, so to think about him carrying me in the same way, not asleep per say, but unconscious, hits me hard. Everything comes full circle don’t it.

I had a lump like an egg on my head for most of the evening. The dangerous part was that it had knocked me out underwater. Melvin had me out of the water though, before I had a chance to get any in my lungs. Everyone got a scare, so the swimming was over for the day. I felt bad like I had ruined the fun, but everyone said they were just happy I was okay. Even Dan got out of the water. 

                                                    _________________________

  After a few more walktalks, Melvin and I came to an agreement on the money, and the whole situation. It was a long weekend, so I didn’t have to fly home until Monday. He took me down near the border, as far as the military would allow us. He said he saw jets carpet bombing across the river six months before, but that was the closest action to the border that he saw. There were always immigrants trying to cross the Detroit River, but they were always brought back again by the Canadian military. Melvin had a friend in the army, William, who said he saw some kind of robot dog drown a guy who was trying to swim across the river one day. 

“So William said him and his platoon was patrolling the shoreline one day,” Melvin said, “shootin the shit, when they see some maga swimming like a champ across the Detroit river. In October. Imagine! He said he must have been some kind of professional because he was doing the butterfly like a pro. Then he said, off in the distance, they can see this black cylindrical thing about the size of a can of beans just peeping out of the water, about a thousand feet behind him and closing in. It was the head of a Mekdog, but they didn’t know Mekdog’s could float, let alone swim. This one must have had an airbag in its guts or something, but make no mistake, it was swimming. And fast. As good as the maga was, the Mekdog was closing in. So they’re all screaming at him to keep swimming, keep swimming, like his life was depending on it…well, because it was. Some of them are at the edge of the wharf, ready to haul him out of the water. Two of them have their rifles up because no kind of American military arsenal is allowed across the border, which is in the center of the river. The first guy takes aim – pop -misses. The second guy takes aim -pop- misses. Hitting a Mekdog’s black head, that’s really no bigger than a small can of beans, while it’s moving at about 10 knots through the waves, is no easy task. So they’re all screaming, guys are shooting and missing over and over. They keep coaxing the guy on, even though they know they’ll probably end up bringing him back across the river, but like I said, as good of a swimmer as the guy is, he isn’t good enough. The Mekdog catches up and doesn’t shoot him, or electrocute, or stab, or anything like that. It just reaches out its front mechanical paws, if you can call it that, and hugs him from behind. Those things probably weigh about a hundred-and-fifty pounds, so he didn’t have a prayer. William said he didn’t scream or anything. When the dog hugged him, he just moaned “fuck!” That was it. Then the Mekdog let out some air and sank about a foot under the water, still holding the maga. They can see his face because they were about ten feet above him on a wharf. They were watching him drown while the dog just held on to him. Someone took a shot and blood clouded the water. William said he didn’t know if it was a pity shot so the guy could die quickly instead of drown, or if his partner had actually tried one last time to end the dog. He didn’t ask either. No one did. But when they saw the blood, and realized the guy was dead anyway, they all opened fire. And the maga and the dog sank to the bottom, with the dog still holding him.” 

That was the story anyway. God only knows how much his buddy might have exaggerated it.  

Canada’s “bilateral agreement” with the Republic doesn’t allow any illegal immigrants in. That's the reason smugglers get in so much trouble. It’s more about politics than law. 

I didn’t have to ask Melvin if he was sure he could do it, because I knew he could. He was never his father’s son, as they say. Although his mother didn’t have nerves of steel either, so I don’t know where he got it. Speaking of her, I was due for another talk. She wasn’t going anywhere. Sometimes, for hours at a time, I forgot she was dead, and go about my business like everything was like it always was, then it would hit me in the chest that she wasn’t waiting for me at the house, that when I went in the door with Dan, it would be as empty as I left it. What a lonely feeling that is. It would be nice to have Melvin around, even if we did drive each other off our palms. Park came by probably more than most grandsons at that age, but it still wasn’t the same as someone living there, waiting for me. I was almost looking forward to the magas.