Monday, December 19, 2005

SOURCES ROAD, PQ


Mr. Hartford’s Headaches
(Dec 19/05)
Mr. Hartford got these terrible headaches from being in the war. He stayed inside most of the time, reading Popular Mechanics and Reader’s Digest. Sometimes you could see him through the front window, pacing back and forth in front of the television set, mumbling to himself and holding his head in his hands. Mr. Hartford’s wife, Mrs. Hartford, worked as a seamstress and did sub work at the local deli when the regular cashier got sick or wanted a day off. Mr. and Mrs. Hartford had two children, boys; John was a little younger than me, and Steven was a few years younger than his older brother John.
One day we tricked John into my friend’s garden shed then tied him spread-eagle to an old door my friend’s father had stored there until he figured out what to do with it. Then we turned the door upside down, left, and locked the shed door behind us. We left John there upside down tied to the door until we couldn’t bear to listen to him cry anymore. Steven never seemed to be right in the head, as they referred to it back then, and ran round in circles in their driveway or on the front lawn that Mr. Hartford had to mow because her husband was busy having headaches and mumbling to himself. Or reading Popular Mechanics or unbound editions of Reader’s Digest that came in the post in brown wrapping paper and scotch tape. One day I watched in amusement, I guiltily admit, as Steven raced out the front door, onto the driveway, pulled down his pants, and crapped on the asphalt. I could see his father pacing in the living room, a Reader’s Digest in his hand, and Mr. Hartford hemming up a pair of someone else’s trousers.
John got married to a local girl he’d met at summer school, and moved as far away as he could from his childhood home. Last I heard he had two children of his own, one boy and one girl, and worked as a tool and die maker. Steven stayed with his father after Mr. Hartford left, and the two of them would read Popular Mechanics and Reader’s Digest to each other in lawn chairs they positioned in the backyard facing the fence and the traffic on the back road that separates Pointe Claire from Dorval.

No comments:

About Me

My photo
"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz
Powered By Blogger

Blog Archive