In the Skin of a Lion - Michael Ondaatje [72]
– This is Patrick.
– I know who it is.
He heard her half-laugh at the other end.
– Who was that who answered the phone?
– A friend. You’ve never met her.
– That’s good.
– She’s sixteen, Clara, I’m looking after her.
– I’m in Marmora. Will you come and get me? Ambrose is dead.
He was silent, lying on his back in a dark room. He knew this room well in the dark. He had been here often.
– You take Highway 7 … are you there? I need help, Patrick.
He could see the swirls in the ceiling.
– Have I been to Marmora?
– It’s four hours from Toronto. It’s supposedly the sled-dog capitol of Ontario. I’m calling from a restaurant. I’ve been here for four hours.
– Four hours! What year is it?
– Don’t be cynical, Patrick. Not now, okay?
– Describe where you are, the place you are standing in. I just need to hear you.
– I’ve been outside, sitting next to one of those artificial negro fishermen you see all over the place nowadays. It was damn cold. I phoned about ten. You were supposed to call back.
– She forgot. She got excited because I brought home a lobster. But now we have goddamn deus ex machina. You’re on the phone. Did Ambrose get shot with a silver bullet?
– He died of natural causes.
– Run over by a sled-dog, was he?
At this he couldn’t stop laughing and turned from the phone. He could hear her voice, tinny in the distance.
– I’m sorry, he said.
– No, that’s probably funny. Want to hear more?
– Yes.
– I’ve read the Marmora Herald pretty thoroughly.
– You’re not carrying a book?
– That’s right. I forgot you’re the man who taught me to always carry a book.… What are you doing?
– I’m lying in the dark. I’ll come and get you, Clara.
– Will you be okay? The girl said you have a broken arm.
– I’ll bring her with me. She’ll keep me awake. She’s very earnest about things like that.
– The kind of woman you always wanted.
– That’s right. She saved my life.
– Are you her father, Patrick?
– What’s the name of the restaurant?
– “Heart of Marmora.”
– Give us about five hours or so. I need a short rest … wait. Are you there?
– Yes.
– I am her father.
He rose and went to Hana’s room. He felt exhausted.
– Who is she, Patrick?
– Hana, I need you to come with me, to drive up to Marmora.
– The sled-dog capitol of Ontario?
– What?… What!
She was beaming.
– She told me, Patrick, when I asked her where the call was coming from. We’re going all the way there to pick her up?
– Yeah.
She stood by the door, watching him, wanting him to say more.
– How the hell did she end up there …
– Was she running away from you?
– I think so … with another man anyway. I need a little sleep first. Wake me in about forty minutes.
– Sure. You going to tell me about her on the drive?
– Yes.
– Great!
When Patrick had come out of prison six months earlier many dissident groups were already voicing themselves within the city. The events in Spain, the government’s crackdown on unions, made the rich and powerful close ranks. Troops were in evidence everywhere. When the last shift left the water-filtration plant the police and the army moved in to guard it. Military tents bivouaced on the rolling grounds. There were soldiers on the roofs and searchlights dipped now and then along the waves of the lake, protecting against any possible attack from the direction of the lakeshore. While most public buildings were guarded, the waterworks was obsessively watched – partly because of the warnings of Commissioner Harris, who reminded officials that the Goths could have captured Rome by destroying the aqueducts which led into the city. Cutting off the water supply or poisoning it would bring the city to its knees.
Harris saw the new building as a human body. For him there were six locations where it could be seriously crippled – the raw water pumps, the Venturi