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By Root 627 0

and Avery's story of his father swimming in the cold lakes of Scotland and Northern Ontario. It was William Escher's ceremony and it never varied. He waded in slowly – ankles, knees, hips – all the while calling out to Avery, who waited on the shore: “I'm not going in! It's too cold, I'm not going in!” until he was up to his chin, still calling out, “I'm not going in!” and then plunging his head under water. Avery watched as the body-wake of his strong arms and legs led to the spot in the middle of the lake where his father's head would reappear, shouting, “I'm not going in! It would be lunacy to swim in such cold water!” Jean thought about Avery's boy-body in the lake up to his knees, watching, shivering in his bathing trunks, while his father opened the lake with his arms. And she thought about Avery remembering that story in the hospital, sitting next to his father when all the tubes had been taken out. “I'm not going in, I'm not going in.”

– What are you doing?

Jean jumped.

– Do I have to be afraid of you? the man said, pointing to her glowing trowel. Are you a madwoman? Don't you know this is public property?

Now Jean could see he was amused. He was large – tall and bulky. He was older than Jean, but she could not tell by how many years. He wore paint-smeared overalls and a tool-belt with paint brushes. A worker. From one hand dangled a lantern. Though it was now quite dark and the park was empty, Jean, strangely, did not feel afraid. There was paint in his hair, a swath where his hand had pushed it from his face.

When asked a direct question, Jean was usually forthright, a child.

– I'm … planting, she said.

The man took in this information.

– Scilla siberica, said Jean, less firmly.

The man saw that nothing further was forthcoming. He thought a moment.

– Don't you know this is public property? he said again.

Jean quickly gathered her things.

– I'm just leaving.

– Wait, said the man, it's meant to be! Tonight I also broke the law of public property. I was just wishing I had someone to witness it when I saw your little light hopping up and down in the grass like a bird. This guarantees our solidarity!

– For a criminal you're shouting awfully loudly, said Jean. She looked around. She smiled slightly. The neighbours will open their windows and throw shoes at us.

– Shoes. The man nodded. Now that's a serious subject.

Don't be frightened. I've been working hard, he said, and I'd just like to show it to someone. I may not get another chance. Look, we can walk twenty paces from each other.

He moved off, to indicate his good intentions.

He walked through the gate and waited beside the fence of the small carpark, holding the lantern high above his head. He studied the fence, slowly swinging the lamp back and forth in concentration.

Jean saw that what he had painted was not a sterile replica, but had taken its life from the fence itself. The broken boards, knotholes, peeled paint, the stubble of old posters, graffiti, nailheads, cracks, industrial staples, every feature – man-made, weather-made, time-worn – was integrated into the textures and forms of fur, hooves, eyes, horns. In this way not only the animals of Lascaux, but the decrepit fence itself leaped into life. As if the Canadian fence had been waiting for someone to see what was hidden inside it, which happened to be cave paintings from Cro-Magnon Europe. Horses strained against the current of the stream. Bison on thin legs, their eyes wild with the chase. The animals leaped into the light. The work was fast, uncanny. She thought of Matisse: “Exactitude is not truth.”

At last Jean turned to him.

– You're the ‘Caveman’!

He nodded as if his collar was too tight.

– You know me, he said, disappointed.

– Not yet, said Jean.

At that, the Caveman looked happy again.

– There's a café right here, two steps away, he said.

Jean knew the place, though she had never been inside. It was a narrow storefront with a square of cardboard in the window: Coffee, the sign warned, and nothing else.

The Caveman loped meekly ahead, looking back every moment or two