“Do you like living here?”
“I’ve never lived anywhere else. But this room is wonderful. Honestly, I used to sleep under the kitchen table. That’s where the children go. I never had a room when I was little. I would build myself a nest like a little dog. We all did. We even slept with the dogs if we were lucky. They were warm. We usually slept in each other’s arms. When our breath was the same we all fell asleep. When I got to my own room, it was the best day of my life.”
“I won’t stay any longer then.”
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean it that way. I would love for you to stay.”
“Why is that?”
“You are the most intriguing person I have ever met wandering around the Squalid Mile. There is a character from a book just walking about, I thought as soon as I saw you. And then I discovered you are a writer! You must stay awhile.”
There was the sound of shouting and screaming coming from below. It sounded as though a man was being forcefully ejected from the brothel. George didn’t seem to notice at all. The screaming moved to the street. Sadie couldn’t help but go see what it was. George got up to lean out and look with her.
There was a young prostitute with her breasts hanging out yelling at a man who was scurrying off. “That is not right. Come back and I’ll kill you with my bare hands. And what are the rest of you looking at? Do you think looking at my bubbies is free, do you? Well, let’s see how many of you pay to come to see them this week. The memory of them is going to cost you everything you have. I’ll see you soon. I’ll take your whole paycheck to see my pussy.”
“She’s going to be famous that one. When they are full of life and arrogant, they do very well for themselves.”
CHAPTER 24
Marie Antoine Strikes Back at the World
The foreman stopped outside Marie Antoine’s house in the summertime. He hadn’t been to visit in quite some time, not since Marie’s father had died. He was quite used to wealthy women having nervous breakdowns. But nothing he had witnessed had prepared him for the state the maids were in. A girl wearing a white shift dress with a black butler’s tailcoat over it opened the door.
“Right this way, sir,” she said with a slight Caribbean accent. Then she walked away without taking his hat or his jacket. And he was entirely unsure whether he was supposed to follow her or not.
He stepped over a pile of dog shit. There was a Great Dane walking around. It disappeared behind the corner like a sinister creature.
There was a group of maids sitting at the table playing cards. One of the girls was in her undergarments. She screamed and jumped up and ran out, to the amusement of the other maids.
He inquired after Marie. They looked at him quizzically, as though they had no idea who in the world he might be looking for.
“She doesn’t see guests anymore. Who let you in here anyhow?”
“I’m here to speak about the Antoine factory.”
“Well, look around for her then.”
“Ask Sarah to fetch her.”
“Sarah!”
The girl who had answered the door came running back in. She stopped in front of the man and put her arms akimbo. “I did say right this way, sir!”
Marie was sitting on a completely destroyed couch in a large room. She was wearing a beige dress that looked as though it was desperately in need of a wash. Her hair was down and there was a white flower in it that looked as though it had been stuck in there a day before or so and had been forgotten. She put her hand out to see his proposed changes. She read through them carefully for twenty minutes. At no point did she tell him to sit, nor did Sarah, who was perched on the arm of the couch reading over Marie’s shoulder with one leg swinging back and forth, offer him a chair.
He imagined it was some sort of production that Marie, for whatever reason, was pretending to read the documents.
The Great Dane walked in and curled into a ball at Marie’s feet. It resembled a large piece of driftwood that had settled on the beach. Marie raised one of her feet and placed her boot on the back of the dog as though it were an ottoman. He saw her stockings that were white and, although expensive, covered in runs.
When she was done, she handed over the documents. And she stared at him with a look of intelligence he hadn’t been expecting at all. It threw him off, making him immediately terrified about what he had done. He had never seen such a look, except on the face of a young girl at the factory who demanded to see Mr. Antoine after she lost a finger. And the two girls looked remarkably alike.
“I’m not going to sign these.”
“No,” he answered. “Of course not.”
He opened his mouth as though to say something else, to try to make an excuse to camouflage what he had actually done. But then he immediately realized it was futile. And he bowed his head.
“I will leave now, then.”
He waited for a brief second for Sarah to show him to the door but then realized that was not going to happen. He walked out of the house. As he rattled in the back of the carriage, the only thing he wanted was to go back to being the man he was when he had woken up that morning.
* * *
Marie didn’t think anything of her visit from the foreman until two weeks later. A cold glass of water was tossed on her melancholia, waking her up. There was an attempt at a hostile takeover by a competing sugar company. It was one in Toronto. The foreman had gone to them, saying Marie was weak and now was the time to make their move. Marie couldn’t believe this had happened.
She was disappointed with herself for not seeing it coming. She knew no one would come to her aid. The world would use her depression to take advantage of her. They had come to finish her off. She regarded the factory and everyone in it as being against her. She considered the factory workers had hoodwinked her as much as the managers had.
* * *
She fired the foreman and had the secretary from the office at the factory come to her house during the day instead. The secretary understood the workings of the factory perhaps better than anyone. Although nobody actually gave her any credit or due. She had been working in the office since before Marie had been born.
She had pens and pencils stuck in the bun of her hair on her head. She had a habit of sticking them in there when she was working and then forgetting altogether they were up there. By the end of the day she looked like a sculpture of a crowned Virgin Mary or a porcupine.