Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland

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1982. The windows face the mountains - the apartment receives no direct sunlight except for maybe two minutes at sunset on the longest day of the year. This is not an apartment in which fresh vegetables are consumed. It smells like a dead spice rack. The August heat brought out the full aroma of the furniture - homely crappy stuff Reg kept, nay, demanded to keep, after he and Mom split: a brown plaid recliner aimed at a TV inside an oak console like they used to give away on game shows. On a cheap colonial kitchen table was a box of insurance documents; a half-eaten can of Beef-a-Roni and a spoon lay on the floor where I guess he fell. Jesus, how depressing. The bedroom is where the good stuff ought to have been, at least that's what I'd hoped. Again, dark furniture left over from his split-up with Mom, and all of it too big for the room. On his dresser top was a blue runner, on which stood framed photos, yellowed and bleached, of him, Mom, Kent and me. I remember when each photo was taken - the sittings were torture; it was simply weird that he had photos of Mom and me there. Kent sure, but me? And Mom? His bed was queen-sized. If he'd had a twin bed, it would have been so bleak I'd have had to flee. I went and sat down on his preferred side, which smelled of pipe tobacco, smoke and dust. There was an olive rotary phone, a can of no-name tonic water and an aspirin bottle. What would be in the two drawers beneath it - girlie mags? A salad bowl filled with condoms? No. He had Bibles, Reader's Digest Condensed Books and clipped newspaper articles. Oh, to find something human like an escort service card or a gin bottle to go with the tonic, but no. Just this garage sale jumble, all of it so blank, so totally anti-1999 as to evoke thoughts of time travel back to, say, North Platte, Nebraska, circa 1952. The thought of my silent, sour-faced father walking from room to room - rooms in which phones never ring, where other voices never enter -it almost broke my heart, but then I realized, Wait a second, this is Reg, not some monk. Also, before I take too much pity on him, I ought to note how much his place is like my place. I fetched the items on the list: pajamas, T-shirts, underwear, socks, and so on. The contents of his dresser were all folded and color-coded as if waiting for inspection by some cosmic drill sergeant on Judgment Day. I grabbed his bottles of old people's medications, a toothbrush and contact lens gear and headed for the front door where, passing a little side table, I came close to missing a photo of my father with a woman - an ample and cheery woman - in a pink floral dress. His arms were around her shoulders, and, alert the media, there was a smile on his face. The heart of a man is like deep water. * * * I've been writing these last bits in a coffee shop. I'm now officially one of those people you see writing dream diaries and screenplays in every Starbucks, except if you saw me writing, you'd maybe guess I was faking some quickie journal entries to hand my anger management counselor. So be it. Around three I went to the hospital with the white plastic Save-On shopping bag full of Reg's personal needs. In the building's lobby I had the choice of dumping it at the desk or asking what room my father Page 54
was in. What came over me? It was nearly eleven years since I'd last spoken with him, me shouting curses while he lay on the blue rug at the old house with his shattered knee. We hadn't spoken at Kent's wedding, the funeral or yesterday's memorial. I figured he must have learned something between then and now. The hospital's central cooling system was malfunctioning, and guys in uniforms with tool kits were in the elevator with me. When I got off on the sixth floor, I was invisible to the staff, while the air-conditioning guys were treated like saviors. I found Reg's room. The odor outside it reminded me of luggage coming onto the airport carousels from China and Taiwan - mothballs, but not quite. I had a short moment of disbelief when I was outside the door and technically only a spit away from him. Yes? No? Yes? No? Why not? I went in — a shared room, a snoring young guy with his leg in a cast near the door. On the other side of a flimsy veil lay my father. "Dad." "Jason." He looked awful - bloodless, white and unshaven - but certainly alert. "Here's your stuff . . . the hospital asked me to get it." "Thank you." Silence. He asked, "Did you have trouble finding anything?" "No. Not at all. Your place is pretty orderly." "I try and run a tight ship." I shivered when I thought of his hot dusty lightless hallway, his mummified TV set, his kitchen cupboards laden with tins and packets and boxes of rationlike food, and his cheapskate lifestyle, in which not tipping some poor waitress is viewed more as a way of honoring God than of being a miser with one foot in the grave. I held out the bag. "Here you go." "Put it on the window ledge." I did this. "What did the doctor say?" "Two cracked ribs and bruising like all get-out. Maybe some cardio trauma, which is why they're keeping me here." "You feel okay?" "It hurts to breathe." Silence. I said, "Well, I ought to go, then." Page 55
Page 1 and 2:
Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Couplan
Page 3 and 4: house was quiet - not even a clock
Page 5 and 6: I said, "Let's talk about it at hom
Page 7 and 8: Dear God, Remove the blood from the
Page 9 and 10: My family didn't know what to make
Page 11 and 12: Dear God, What's hardest here is th
Page 13 and 14: The important thing is that we were
Page 15 and 16: only indicate Your absence - that f
Page 17 and 18: outfits must have made us look all
Page 19 and 20: And I did have questions and uneasy
Page 21 and 22: late into the game, I think." "What
Page 23 and 24: didn't hurt, the shooting, and I di
Page 25 and 26: someone who spends her days deliver
Page 27 and 28: ecame ghosts. The only thing that c
Page 29 and 30: It's a bit later again, still here
Page 31 and 32: on a locker's ventilation slits. "L
Page 33 and 34: turned around to me and said, "You
Page 35 and 36: their badge. Another cop looked at
Page 37 and 38: myself reflected in the one remaini
Page 39 and 40: * * * Like anyone, I've seen those
Page 41 and 42: I sat down, while Mom gave Joyce a
Page 43 and 44: Mom said, "Didn't you hear me?" Dad
Page 45 and 46: "Stick a potato in it. Your job, by
Page 47 and 48: "Barb?" "Go now. Because I'll break
Page 49 and 50: the water, and here I am now in my
Page 51 and 52: My main memories of those two weeks
Page 53: Just don't screw your life up the w
Page 57 and 58: I changed the subject. "How long ar
Page 59 and 60: In the third week after the massacr
Page 61 and 62: don't, and they all work so hard -
Page 63 and 64: Alive! friends look forward to the
Page 65 and 66: But I was going to say that when it
Page 67 and 68: "Tell me." "He said, 'Who are we to
Page 69 and 70: "I've heard of that. More for me, t
Page 71 and 72: I dropped the rock onto a nearby bo
Page 73 and 74: But I hadn't killed Yorgo. I stoppe
Page 75 and 76: * * * I'm in a Denny's in North Van
Page 77 and 78: "No. Just you." I was confused. I h
Page 79 and 80: have a carry-on bag? So that some c
Page 81 and 82: I was going to motion to the elevat
Page 83 and 84: Saturday afternoon 4:00 I met Jason
Page 85 and 86: Barb's commuting down the coast, an
Page 87 and 88: "Heather, how many people are in th
Page 89 and 90: Okay, Barb's housekeeper will be in
Page 91 and 92: Oh, Heather, you knew it wouldn't b
Page 93 and 94: "I'm driving." "So?" I didn't argue
Page 95 and 96: kitchen table where I picked at the
Page 97 and 98: "Wait. Hold on a minute. When you g
Page 99 and 100: It was becoming windy, and our voic
Page 101 and 102: Oh. So, um - what are you up to lat
Page 103 and 104: "Why did he say, 'Oh, I say'?" "Bec
Page 105 and 106:
first disappeared, but which I've s
Page 107 and 108:
What has happened to me? I've gone
Page 109 and 110:
In my peripheral vision I'm also no
Page 111 and 112:
sweater and readying my purse. "Oh,
Page 113 and 114:
morning jobs, and he clocked out ea
Page 115 and 116:
Tuesday afternoon 3:00 I was eating
Page 117 and 118:
"No, I'm not." And he wasn't. Reg h
Page 119 and 120:
"Five thousand dollars." "I figured
Page 121 and 122:
existence. This is when I felt the
Page 123 and 124:
"How could Allison have known such
Page 125 and 126:
Okay then, what did happen? I follo
Page 127 and 128:
Five years ago, before I met Jason,
Page 129 and 130:
Allison didn't like this. "Oh, real
Page 131 and 132:
I was appalled. "How could you use
Page 133 and 134:
eating an egg salad sandwich, when
Page 135 and 136:
We were in the Keg at the foot of L
Page 137:
But I haven't lost you, my son. No
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