The Garneau Block Part 13

"You bet it is, Rajinder," said Jonas. "And if you really want this to be informal and fun, you better sit down too. I can't speak for anyone else, but you're freaking me out."

"Right." Rajinder sat. "Before we begin talking about Fixing It, does anyone have any questions?"

"I have a million questions, Rajinder," said Abby. "But let me just say I love the way you've decorated this floor. It's gorgeous."

"And the music," said Jonas. "Edith Piaf's on my top-five list."

"Thank you both. I am interested in both interior design and French culture."

David Weiss raised his hand. "What is this place?"

"My office."

"The entire thirty-eighth floor of Manulife Place?"

"Yes."

"But it's mostly just art and whatnot."

"I also have a screening room and exercise facilities on the opposite side. There are several studios, for my artists-in-residence. I am currently supporting a painter, an interpretive dancer, and a novelist."

"What do you do, Rajinder?"

"Well, I guess you could say I am a patron of the arts."

"Yes, but what do you do?"

Rajinder turned and looked at Madison. He smiled and Madison smiled, and her face went hot. "Dad, he just told you what he does."

"This makes no sense," said David. "I need another drink."

Rajinder stood up.

"No, sit. I'll get it myself." David started to the bar. "All I meant is I don't understand how you can make money being a patron of the arts. Maybe Abby and I are doing it all wrong, but being patrons of the arts causes no end of credit card debt."

"Worth every penny," said Abby. "Isn't it, Rajinder?"

Madison saw that Rajinder wanted to be careful not to isolate or insult her father. Instead of saying, "Amen!" or "Yes, indeed!" Rajinder simply nodded at Abby. In the chairs nearest Rajinder, Shirley and Raymond sat close. Madison had never seen them like this. First, Raymond crying, and now Shirley squeezing his hand and rubbing the back of his neck and saying, "Shhhh," as though he were an infant.

"Is this about death?" said Raymond, with a drunken tilt on death.

Rajinder paused and then nodded. "It is partly about death, I would say. But you should not be asking me. This is a joint project. I hoped we could meet to discuss ways to rejuvenate and strengthen our block. The Perlitz tragedy has interrupted my life in ways I could not have foreseen. Psychologically, I mean. Perhaps you understand."

Everyone nodded.

"The university annexation proposal, I have known about it since July. Since then, with the help of a lawyer friend, I have researched ways to fight it, apart from the usual pet.i.tions and hearings. But I am getting in front of myself."

"Ahead of myself. That's the phrase."

"Thank you, Mr. Pond."

"Jonas."

"Thank you, Jonas."

"Are there any other questions about me, before we begin?" Rajinder took another sip of wine. "I know a little bit about all of you, I suppose, through observation and some Internet research. You all know each other quite well."

David put his hand up again. "Okay, so maybe I'm thick. But you still haven't really answered my question. Your office is the penthouse of Manulife Place?"

"A long-term lease. It was a bizarre opportunity, a trough in the real estate market."

"And you're a patron of the arts. Great news. You're a hero and a saint. But I'm wondering what you do for money."

Madison shook her head. "Dad, you can't ask that."

"I can't?"

"No." She turned to Rajinder. "Don't answer. It's none of his business."

Rajinder tilted his head. "I am willing to answer. Would you like to hear the story, Ms. Weiss?"

"It's poor manners, on my dad's part. Call me Madison."

"If it were not poor manners, would you like to hear my story?"

She turned and squinted at her father, who shrugged. Then she looked back at Rajinder. Madison enjoyed looking at Rajinder. "Yes."

"Then I will tell it."

37.

the story of rajinder chana, part one Before he began the story of how he came to be a rich man, Rajinder Chana implored his neighbours to fill their plates with brie and asparagus crepes, duck confit, fresh melon wrapped in prosciutto, miniature beef Wellingtons, and crab cakes. He took large spoonfuls of hummus and baba ghanouj, and complimented Abby Weiss and Shirley Wong.

"Garlic is G.o.dly," he said.

Then Rajinder topped up everyone's gla.s.s but for Madison and Jonas. Madison took a can of club soda and Jonas insisted on making his own old-fashioned. As Rajinder hurried through the boardroom, serving his neighbours, Madison tried not to stare at him. Even when Rajinder smiled, his big eyes appeared sad to her. Though she knew it would always keep her from complete happiness, Madison preferred sad men.

"Where should I begin?" said Rajinder. "I should not like to bore you."

"I couldn't imagine being bored here," said Abby.

Everyone else shook their heads. No, they couldn't imagine it either. "Well," said Rajinder, "I am flattered. But believe me, I am a boring man at heart. Until the night of Benjamin Perlitz's death, I do not think I would have been capable of this."

"Of what?" said David.

"Of hosting a gathering."

Jonas lifted his gla.s.s. "Let's call it a party from now on. A toast to Raj, for throwing us a fish fry."

The table was quite wide, so everyone had to stand up and reach in order to touch gla.s.ses. "To Rajinder," they said.

"No, to you, to you," said Rajinder.

"This is a rare thing we got here." Jonas remained standing while his neighbours settled back into their leather chairs. "This is a real community thing, to get together like this."

David pounded the table. "Exactly. And we have to fight to preserve it, or we'll end up spread all over the city and into Calgary. A diaspora. We'll be the Garneau Block diaspora."

"You're picking up what I'm laying down, my friend." Jonas pointed at David and they backed away from their chairs and met for an impromptu hug. "I am laying it down and you are picking it up."

"I'm sorry for that time I called you a filthy sodomite, Jonas."

Jonas slapped David's back and squeezed hard for a moment before they separated. "Those were the early nineties. A lot of people were still in the dark about, you know, being civilized human beings."

Instantly, like a cloud blocking the sun, the mood in the room changed from one of love and drunken frivolity into confusion and embarra.s.sment. No one looked at Jonas and David as the men returned to their chairs. Yes, they were a community, a winning team. But Jonas Pond and David Weiss hugging? Madison knew both men would regret it in the morning.

She turned to Rajinder and smiled. Eventually, everyone turned to Rajinder. He nodded, took a deep breath, and removed the handkerchief from his pocket. With it, he dabbed his forehead.

"I was born and spent my early years in the city of Kapurthala, in the Punjab, close enough to smell the Kanjli wetlands. When I was nine, my parents moved to London, England, where my uncle owned and operated a McDonald's restaurant. Three years later, my father wanted to seize a business opportunity in Edmonton. So we arrived here in February of 1991 and opened a Subway sandwich shop in the west end."

"Can you eat beef?" said David, with a forkful of Wellington.

Madison shook her head. "Dad, please."

"Cows are sacred in India, Maddy. I was just wondering."

"I have chosen not to have religion, Mr. Weiss. So I can eat whatever I like."

"Good on ya, Raj," said Jonas, who seemed to have recovered from the aftertaste of the hug.

Shirley Wong lifted her drink. "Please continue, Rajinder."

"Thank you, Ms. Wong. I promise not to tell the long version of this story. My parents, for the first five years of their lives in Edmonton, did not take vacations. My mother worked during the day and my father worked at night, so they rarely saw one another. In 1996, they hired a manager. And for the first time since their arrival here, in the summer after my initial year of university, we took a family vacation into the Rocky Mountains."

Rajinder smiled nervously and took a sip of wine. Then he took another sip. Just when it seemed he was about to continue the story, he paused for a third sip. "I am sorry."

"You can skip this part if you like, darling," said Abby.

"No, thank you. I am just unaccustomed to telling it. On the highway between Lake Louise and Jasper, a drunk driver turned into us and hit our Toyota directly. My parents were killed and I was in the hospital for a month with several broken bones and a ruptured spleen."

"Your parents were insured?"

"David!" Abby pointed to her temple. "Sorry, Rajinder."

"Heavily insured, yes."

"But not this heavily."

"Not another word, David. Not. Another. Word."

"After my recovery I moved into an apartment in Oliver. I decided not to continue my studies. Instead, I endeavoured to learn about this part of the world. I drove about, and read books, and visited the historic sights and stayed in small-town hotels. I ate a lot of meatloaf and Reuben sandwiches. But this did not make me happy. Nothing made me happy."

"Modern life is a conspiracy against happiness," said Raymond, whose eyes were red and sore from crying. "Death and disappointment and"

"Hush." The gentleness in Shirley's voice had given way to irritation. "Continue, Rajinder, please."

38.

the story of rajinder chana, part two The thirty-eighth floor's sound system went quiet. The residents of the Garneau Block, who had grown accustomed to the haunted Edith Piaf, looked up at the tiny speakers embedded in the hardwood ceiling. Rajinder Chana looked up with them, and waited. Spare piano music and the static of a spinning LP introduced the confident and shaky voice of Charles Aznavour singing "Sa jeunesse."

"Why do you like French music so much, Rajinder?" said Abby Weiss. "Do you have a French girlfriend?"

"I do not have a girlfriend at present. And I cannot explain why I like French music so much. Or French movies or French novels or French food."

David pointed at Rajinder. "French culture is phoney, my Indian compadre. The government pays for it all and censors foreign music, books, and movies. It's practically Soviet."

No one responded to David. Instead, they listened to Charles Aznavour. Madison didn't care how the majesty of Charles Aznavour and "Sa jeunesse" came about. The important thing was it existed. "Perhaps I'm talking too much?" said Rajinder.

No, no no. They all said no.

"Where was I?"

Raymond raised his hand. With a note of fellow-feeling in his voice, he said, "You were orphaned and very unhappy."

"One afternoon in January of 1997, driving south on Highway 2, I stopped in at a restaurant with a teapot on top. What is this place called, the strip of unimaginative restaurants and service stations in Red Deer?"

"Gasoline Alley," said Madison.

"Yes. In this teapot restaurant on Gasoline Alley a man and a woman sat in the booth next to me. The gentleman was having a cellular phone conversation, and since I was bored I listened. He had a ma.s.s of papers in front of him. I felt badly for the woman, because her companion seemed to be rather discourteously ignoring her. They were both agitated. As I began eating my soup, the gentleman ended his call. He said, 'We did not get it.'"

"They didn't get what?" said Jonas.

"Funding. Investment. I continued to eavesdrop and learned the man and womanthey were not marriedwere attempting to expand their oil and gas exploration company. They needed close to a million dollars and they had been soliciting funds from a potential partner, a venture capitalist in Calgary. I listened to them as I ate my soup, and when I finished my soup I asked if I could join them at their table."

Now completely plastered, Jonas flattened his arm on the table and laid his ear on it. "You had a million bucks?"

"Now you are ahead of me."