Ginger

Here we are, Ralph thought. Here in this strange place. He looked around in wonder. The snow was falling, freezing his lashes together; he couldn't feel his legs. He rubbed his hands together and said, "Well, here we are."

Kathleen turned her head. She was bundled in a parka and couldn't see past the hood. She peered out at him through fogged glasses. "Are we?"

"It sure feels like it."

"Let's go home," she said.

"Come on." He thumped her on the back. "Buck up. They have furnaces for a reason!"

"Let's go home," she said.

"This is home. Come on, let's get a cab."

---

Seventeen blocks down 82nd avenue, down and down until Kathleen couldn't think. Her brain seemed to be frozen, numbed from the cold. The driver kept talking but she couldn't bring herself to answer. Ralph was managing nicely without her.

"Kinda chilly, eh?"

"Eh," Ralph repeated with a grin. "Just great."

"Nah. It'll warm up in a few days."

"Will it?" His voice betrayed how little he liked the weather. Kathleen would have rejoiced if she hadn't known his optimistic behaviour. There was no getting out of this now.

The driver was checking back to make sure everyone else was going even slower than he was. He changed lanes, cautiously. "Pretty slick out there."

"The roads or you?" Ralph tried to smile at his weak joke.

"Just the roads. Sheer ice."

"Can you handle okay?"

"People are careful when it snows like this."

"I'm surprised at all the brick."

"They like to keep Whyte looking nice."

"No igloos, though."

"I wouldn't know about that. Never seen one."

"Never?"

"Not-a one."

"And it's not always so cold?"

"Mostly, this time of year. But not so snowy."

"Huh." Ralph thought about this. "I'm surprised."

"You never been here?"

"Not on my life. I got transferred up, work, you know, and drag the wife along…" Ralph patted Kathleen's knee, or what there was of it under snow pants and coat. She shivered.

"Just don't make me leave the house."

"You'll get used to it soon enough." The driver was almost as bad as Ralph, and even more talkative. She scowled out the window. "Here you go. Thirty-two sixteen, please."

Ralph grinned again, rummaging in his pocket. "Cheap. Dead cheap. Buck up, girl. We're living the life."

She didn't answer, got out of the car and slammed the door shut. The driver came out too, to help them unload the baggage. Then he slammed the trunk shut and drove away. Kathleen stood looking up at the apartment.

"It's small," she said.

"Look, it's sitting on a bakery. You won't have to leave after all. And there – see that there?" He wrapped an arm around her waist and turned her reluctantly around. She gasped.

"Ralph, let go, I'm right in the wind."

"But look, a grocery store! Blockbuster! Everything we need right on the block!"

"Starbucks," she said, spotting it down the street.

"Starbucks! Safeway! International Cheeses!" He was turned back around. "Let's get inside, I'm freezing."

The building was old. They dragged their luggage up to their rooms, Ralph rummaging in his pocket for the key. "Whew."

Kathleen wrapped her arms around herself and moaned. "I don't think I'll ever be warm again."

"What! After that haul? You're in better shape than I."

"I'm chilled, chilled to the bone." She warbled her voice and huddled deeper in her coat, so that he laughed and grabbed her again.

"Kathy, dear," he said. "Will you do me a favour?"

She pulled her head back and tried to wiggle out of his grip enough to spit out a mouthful of hair. "Ech. What?"

"Open the door for me. The key is stuck."

---

Two weeks later the snow was gone. Kathleen stood looking out in dismay.

"It's all brown. And dirty. And dark."

"What?" Ralph stuck his head out of the bathroom, razor in hand, shaving cream smeared across his chin.

"You're dripping on the floor, get back in there!" She crossed the room to shove him through the doorway. "I said it was brown and dirty and dark."

"That's what happens when there's clouds."

"Yes, but – here it's – darker."

"You're crazy." He swiped at his face with a towel. "I think it's nice."

She sighed. "I have to run over for some ginger if we're going to have that stir fry."

"All right. See you."

She stood behind him in the mirror. "See you."

He shut the door behind her.

Once she was outside it didn't seem so gloomy, though the sun was sinking at four o'clock. The street was crowded on a Saturday, jostling under the shops. Warm air floated out from open doors. Inside the store was packed, and the lines were long. She was in no rush, enjoyed peering around at the people standing by her, flipping through magazines or staring off into space. She felt a poke in her ribs from behind and spun around.

"Sorry." The man behind her tried stepping back to keep his shopping basket from jabbing her again. The woman behind him gave him a good-natured push as he stumbled into her, and he turned his head. "Sorry," he said again, "all I can do today is run into people."

"Sure," said the woman. Kathleen was watching him.

"Do you live here? I've seen you."

He turned back, flipping his ponytail over his shoulder and baring his teeth sarcastically. "Right here. I was just heading to bed." He gestured toward the check-out counter.

"Are you on Whyte, though?"

"Across the street." He tilted his head in the direction of her apartment.

"We must live above you," she said, nodding.

"We?"

"Me and my husband."

He raised his eyebrows. His lids didn't quite lift, still, heavy over dark eyes. There was a tattoo on his neck and his coat was undone. She shivered.

"Aren't you cold?"

"Pardon?"

"Cold, aren't you cold with no hat, or scarf, or…" She folded her gloves around the lapel of her parka. "You must be frozen."

"I'm inside," he said.

"But where are your hat, and scarf, and mitts?"

"I have no mittens," he said, his voice lilting softly over the words. "My hat is in my home. It'll be warm if I ever leave."

"You've gone now."

"Not really. In a sense, perhaps, but –" He trailed off. One of his eyes closed partway in what might have been a wink. "Not really."

The cashier called for the next in line. Kathleen dropped the ginger onto the counter and fumbled for her wallet. "Sorry, I can't seem to find –"

"Here." The man threw down a few bills and his own bag of groceries.

"Oh, no, I couldn't –"

"Buy me a coffee sometime," he said.

The cashier was trying to make out whether to take the money or not. The man nodded to her.

"Hey, Sal," he said. "Run 'em through, will you?"

She smiled. "Sure thing."

Kathleen was biting on her lips. "I really can't –"

"Hey." He stepped around her. "Buy me a coffee, I said. Find me downstairs. We'll call it quits. Let's go."

She walked after him. "What's your name?"

"Schwann."

"Schwann like Szechwan?" She tucked her head in as cold air rushed around her. He waited for her to go through and followed her out. The door swung itself shut.

"Schwann like Theodor."

"Is your name Theodor?" She stared. "No."

"Why not?"

"You're not a Theodor."

"I meant Theodor Schwann the physiologist. As an example."

"What is your name, then?"

"Theodor."

She pulled her hood over her head while they waited for the light. He leaned back against the lamp post with his arms crossed, head tilted back to watch her wrap her scarf around the outside to keep her collar up. "It's five below, honey. You don't need that."

She glared. "You've got to be kidding me."

He spread his arms in a shrug, his coat open.

"You're sick," she said.

"I live across the road."

"You aren't there yet."

He still wasn't quite smiling. "You're crazy."

"You're sick."

"You aren't from here, are you?"

"What makes you think that?"

"It's five below," he said, "and you're dressed for the Yukon."

"My husband got transferred."

"From where?"

"B.C."

"Ah," he said, drawling now. "The deep south."

"Osoyoos is pretty deep."

"Practically Texas."

She looked around, avoiding him. "Why is this light taking so long?"

"We missed it. Twice. This is number four."

"What!"

"Don't they get winter in the mountains?"

She didn't answer. He repeated the question, and she glanced over grudgingly. "We go south."

"Even farther," he said, disbelieving.

"I don't like it here."

"That much I can tell. You're glowering. What say we go that way?"

"We'll just have to come back. The light's orange anyway."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her after him. "We can make it."

"No! Let me go!"

"You're going to get run down if you don't move."

The light was red. The cars honked. She ran.

"They didn't try to run into us!"

"You do come from Texas, don't you," he said, pulling her the other way now. "I hope you don't like Second Cup, now that we've come this far."

"Starbucks is better."

"It isn't, but it's here."

"I need to go home."

"What for?"

"I need to make dinner."

"Drinks don't spoil your appetite."

A pause.

"We can walk with it."

"I don't know."

"Well, I do." He held the door for her and came inside, blowing on his hands.

"You need mitts," she said.

"Don't be stupid."

"I'm not being stupid. When the famine comes and you are dying in the streets, I will look at you and laugh from the comfort of my home."

"Why in hell would I be outside in the middle of a famine?"

"The furnaces will be down."

"An oil famine." He nodded. "Very wise."

"You will suffer and I hope it hurts."

"Likely as not it'll happen in the summer anyway. What do you want?" He took out his wallet.

"I'm supposed to pay."

"You can next time."

"Who says there will be one?"

"I do, you owe me double."

"I'm paying," she said.

"What do you want?"

"Mocha no cream."

"And I shall have coffee black."

"Are you French?"

"What makes you say that?"

"'Coffee black'. That's backward."

"'Mocha cream'." He slid the money across and handed her a mug.

"I said I was paying."

"You were too slow. Drink up."

They went outside.

"Are you French, then?"

"I already told you, I'm German. Schwann."

"You also told me your name is Theodor."

"It is."

"That is a bold-faced lie."

He took his wallet back out and flipped it open. The coffee splashed over onto his palm. "Ouch. Look. Theodor Schwann."

She squinted at it. "That says Bill."

He bent over. "I can't see past your hair."

She tucked it behind an ear and pointed. "There. Bill."

"So it is." He seemed genuinely surprised.

"Liar." She pressed her lips together to stop from laughing, but he pinched her arm and said,

"Come on, you believed it."

"You're a biker, you think I'd believe you were Theodor?"

They stood blowing on their drinks.

"Maybe we should find a bench."

"If I stop moving I'll freeze," he said, looking at her sideways. She walked to the corner. He followed. "I don't have a bike, anyway."

"What?"

"What makes you think I'm a biker?"

"You have a ponytail and a tattoo."

"Which only bikers do." He grimaced at the rhyme. "Very bad. Here, hold this." He pushed his cup into her hands so that he could zip his jacket and turn the collar up. "There, no tattoo."

"Still a ponytail."

"If only I had a hat!"

"What if I was to disappear?"

"Where did that come from, I wonder?"

"You'd lose over six dollars."

"So I would." He took a thoughtful sip. "And yet, somehow, it doesn't bother me too much."

"Six dollars can buy you a hat and mitts."

"Just think, I could be sitting at home, all alone, with my precious victuals –" He looked around at his feet. "Which I seem to have lost, with mittens on my ears and a hat to keep my fingers warm."

She held up his grocery bag. "I have them."

"Oh, good."

"I need to get going."

"Right on," he said, "your timing is great."

The light was green. They went to the other side.

"Do you wish we'd gone to Second Cup?"

"No. Should I?"

"They are wonderful." He looked inside. "Just across the lane – but they taste so much better."

"You made me go across."

"I know I did, and never have I made a worse mistake. I was afraid you'd dash off on me if there weren't four lanes of traffic getting in your way."

"Don't be stupid." Caffeine made her irritable.

"Do you want a candy cane? I have one in my pocket."

She didn't answer. He dropped his cup in the garbage. They walked on in silence, he pulling at his sleeve, she at her hat. She studied him thoughtfully.

"Are you alone?"

"Right now?"

"At home, I mean."

"I suppose you could say that."

"You aren't celebrating alone, though?"

"I don't know. I might."

"You don't have family here?"

He grunted.

"What is that?"

"That's a no. Not really."

"Will you come visit us? Upstairs? It's just us, we don't know anyone yet."

"I don't want to –"

"Yes you do."

"No, I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"I don't –" He stopped. "I don't know."

"That's not what you were going to say."

"You're nosy," he said.

"I know I am."

"Well, then, why don't you stop?"

"I like to be nosy. I want to know."

They had reached the apartment. "Do you live here? We didn't mix it up?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"All right, then." He unlocked the door and held it open. She stood outside.

"I think you should come."

"We'll see."

"That means no, doesn't it."

"You already owe me. Don't make me up my prices."

"I'll take you out twice. But I want you to come."

"Talk to your husband, I don't imagine he will."

"That's silly. I think you're being very childish."

"I think you're being very nosy. I don't like Christmas. Come in, will you?"

She stamped inside. "You like candy canes."

"Candy canes aren't Christmas, they're a materialistic representation created for the purpose of looping innocent celebrationalists –"

She choked on a laugh. "What a word! Are you Christian, then?"

"Not very."

"I think you should be."

"You think too many things."

"Will you go to mass? On Christmas?"

"Christmas Eve, maybe."

She didn't want to press on, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. "No, you won't. I think you should."

"I said –"

"You lied."

"I'm going upstairs."

"This is getting rather ridiculous, isn't it."

"What's your name?" he asked, finally looking at her.

"Kathleen."

"Kathleen who?"

"Stuart."

"I'll meet your husband sometime, and tell him he's bit off more than he can chew."

"He can chew quite nicely, even if he did dislocate his jaw when he was ten."

"Now why would you tell me that?"

"I felt like I should."

"You're not thinking enough."

"You're a strange sort of person, do you know that? You change your mind every minute."

"I don't see why not."

She exhaled loudly. "Have you decided whether you should go upstairs or not?"

"I'm going to."

"Good. That's a start."

"I thought you were indefinite when I met you. I might have changed my mind on that one too."

"I get louder when I'm happy. Loud people always seem more definite."

"Are you happy?"

"Am I loud?"

He picked up his candy cane, slowly, until it was against his mouth. He peeled back the wrapper. "What the hell. Do you want it?"

"I told you I didn't."

"I don't think you're happy. Go away, Kathleen Stuart. Celebrate your Christmas. But you owe me two more."

"Two more – what?"

"Coffees. What are you going to do with that ginger?"

"Make a stir fry." She was looking at him carefully, unsure.

"I like stir fry," he said.

"That's good to know."

"It's nice. Nice with ginger. Do you want a stir fry? I can make it for you."

She held out the ginger. "Why don't you make it for yourself, Theodor, since you don't like to celebrate with people."

"I like to celebrate. I don't like Christmas."

"That's fine." She held the ginger out to him. "Here, take it. I don't mind."

"It's mine anyway," he said. "If you don't want to take me out –"

"Sure, I will, but have the ginger, go on, I don't want it."

His eyes flickered. "I'm going to go out."

"Go, this time?" She smiled. He ignored her.

"I'm going to take my bag, it's packed. My hat is warm."

"Move out, you mean? What for?"

"I don't like it here."

"Where will you stay?"

His mouth cracked, his smile too wide. "In the street. I'll lie in the gutter beneath your window, so that you can look down at me and laugh."

"Why don't you –"

"Why don't you go upstairs," he said, slowly, "and we can continue this conversation at a later date."

"Do you want the ginger?"

"I'd love the ginger. I'll have it for dinner." He was being sarcastic but she ignored it.

"You can grate it and it's delicious," she said, "you just have to make sure not to –"

"I'd love it," he said, his eyes on the ginger. She had it in her hand, stretched out to him. He picked it up. "Are you sure?"

"Oh, I don't need it," she said lightly. "I have lots of spices."

"All right then. I'll go upstairs."

"And so will I."

"Different floors."

"Different, yes."

"You're sure you don't want any? Positive?"

"Absolutely. I have to eat with my husband. He's never home for dinner."

He turned around and went into the stairwell. She shut the door behind him.

---

Ralph was in the kitchen when she got home. He was managing nicely without her.

"Hello," she said.

"You're right on time. Do you have that ginger?"

She shook her head. "I went for a walk instead. It's warmed up a bit."

"Since it got dark?"

"Yesterday was windier."

"Sure," he said. "We'll just skip this step. Come help me boil the rice, I always make it stick."