— The girl I told you about, said Billy. Emily. She plays the piano.
Billy played piano across the dashboard.
— So we’re going to church, said Pete. Jesus. I thought after I quit all that craziness at my stepdad’s church that I wouldn’t have to go any more.
— I’m being supportive is what I’m doing. It’s what you have to do to keep the good ones.
— Okay … But if these people start talking in tongues, I’m leaving.
Pete had never been inside the United Church before. They parked across the street and they smoked a little bit of dope first. Then they went through a set of heavy oak doors and up a carpeted stairway into the church entryway. Pete was uncomfortably conscious of the hush around him. They found their way into the sanctuary and wandered between the empty pews. He did not quite know what to conclude about where he was. Galilee Pentecostal Tabernacle, where Barry preached, was an entirely modern building. The sanctuary at Galilee was almost like a concert hall or theatre. Here, in the church, the sanctuary was dimly lit and old-fashioned. It felt rigid, somehow.
Before long, a tight-browed woman in a beige pantsuit appeared behind them, wanting to know were they looking for somebody. They told her they’d come for the music recital. Billy added that they weren’t there to steal bibles or anything. She gave them a doubtful look but she led them out of the sanctuary, past some offices, and finally to a banquet hall in the basement. There were four dozen classroom chairs arranged in the hall, facing a riser where a microphone and a piano and a music stand were arranged. Billy poked Pete in the ribs and pointed at the piano. Around them, most of the seats were already taken up. Families. Pete saw a mother holding a wad of Kleenex to her child’s nose.
He and Billy took two of the seats at the rear.
— So where is she? said Pete.
— I don’t know, she’s here somewhere. She’s small, man.
The woman in the pantsuit stepped onto the riser. She tapped the microphone and the scattered conversations around the hall went quiet. She said she was happy to welcome them to the September recital. The young musicians they were about to hear were all just really terrific. The three adjudicators were members of the regional board of the Christian Musicians Association, whose mission, for those who didn’t know, is service to the Lord through good deeds, good words and musical talent. After the introductory remarks, an elderly woman in thick orthopaedic shoes came onto the riser and sat at the piano.
— So that’s your girl, said Pete.
A man a few seats up turned around and looked at them over the top of his glasses.
The first performer was a girl of about fourteen. To the pianist’s accompaniment, she played the flute-six or seven minutes of what they had been told was a concertino. She was very good. Next up was an adolescent boy who was indelicately carrying a violin and a bow. He was trembling and grinning frantically. The old pianist led him in with a slow piece. Pete thought he remembered it from the term of music class that he’d taken, but he couldn’t recollect the name. Something by Bach or Mozart or some other long-dead composer. The boy drew the bow across the violin strings and a dreadful squeal of sound came forth.
— Oh shit, said Billy.
The boy shook, struggling through the piece. Every note cut like glass. Heads about the room lowered and people studied the floor.
— If I had my.22 here, I’d put him out of his misery.
— Shut up, Billy.
When the boy finished, he held his violin in one hand and the bow in his other hand and bowed stiffly from the waist. People applauded politely. A fat woman in a paisley dress stood up and clapped with furious resolve and looked around grimly. The boy ran off the riser and took the seat next to her.
Billy poked Pete in the ribs. He was gesturing.
A girl was standing up from one of the seats near the front. She was small. Pete could see nothing of her face. She walked with her back straight and her dark hair in a simple cascade, catching the light, down her shoulders. She had to tap the old pianist on the shoulder. The pianist gaped at her, startled, and then exited the riser. The girl sat down on the bench.
— What do you think? said Billy.
— What do I think? I think she looks respectable.
— I know. Wait till you meet her.
The girl’s hands hovered over the keys for a moment, as if she was collecting herself, and then her hands moved down and she began to play. The tempo of the piece quickened, slackened, quickened again. She was playing from memory for there was no sheet music before her. Pete thought he could listen to the piece for a long time. Maybe it was the dope they’d smoked but maybe it was something more. He thought how not every feeling should be explained away. And when the girl had finally finished playing, and people were clapping, he was aware that it was over.
The girl traded off with the old pianist again. Two more acts followed, forgotten as soon as they finished, and then came the intermission.
They hung around the corridor outside the banquet hall and Billy told Pete about how he’d met the girl. There were three high schools in town. There was a small Catholic French high school called Sacre Coeur. There was Northside Secondary, where Pete had gone before he’d quit, and where most of the out-of-town kids came by bus. And there was Heron Heights, in town, where Billy said Emily had just started grade twelve. Billy had been at Heron Heights with the Northside lacrosse team, playing an exhibition game, the first of the season. He said he’d noticed Emily sitting with her friends in the stands nearby. After the game, Billy had thought she’d gone, but later, when he was coming out of the change room, he saw her in the corridor. He said he’d gone up and talked to her a little bit, and since then they’d been on a couple of dates. He was agreeable with just about everybody, but he was bold as well. Pete envied much about him.
— Hey, you.
They turned and saw her coming towards them. She walked with cool poise.
— That was great, said Billy. The piano playing. I didn’t have any idea you could do that.
— Thank you. I practised that one for a long time. I didn’t think you were coming. If I’d known you were here, I might have been nervous.
She reached out and took Billy’s hand, then asked if he was going to introduce her to his friend.
— This is Pete.
— Hey, Pete. I’m Emily Casey.
— Hey, said Pete. What kind of music was that?
— It was a waltz, said Emily. Chopin.
— Well whatever, said Billy. It was great as hell. Anyway, when you’re done here, you want to come with us? We’ve got a case of beer in the car.
— I can’t, said Emily. I’m here with my family. But I’ve got some time in the week. And next weekend my friend Nancy might have some people over.
They would have talked more but just then a man appeared in the corridor behind them, some distance away. He was a slim man. Collared shirt and tie. The man was simply standing there, not moving towards them, but all the same Pete felt himself scrutinized. He occupied himself by examining some outreach tracts in a rack on the wall.
— Emily, said the man.
She gave the man a little wave, turned back to Billy, and said: That’s my dad.
— The cop, said Billy, his voice low enough that Emily’s father couldn’t hear him.
— Yes. Anyway, call me.
She withdrew as coolly as she’d arrived, going through the doors of the banquet hall with them watching her, and her father watching them.
The case of Labatt made a full revolution of locations before it was opened. They ended up back at Billy’s brother’s apartment, where they smoked more dope and drank beer. Billy and his brother sat on the couch with their guitars and spent some time disagreeing over what song to play. Billy’s brother had married just out of high
