It was mid October and the skies in Winnipeg were threatening snow. The man spent most of his time in his room at the Hilton. He was hoping that it would not snow because he had a flight back home n a couple of days. The trip had been unwise to begin with. He knew that. He admitted that to himself. But now he was here and he spent most of the time in his room drinking from the fifth of bourbon he had brought along, hoping that the woman would show up and collect the things he had brought. They were her things, after all. Some blouses, some pants, some bras, some panties. One would want these things, he figured. They were personal things. They were useful things, although they were certainly of no use to him and should not be in his closet back home. It was for this reason that he had purchased a ticket and taken the flight to Winnipeg.
I won't see you, she said.
That's all right. They're your things. You will want them.
This was something he was doing from the kindness of his heart. He was returning her property. He had gone to a lot of trouble for her. He was being considerate. Magnanimous. He was a good person. That is what he wanted her to know.
I don't need them, she said. I don't want them. Don't waste your money.
The things were in a large suitcase under a little desk and a bottle of bourbon and one glass were on top of the desk. The room was full of smoke. It was a smoking room. The windows were dotted grayly with endless drops of rain, blandly facing the industrial buildings to the south. It did not seem any longer an interesting, multi-cultural city of quaint restaurants and cafes and coffee spots where people would talk and laugh and touch and later come home to make love and speak of the future. It was grey and wet and cold and tired and droopy. It was a hopeless place.
In the evening, the man went down to the pool on the lower level of the hotel. First he ate dinner in the hotel restaurant. He was the only one there. Then he went down to the pool, and he was the only one there, too.
It seemed somehow improper to get into the pool. It was a very large pool in a very large, very quiet space, the water perfectly placid and unbothered. Parting that water, splashing, making waves seemed a trespass. Every sound echoed back from the far four walls and the man felt like a castaway in the middle of the sea. All he could hear was his own motion, his own breathing. He was amplified a thousand times over, very small and very significant at the same time.
The pool had been a bad idea. Everything had been a bad idea.
I'll just have a vacation then, the man had said. Tour the city. Just me and Winnipeg. I feel I've never really seen it before, never really explored all the possibilities. Just pretend I'm not here. You can pick up your things from the hotel desk at your convenience. Take your time. It means nothing to me. I'm just here to do you a favor. That's just the kind of person I am.
Back in his room, the man poured another drink and lit another cigarette. He opened his laptop and looked for someone to talk to. Everyone was far away. The woman had sent an email. He clicked on the message. Somewhere in the endless unpopulated sea a voice had sounded.
My friend will pick up my things, the message read. 10 am tomorrow morning. Please meet him in the lobby.
That was all. Of course it was.
Please meet him in the lobby.
The man closed the laptop and went to bed. He slept a little. Woke up. Turned on the lights to stop the spinning. Slept some more. At 9 the next morning he left the suitcase with the blouses and pants and bras and panties at the hotel desk and drove his rental car to the city center. He tried to find something to do. He looked for the Winnipeg he had come to see. The Winnipeg he had never seen before. He was just a man coming to see Winnipeg. He bought a bouquet of flowers. Wrote a note that said Sorry. Wish we could have talked. Love you. Sent the flowers to her work address.
Back in his room, he found the suitcase sitting just within. It confused him for a moment, for he had taken it to the lobby, and now it was here. He opened the case and found it empty but for a small card in a red envelop. The card had a bear cub on the front holding a red balloon. In the back of his mind, the man tried to think of whose birthday this was.
You may not believe it, the woman had written on the inside. but I will always be praying for you.
The man threw the card aside. Then he picked it up and read it again. He read it again and again. They were 13 words that both had no meaning and meant everything.
For the first time, in Winnipeg, the man began to cry.
In the afternoon, the snow finally began to fall. Frozen, grainy little specks that played on the oval-shaped windows of the plane like snow on a TV screen. Poor reception.
He could see almost nothing of Winnipeg by the time the plan left the airfield and headed south toward home.
(A friend sent this link to a song about Winnipeg, called "One Great City", which I had never heard. Thanks, Chris. https://youtu.be/xLlsjEP7L-k)
I won't see you, she said.
That's all right. They're your things. You will want them.
This was something he was doing from the kindness of his heart. He was returning her property. He had gone to a lot of trouble for her. He was being considerate. Magnanimous. He was a good person. That is what he wanted her to know.
I don't need them, she said. I don't want them. Don't waste your money.
The things were in a large suitcase under a little desk and a bottle of bourbon and one glass were on top of the desk. The room was full of smoke. It was a smoking room. The windows were dotted grayly with endless drops of rain, blandly facing the industrial buildings to the south. It did not seem any longer an interesting, multi-cultural city of quaint restaurants and cafes and coffee spots where people would talk and laugh and touch and later come home to make love and speak of the future. It was grey and wet and cold and tired and droopy. It was a hopeless place.
In the evening, the man went down to the pool on the lower level of the hotel. First he ate dinner in the hotel restaurant. He was the only one there. Then he went down to the pool, and he was the only one there, too.
It seemed somehow improper to get into the pool. It was a very large pool in a very large, very quiet space, the water perfectly placid and unbothered. Parting that water, splashing, making waves seemed a trespass. Every sound echoed back from the far four walls and the man felt like a castaway in the middle of the sea. All he could hear was his own motion, his own breathing. He was amplified a thousand times over, very small and very significant at the same time.
The pool had been a bad idea. Everything had been a bad idea.
I'll just have a vacation then, the man had said. Tour the city. Just me and Winnipeg. I feel I've never really seen it before, never really explored all the possibilities. Just pretend I'm not here. You can pick up your things from the hotel desk at your convenience. Take your time. It means nothing to me. I'm just here to do you a favor. That's just the kind of person I am.
Back in his room, the man poured another drink and lit another cigarette. He opened his laptop and looked for someone to talk to. Everyone was far away. The woman had sent an email. He clicked on the message. Somewhere in the endless unpopulated sea a voice had sounded.
My friend will pick up my things, the message read. 10 am tomorrow morning. Please meet him in the lobby.
That was all. Of course it was.
Please meet him in the lobby.
The man closed the laptop and went to bed. He slept a little. Woke up. Turned on the lights to stop the spinning. Slept some more. At 9 the next morning he left the suitcase with the blouses and pants and bras and panties at the hotel desk and drove his rental car to the city center. He tried to find something to do. He looked for the Winnipeg he had come to see. The Winnipeg he had never seen before. He was just a man coming to see Winnipeg. He bought a bouquet of flowers. Wrote a note that said Sorry. Wish we could have talked. Love you. Sent the flowers to her work address.
Back in his room, he found the suitcase sitting just within. It confused him for a moment, for he had taken it to the lobby, and now it was here. He opened the case and found it empty but for a small card in a red envelop. The card had a bear cub on the front holding a red balloon. In the back of his mind, the man tried to think of whose birthday this was.
You may not believe it, the woman had written on the inside. but I will always be praying for you.
The man threw the card aside. Then he picked it up and read it again. He read it again and again. They were 13 words that both had no meaning and meant everything.
For the first time, in Winnipeg, the man began to cry.
In the afternoon, the snow finally began to fall. Frozen, grainy little specks that played on the oval-shaped windows of the plane like snow on a TV screen. Poor reception.
He could see almost nothing of Winnipeg by the time the plan left the airfield and headed south toward home.
(A friend sent this link to a song about Winnipeg, called "One Great City", which I had never heard. Thanks, Chris. https://youtu.be/xLlsjEP7L-k)
1 comment:
one great city
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