"Thank you for the offer but I will just sleep."

"Maybe I could see Jeanne and Katie sometime."

"I will ask," said Rajinder, quickly, before squeezing the bucket and retching again. "If you will ask the nurses to please knock me out."

53.

hunting On the drive to southeastern Alberta, wearing a fluorescent orange pinafore over a multi-pocketed beige jacket, Jonas learned many things. He learned the p.r.o.nghorn antelope are found nowhere else but the North American prairie. The p.r.o.nghorn is not a "true" antelope, a fact that took so much explaining that Jonas began to daydream about how weird thumbs are, when you really think about them.

The fastest North American mammal? The p.r.o.nghorn. Oh, and if you're looking for one of the prettiest specimens in the world, look no further than the p.r.o.nghorn buck: when the great beast poses on a hillock to attract a doe during mating season, it's enough to bring tears to a hunter's eyes.

Jonas learned diesel trucks are loud, bow hunting is one of man's most resounding challenges, Guns N' Roses is the greatest band in the history of rock 'n' roll, and there are few things more satisfying of a Tuesday morning than stuffng a plug of chewing tobaccoor, as Carlos called it, "a dip o' chew"into the s.p.a.ce between one's gums and cheek.

After several hours of driving, and chewing and spitting, they arrived at a roadside turnoff in a remote area of hilly gra.s.sland south of the Cypress Hills. Carlos hopped out of the truck and, with a hydraulic mechanism, lowered a ramp behind the bed. Then he climbed up on the big red quad, started it, and reversed down the ramp. The bow and arrows were already loaded into a ma.s.sive black container on the back of the quad, along with some tuna sandwiches and Pilsner.

Carlos threw Jonas a helmet. "Are you ready to go kill something?"

Jonas examined the hard black helmet, decorated with snowmobiling stickers and decided this, right now, was the most surreal drug-free moment of his life. "I've come this far based on one of my personal philosophies: say yes to everything."

"Uh-huh." With his helmet on, Carlos looked like a smiling lollipop.

"But chasing an antelope with bows and arrows? This is a really elaborate joke, yes? A s.e.x thing?"

Carlos laughed. "You don't chase a p.r.o.nghorn. They're way too fast. What we'll do is find a good spot, park the quad, and sneak up on a herd. And since you don't have a licence, you're just gonna watch."

"All I'm saying"

"But you'll still get half the meat, once it's butchered."

"You're going to eat it?"

"Of course, Jonas. It's got a sage taste, 'cause they eat sage. I like to make a nice steak pie out of p.r.o.nghorn."

Confronted with the reality of hunting, the helmet and jumping beasts and the verb to butcher, Jonas suddenly felt weak. A gentle wind blew from the west, and the tall wheatgra.s.s swayed. What sound would the animal make as the bow pierced its neck? Would it roar or whine or wheeze, or would it die silently?

"I'll wait in the truck."

"Come on, man."

"This is wrong."

"Wrong? Do you eat meat?"

"Normal meat, yes. Beef, poultry, pork: the big three."

"How do you think those animals die? In pens. Now that's real suffering. These p.r.o.nghorns live free and n.o.ble lives, and I hunt with a bow out of respect for them. If and when I kill one, I eat it."

"What if you shoot one with an arrow and it doesn't die?"

"Well, we track him until he falls and then I kill him." Carlos opened the black compartment on the quad and pulled out a giant knife.

"Hezbollah!"

"Come on, Jonas. Say yes to everything."

"If I do this, you have to come with me to the Robert Lepage opera in February."

"What's that?"

"Bartok and Schoenberg. It's spooky stuff."

"The spookier the better. Put that helmet on."

Jonas climbed on the quad behind Carlos and reached around his torso, to hold on. If he was squeezing too hard, Carlos didn't complain. At the crest of a hill, overlooking a vast field of mixed gra.s.sland, they hit a b.u.mp. Jonas lost his grip and grabbed Carlos's left pectoral muscle.

"Welcome to the jungle," said Carlos.

54.

fear and wonder By mid-October, the winds gather chill air over the Rockies and carry the fallen yellow and red leaves into gutters and corners. Filtered through vegetation and soil whipped up by those winds, the moon rises fat and deep orange. Looking out his east-facing window on the thirty-eighth floor of Manulife Place one clear evening, Professor Raymond Terletsky determined the colour was end-of-the-world.

Though he was thrilled to be working full-time for the Save the Garneau Block Foundation, for the equivalent of his professor's salary, Raymond had not spoken to Shirley in three weeks. He longed for the sound of her voice and the warmth of her legs in bed, her night exhalations.

He had missed their autumn rituals. Not once did he cover the tomato plants on frost nights. He didn't help carry the summer clothes and sandals downstairs to the storage room, and he didn't gather the fall and winter outerwear. When he tried to phone his children in Calgary and Seattle, they didn't pick up. He left messages to no avail.

A knock on the office door interrupted his thoughts. It was Rajinder, his employer and saviour. "I'm leaving now, Raymond."

"See you in the morning."

"How are the plans coming?"

Raymond waved Rajinder to the desk, covered in library books and printed Web pages about small museums. "This is the Studio Ghibli Museum, just outside Tokyo." Raymond gathered a few pages of black-and-white photographs, with j.a.panese characters on the left. "The director, Hayao Miyazaki, opened it to showcase anime and the limitlessness of imagination."

Rajinder held up a photograph of the robot on the roof. "What is this?"

"This is a house of sorts filled with robots, fat cartoon birds, a cat bus, a tiny spiral staircase. It's a distillation of recent j.a.panese culture and ma.s.s delusion. Fantastic and upsetting preoccupations. Fear and wonder."

"I see."

"That's what 10 Garneau should be. If I may be so bold." Raymond walked to the window again, and looked out into the city lights. "Our own anti-museum. I'm talking history, the boomtown culture, gangs and suburbs, oil and immigration, the great river, art and violence, the disturbing nexus of far left and far right politics. Underground energies. Secrets and nightmares and visions. Fear and wonder, Raj. Tomorrow morning I'm having breakfast with a Jungian scholar who's going to teach me all about the collective unconscious of urban Alberta."

One of Rajinder's newest artists-in-residence, a performance poet, began clucking like a chicken in the adjacent office. The clucking increased and soon the poet was jumping and flapping her wings in the hall. "Eat me don't! / Don't eat me! / Me don't eat!"

The poet stopped to make notes and return to her studio, and Rajinder placed the photographs for the Ghibli museum on the desk. "Please speak to this Jungian and write up an initial proposal, one or two pages. We shall organize another meeting to discuss the museum idea."

For dinner, Raymond took his notepad with the African cave art and walked to his favourite restaurant, Hoang Long in Chinatown, where he sat in a tall bamboo chair next to the window and ordered a half-litre of red wine and a small pot of tea.

Raymond listened to conversations around him, in English and French and what he took to be Vietnamese, and he jotted some notes about the Taoists, whose views on death were consistent with their a.n.a.lysis of every unsolvable riddle. Do not worry, Edmonton. Accept death and incorporate it into your life, like autumn winds and shrivelled leaves, the icy hint of winter. Without our winter, we would not long for summer. Without our deaths, we would not appreciate green papaya salad and prawns in coconut curry sauce.

For Tibetans, the transition from life to death allows a distillation of self, a liberation, a rebirth of soul and personality. At the moment of his death, the authentic Raymond Terletsky would be born. This, this was what 10 Garneau had to be: a distillation of Edmonton. An authentic representation of the city, including buffalo and hummingbirds and perhaps green papaya salad.

"Does this mean we have to kill Edmonton before we understand what it truly is?" said Raymond.

Cecilia Hoang, the co-owner of the restaurant, set down his wine and tea. "My son is doing really well in school, and we just opened a new location in the mall. Don't kill Edmonton."

Raymond realized he had been talking aloud. "Do you think there's another way?"

"Some things don't need to be understood, professor."

Raymond crossed out his initial drawing of the museum: the current house turned upside down and reinforced so a second floor window became the front door.

The site of Edmonton's distilled mythic power had to be more, and less, spectacular. After a sip of wine and a sip of tea, the professor ventured to think without understanding.

55.

almost guilt Abby Weiss stood outside Starbucks and tapped her right foot on the Whyte Avenue sidewalk. David was inside buying their mochaccinos. He watched his wife through the window; bursting with defeat, her ideals compromised by taste buds.

On his leash, Garith looked up at Abby and wagged his tail. But Abby would not look down, would not gather him up for a cuddle.

It was cold outside, cold enough to snow, yet Abby had only worn a sweater for their morning walk and refused to come inside. At what point would she give in to the power of Starbucks and the elegance of global capitalism?

He sent her mind messages: Come into the cafe. It is warm in the cafe. Miles Davis is playing the trumpet in that slow and thoughtful way he had before he went screwy. Give in to Starbucks. Give in to Starbucks, so we can sit down.

When it was clear Abby would not submit to Starbucks, David took the caramel mochaccinos and joined her on the sidewalk. Abby grabbed her cup out of his hand and took a sip in anger. Of course, it was still too hot.

"It burned my tongue."

"Oh, sweetie." David bent down and loved up Garith for a moment while they waited for the light to change.

"Now I won't be able to taste anything all day. Sandpaper tongue!"

Crossing Calgary Trail, David scanned the avenue for Barry Strongman. Since he had kicked Barry out of the riding a.s.sociation meeting, David hadn't seen him selling street magazines.

All Abby knew was that Barry wasn't around these days. David had never confessed what he'd done. Abby saw him looking around and rubbed his back. "Have you looked into it? I mean, you could go to the shelters and ask about him."

"Barry's a resourceful guy."

"Don't you miss arguing with him? You used to love that."

"If I really wanted to argue about politics, I could argue with you."

"You could, David, but I would crush you."

As they continued west toward the Rabbit Warren, David wondered if he had killed Barry Strongman. There was a good chance he had broken the homeless man's heart. It happened in the movies often enough, though it was usually in a romantic context. Yet David had always understood he was special; people developed strong attachments to him, on account of his rugged handsomeness, his charisma, and his political eloquence. These attachments could be perilous.

Abby walked ahead of David. She knocked on the door and Shirley, with a shabby baseball cap on, let her in. David and Garith followed, and sat on the wicker bench where they always sat during their visits. Abby hurried behind the counter beside Shirley, and put her hands over a heating vent.

"Before I forget," said Shirley, "here are my keys."

Abby took the keys and jingled them. "Instead of letting the appraiser in, we should stab her with these babies. Right in the neck."

It was the day they had been dreading, the day of evaluation. A real-estate expert retained by the university would visit all five houses in the Garneau Block to prepare a detailed market-value a.s.sessment. David and Abby and Madison had been up until two in the morning cleaning and rearranging in order to create the highest charm factor. By the look of Shirley Wong, she had gone to bed even later.

"Raymond called me last night and I answered. It was from a pay phone, so I didn't know to avoid it."

Abby turned and rubbed Shirley's arm.

"He said we don't have to worry about the appraisal. He said we're going to get the cultural designation because he has this plan. I hung up on him before he could explain."

David sipped his caramel mochaccino, which had cooled to a perfect temperature. He stared out the window at Barry Strongman's vacant corner. "Putting a bunch of teepees and bearskin rugs in 10 Garneau is a waste of time. He's going to humiliate us all with this stupidity."

Shirley shook her head. "Raymond Terletsky is a lot of things but he isn't stupid."

The heater powered off and the store went quiet. David unhooked Garith's leash so he could explore a bit. "How are your boarders?"

Shirley shook her head again and Abby rubbed her arm some more. In the past, Shirley had been so happy and positive that David suspected she was faking. Now he was certain. Her upbeat exterior was no stronger than the crust of a creme brulee.

"Can't you just kick them out?" he said.

"No. I can't."

"Did you sign a contract?"

"I can't because I can't."

"Is it still the big guy?"

Shirley nodded. "Patch. He was up all night with some other juvenile delinquents, partying in the living room."

"Patch," said Abby, with a sneer.