Tuna Cans

It was dawn now, a time when despair could not yet contend with the promise of first light. Bright rays squeezed through the attic window and cast Arthur’s face in a shadowy crosshair. Thoughts began to trickle between the thick debris of sleep. Beneath his eyelids, he began to stir. Something was close. The dam burst, sending a bolt through Arthur’s system. In an instant he took cover behind a pile of boxes, hitting his head on the sloped, wood-planked roof. Beyond the glass, a four-legged silhouette peered into the attic and paused for a little morning bath.

“Wilbur! You dirty sneak. I damn near concussed myself,” whispered Arthur.

He rubbed his head while tiptoeing over to let the cat in. He stopped to water a small fern on the sill before acknowledging his visitor. A mound of striped, orange fur leaned into his arm and then looked up. Big hazel eyes bore into Arthur and gave two drawn-out blinks. Arthur nodded.

You little balloon. Don’t let me down and you’ll get your tuna yet, he thought. With a third blink, Wilbur leapt out the window and onto the roof. Arthur watched the orange tabby bound away with a grace that was unusual for such a round creature.

A gentle breeze wafted into the attic, carrying the faint trace of breakfasts nearby. Arthur sniffed deeply. Just outside, the rising sun blanketed the sleepy neighbourhood in a warm, golden glow, drawing long dark fingers across unsuspecting lawns. A cyclist sped past and chucked a rolled newspaper towards the house. Before setting off, Arthur folded his moth-eaten sheets and stacked several books in a neat pile on the floor. By his fern, he brushed loose soil from the sill and picked up a creased photograph capturing two uniformed figures waving down from a high-up window. Arthur studied their faces. Before long, the weight of unspoken words became too heavy. Arthur folded the photograph and slipped it into his breast pocket.

…

A crack appeared in the ceiling of the second-floor hallway. No signs of life. Arthur widened the crack by lowering the attic hatch, let down the ladder, and listened. Children’s laughter rolled in from the Thompson house down the block. Downstairs the television set had been turned on and the weatherman was promising a ‘hot one today, folks!’ Perfect.

The second floor was a short, carpeted hallway with two rooms facing opposite on either end. All four rooms were closed because Arthur did not think it made sense to waste energy heating and cooling unused rooms. Plus, when he needed to grab something from downstairs, the closed doors set him at ease. He lowered himself down and then raised the ladder. Wilbur was perched with his tail flicking lazily outside the window at the end of the hallway, awaiting the signal. With a thumbs-up, Arthur dropped to his stomach and wormed his way to the banister.

Arthur inched himself forward and saw directly into the T.V. room where a thin old woman dressed in a flowery material sat with her feet up on a recliner. Her withered lips formed a severe line while her milky eyes watched listlessly. Or were her eyes closed? It was not clear beneath the glare of her glasses. She shifted in her seat slightly. Arthur jerked backward and put his hands over his mouth. Where the hell is that cat?

A clock ticked from the corridor below. Arthur could still feel his blood rushing in his ears when he ventured another look. The woman was glued to the T.V. screen, cocooned by the recliner’s green, pillowy cushions. Who needs him anyway? New plan. Once ol’ Ed hits the screen, I give her five minutes tops before those eyes shut.

Every weekday, the morning news preceded the mystery-drama program “Enigmatic Edwin”. It followed the adventures of a promising young detective who succumbs to pressure and disappears. The series begins after Edwin’s partner brings him back to solve mysteries again, “…but this time, on his own terms.” Arthur mouthed along with the show’s title sequence. Ed really ought to thank that partner­­ of his. He always had a knack of saying the right thing at the right time. Arthur checked the time and then rested his chin on his hands.

Several booby-traps and a confession later, the woman’s eyes had shut, her mouth slightly agape. Arthur tiptoed down the stairs, careful to avoid the squeaky fourth step. At the base of the stairs, he froze. His heart pounded in his chest; he was completely exposed. Scenes spilled over in his mind. He was sitting on the porch, leaning on the wicker table; he felt the breeze rustling through red smoke bush flowers; he heard his friend laughing as they watched the world go by. Despite himself, Arthur allowed his eyes to linger on the doorframe. His hands shook as he collected the envelopes at the base of the mail slot.

It took nine paces to get from the front door to the kitchen–eight, if noise was not a factor. Unfinished meals in various stages of decomposition were scattered about. It was difficult to tell the countertop material beneath piles of mildewy newspaper sheets and dishware. The table set in the corner was blanketed under a thin layer of dust, save for the torn-open mail.

Arthur dropped the mail off on the table and walked across the linoleum flooring to slide open the back door, just a crack. He grabbed a garbage bag from under the sink. In it, he tossed only items closest to liquefying or those that already stunk. Next, he poured any foul liquids down the drain and watered the fern by the sink. The kitchen may never be featured in a magazine, but it was no longer a health hazard. Satisfied, Arthur reached into the back of the pantry, and pulled out a handful of tuna cans. He filled his pockets until his pants began to sag. Arthur pictured Wilbur pawing at him hungrily. He reached back into the pantry but stopped short.

“Hey Ma! What the hell is this thing? Bastard almost cut me up when I came in,” said a gravelly voice as it burst through the front door.

Arthur leapt up and the heavy cans pulled his pants down to his ankles. He scrambled into the pantry and shut the door, peeking between the slats and through the pass-through into the T.V. room. A hissing Wilbur was suspended by his nape. The man’s brooding face flickered with hints of disgust as he scanned the hallway and T.V. room.

“This place has gone to hell Ma. You just say the word and I’ll sell this shithole,” the man said. Then, in a whisper, “And good riddance, I say.”

The old woman gasped. “Georgie? Is that really you? My Georgie?” Her cheeks shimmered in the brightness of the T.V.

“It’s Harry, Ma. For God’s sake, not this again. I swear, if you call me by his name again, I’m never coming back-” As Harry shook him, Wilbur slashed across his hand and fled out the front door. Harry clutched his bleeding hand and yelled out a series of obscenities before threatening, “You come back here again, you’re dead! You hear me?”

With his hand out, Harry turned to his mom and his face softened for a moment. She sat, rooted to the recliner with a faraway look. The clock ticked and the moment evaporated. Harry’s face hardened to stone.

“I’m going to the kitchen. Don’t want no cat diseases.” He stormed off in the direction of a hyperventilating Arthur.

…

Harry cursed as he ran water over his open wound. A sour, earthy odour spiralled throughout the room causing him to crinkle his nose. Arthur felt the draft from the kitchen’s sliding door and his stomach turned over.

“This place has gone to the dumps,” Harry announced. Dark shades of pink bloomed through the cloth around his hand. To himself, he muttered, “There’s no way that old bat cleans this place.”

At the table, Harry tore into letter after letter. After a brief scan he crumpled their contents and moved on to the next. A beige, unmarked envelope stopped him short. Through the slats of the pantry Arthur saw Harry stuff it into his windbreaker pocket. Carefully, Arthur inched forward to get a better look–a thin stack of cash dotted with fresh blood peeked out from Harry’s side.

Arthur’s foot caught on his pants and he stumbled, bumping into the shelves behind him. Harry’s face scrunched back into a crude deliberation as he scanned the room. From the T.V., gun shots rang out and sirens wailed over the sound of Edwin’s shouting. Sweat beaded on Arthur’s brow.

He was stuck in the shape of a triangle–his back dropped lower on the shelves behind him as his feet slid away. The sound of rolling cans caught both men’s attention. Harry began to advance on the pantry.

Arthur searched in the semi-darkness for the direction the cans might fall. He looked back to the kitchen to see Harry only a couple steps away. If I move at all, he’ll see me.

The cans fell and a glint of golden light flickered in their descent. Arthur closed his eyes.

A screaming ball of orange fur flew into the kitchen to the combined sounds of clanging cans and a frenzy of claws clicking on the floor.

Harry hollered. “You got a death wish, you little shit!” With his good hand, he grabbed a broom and chased Wilbur out into the yard.

Arthur, grateful for the distraction, hoisted his pants and fled back to the safety of the attic.

…

Arthur’s hand reached out to his fern as if he were helping a princess down from a carriage. Hints of old tuna mingled with the scent of freshly cut grass and gasoline from outside. On the underside of the fronds were orange growths that appeared vaguely pathogenic.

‘No, no. Relax Arty, no need for a hazmat suit. Those are spores. If you or anyone else paid attention to my presentations for once, you’d know that.’ Arthur turned over the memory and then the frond. He looked over at the last sealed can of tuna and then to the street below. A black car pulled into the driveway.

The house shuddered when the front door closed. Two sets of footsteps were muffled by carpet before loudly emerging on the kitchen linoleum. Arthur lowered the attic hatch, just a crack.

“I am so sorry Rosa, I really am. First George and now Harry. I cannot imagine what you must be feeling. Do not blame yourself. No one was more surprised than me to hear the nasty business that boy got himself mixed up in,” said the female visitor. She spoke quickly and with a wooden tone. Arthur got the sense she was in a hurry. 

The woman briefly paused for a response but received none. She continued, “I do not think you should stay here, holed up, all by your lonesome. I spoke to your brother and he said he would handle the funeral arrangements and you could stay in their spare room. He said it would be no problem at all.”

Again, Rosa offered up nothing to her visitor. The woman spoke in circles now, arguing that with no next of kin, Rosa’s independence had somehow lost its viability. Eventually her persistence gave way to frustration and her condolences became hollow.

“Well, alright then Rosa. Clearly, you know what is best. Your brother and I will be in contact soon. Again, I am sorry for your loss. Please, call us soon.”

Arthur risked watching the visitor awkwardly embrace a motionless Rosa. The front door was closed before the visitor reached the driveway. As Rosa turned back to the interior of her house, Arthur did not turn away. Her body sagged as if standing up against gravity had suddenly become unbearable. Outside, the rumble of an engine faded off in the distance. The cloudy skies began to spit, casting the house in a grainy, silvery hue. Still Rosa remained by the door. Against the capricious light, shadows poured over Rosa’s features and Arthur saw a weariness that threatened to engulf her at any moment. Please Rosa, look at me. Please. Arthur could not blink away the blurry scene before him as he pulled the attic door shut.

...

Maybe I should find a laundromat first. Or maybe…. maybe I could risk a shower tonight. It’s too early. Way too early. Get presentable tonight and then we try tomorrow. Arthur held his tie and tried in vain to flatten out the topography of his crinkled uniform. Maybe a haircut and a shave? He laughed nervously before he caught his reflection in the window. He threw down his tie and sat down. Arthur stared out at the clouds and touched his fingers to the photograph in his breast pocket. Why didn’t you ever say anything man? All those times you were there for us and then you just– a yellow ray slipped through a crack in the clouds and illuminated his fern. Against the bright green fronds grew a line of dark spots. Yeah, I know buddy. Spores.

Arthur slipped out the window.

...

The doorbell rang and rang. On the other side of the door, nothing stirred.

On a whim, Arthur tried knocking at the door eight times, pausing between each pair. He caught himself laughing at the memory of Rosa ripping the door open with such force that all the tinsel and ornaments on the door flew off. ‘You’re gonna knock the damn door down if you don’t quit it!’ He remembered then, the warmth deep in his heart when he was invited into a home that felt as if it were held together entirely by love.

Still, the door did not open. Arthur leaned against the door and started to loosen his tie. As he looked up, a mild panic swelled inside him. The attic was no longer in sight. Arthur stepped back and brushed against the smoke bush in the yard. Countless pink flower hairs billowed in the breeze like a smoky sunrise. Arthur felt for the creased photograph and looked up at the attic window.

Rosa appeared in the doorway. She hesitated before quickly bringing her glasses to her face. Arthur stared at her and felt a lump in his throat.

“Well, bless me. Is that you Arty? You come to see Georgie?” She looked past Arthur for a moment. “He’s…he’s not here right now. But if I know my Georgie, he’ll come runnin’ when he finds out you stopped by for a visit. You will visit, won’t you?”

Arthur looked up and felt hot tears well up in the corner of his eyes. “Of course, Rosa. I would be honoured if you’d have me over.” Two lines glistened on his cheeks. “George will be by soon too, I bet. Sure. Poor guy is just helping out some friends is all. You know him and his big heart. I just came by early because, because–” he paused between his shallow breaths.

“–because I thought maybe it would be O.K. if I came over and helped you two out for a change. Would that be alright?”

“Nothing would make us happier,” said Rosa. As she smiled, her pupils caught the light and twinkled like two oceans. She waved him in.

Just before entering the house, Arthur opened a can of tuna and left it on the porch.