She nodded. By tiny increments, the awkwardness was once again abating.
“So ...” Adam rocked back on his heels. “Obviously I don’t expect you to divulge your whole life story on a trip to the grocery store. You don’t have to tell me anything, obviously. We could just ... Let’s see. We could ...” He looked around. “We could talk about maple syrup. Or I could lecture you on post-colonialism. Or tell you about my brother’s involvement with the CIA.” He shook his head. “No, wait a minute. I’m not supposed to talk about that.”
Clare laughed. “What’s your brother really doing?”
“Rudy? He went back to Sri Lanka. He got a teaching job at some snooty private school in Colombo.”
Sri Lanka, she repeated to herself. Near India? There were political troubles of some sort there, but that was all she knew. They carried on to the dairy case at the back of the store.
“It must be a different life there,” she said, and hoped the remark wasn’t entirely banal.
“Yeah, I’m sure it is. I’ve never actually been ... but I’ve always wanted to. I think it would be a pretty intense experience, reconnecting with the roots. But you know how it is. Other things get in the way.” He paused. “I need to go, though. You need to know where you come from to really figure out who you are. Know what I mean?”
Clare looked past Adam and nodded mechanically. She thought of her own family holiday to Stanwick, the town where her parents grew up. She’d been ten at the time, afflicted with early menstruation and monstrous awkwardness. They’d stayed with Aunty Jean, and in Clare’s mind the cold, ugly flat and its gossipy occupant came to represent the whole of Scotland. She couldn’t agree with Adam, not at all. Figuring out who she was, if there was anything left to figure out, surely had more to do with getting away from her roots than with reconnecting. But she couldn’t explain this.
“Why did your family leave Sri Lanka?” she said.
Adam placed his helmet on the dirt-streaked linoleum floor and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Well, my dad will tell you they left because of the political strife.”
The front door cowbell rang, and a man with a booming voice struck up a conversation with the grocer.
Adam rested one foot on his helmet. “That’s what my father says, but I don’t know.” He lowered his own voice. “I think he wanted to escape Sri Lanka all right, but I don’t think it was anything political that motivated him. He actually gets off on political crisis.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. You remember referendum day, back in October? When all the Anglos around here were crapping themselves, thinking the country was falling apart?”
Clare nodded. She herself had spent the day considering the possibility of Quebec sovereignty giving her a legitimate reason for going to Vancouver.
“Well, you should’ve seen my dad. He was happy as Larry, sitting in front of the TV, watching the results seesaw back and forth. You would’ve thought he was watching a big cricket final.” The cowbell rang again. Adam frowned. “God, I hope I’m not boring you. I was wanting to get to know you better, and here I am doing all the talking.”
Clare shook her head. If she’d been the type of person to say such a thing, she would have told her neighbour that he was perhaps the most interesting person she’d ever spoken with.
“No, no. It’s fine. I mean, it’s really interesting. So, what do you think was the real reason your father wanted to leave?”
“Well ...” Adam jutted his jaw back and forth a few times. “I think it was something about Sri Lanka. You know, something older than the war, or more specific or something.” He nodded to himself. “Take his choice to come to Montreal—instead of Toronto, I mean. My dad knew lots of people in Toronto who would’ve helped him get settled, but he refused to go there. My aunt says he would-n’t hear of it. Instead he comes here, where you’re about as likely to find a Sri Lankan as—Well, how many Sri Lankans do you see around here?”
“Uh ...”
“Exactly. And when he filled out the immigration papers? He changed the spelling of our name. It used to be two words: Van—Twest. Now it’s just one.” Adam bent down and picked up his helmet. “I know those are just details, but I think they mean something.”
Taking the helmet to be a cue, Clare opened the dairy case and reached for a carton of eggs. But Adam kept talking.
“My father grew up on a tea estate.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. His father was the head honcho. I think they were quite well off, by Ceylon standards. Anyway, his sister—my aunt—always tells these fantastic stories, about the fancy parties they went to, the workings of the factory, the servants. It’s great. But if I ask my dad about those days, he just gets edgy and strange.” Adam reached out and took the eggs from Clare. “My guess is he was getting as far away as he could from that whole scene. Not that the political stuff was irrelevant. He really worries about my brother and my aunt. He worries about all of us.” He shrugged and smiled. “It’s kinda stuffy in here. Should we get going?”
Digesting this sudden glut of information, Clare followed Adam to the checkout, where he placed the eggs on the counter then took out his wallet.
“Et les deux réglisses aussi,” he said to the grocer, in perfectly adequate French.
With a start, she realized he was about to pay for her eggs.
“Oh, no. Wait.” She fished for her money.
Adam, however, shook his head. “No, let me. Next time Dad and I run out of eggs, I’ll come over and get some from you. We can be real neighbours.” He slid a twenty-dollar bill across the counter, and the wrinkled grocer stabbed a button on his cash register. Clare stared at the “Oui” sticker on the side of the register then glanced back at Adam, putting away his change, and smiled awkwardly.
Outside, the temperature had continued to rise, and the air smelled of springtime mud and thawing dog shit. As Adam helped her with her chinstrap, Clare studied the dark whiskers peeking out from his light brown cheeks and the flat, dark mole at the base of his throat.
“I’m thinking of moving to Vancouver,” she blurted, pleased with the remark and the unexpected surge of confidence that prompted it.
Adam’s eyes widened. “Wow! Big change!”
“Yeah. But I think I need it. It’ll be good for me.”
She readied herself to explain, somehow, why such a change would be good for her. Adam seemed, for a few seconds, to be considering what she’d said. Then he nodded.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. When I was in Vancouver for the Gay Games, I started thinking I could really make a life for myself out there. It’s such a different scene.” He put on his own helmet. “But I don’t know. There’s a lot keeping me here. What about your mom? You’d move that far away from her?”
It wasn’t at all what she’d expected. It was possibly a criticism, though she wasn’t sure.
“I haven’t planned anything definite yet. It’s just an idea.”
“Yeah? Well, keep me posted.”
They mounted the motorcycle. Adam advanced a few inches with his feet, then he looked back. “I thought I might take a ride up Mount Royal. Would you like to come?”
Clare stared down at the carton of eggs wedged between the two of them. “I need to get back,” she said. “But thanks.”
She