CAFE INTERLUDE ( A Canadian Story)

CAFE INTERLUDE

On the right, half-buried in fresh snow, was an isolated gas station on Highway 3. In the Rockies east of Fernie, the snow was thickening up ahead in one of those last-minute tussles of winter, so surprising but regular every April.

“Let’s pull in for coffee eh? It’s another hour to Lethbridge.”

“Yeah why not,” said Seamas, “Sure, it’s gonna be up to the hubs if the ploughs don’t move soon.”

“Och, well they’ll need another half hour to get here in this sudden storm, and in any case the snow will be gone after we pass Pincher Creek,” I tried to console him.

“All the same, if I’m late at Kubic’s, it’ll be the end of the contract, and money’s money. You oughta appreciate that, from Edinburgh,” he mumbled and snort-laughed under his breath.

It wasn’t the usual counter-and-high-stool place. The café had carpet and tables with white cloths. A ginger cat strolled around the drooping cloths from one table to the next. He was nose-friendly to everyone’s finger, but his eyes squinted up tight and he hesitated and expected a slight pain with each hello. It was the nylon carpet and the winter boots producing electric sparks. But he endured the small shocks for tidbits of bacon or sausage. After the initial shock his eyes opened wide into their normal welcoming stare. Coal miners and loggers had fattened him over the winter.

We slid into a side booth.

“Can I get a burger and fries - and coffee please?” I asked the smiling waitress.

“Sure thing,” and turning her head slightly, she added “And we have a special today of codfish in a coating of baked rice if you wanna try it. It’s really tasty.” She aimed her sales pitch at Seamas, who was dithering with the menu.

“Er no, thanks, darlin’, I’ll just have the same as Andy,” he replied, pushing the menu into its holder and catching her eye with a nod, in acknowledgement of her offer.

The ginger cat had us next on his visiting list, and he nosed us both, as we took off our parkas. The place was pleasant and warm - like the waitress. But it wasn’t high class. Here we were in April, and it still had the plastic word ‘MERRY’ stuck to the wall over the cigarette machine, and shreds of tinsel waved below it. I guess the coalminers hadn’t really noticed.

We had hardly bitten into the burgers when the door swung open and a blast of snow swept in a young guy and three RCMP in muskrat hats. There were no cuffs, and no rough stuff. Just three big uniforms with guns and a young fella in a checked shirt and jeans.

“Guess they musta dug him outa some drift,” said Seamas.

I nodded and watched the cops settle down for a break. They chose the booth next to ours. The checked shirt guy sat in with the three troopers, and they talked about the storm and where the nearest tow truck was and so on. The cops had radioed for the truck.

“Hi, Rusty,” said the sergeant. The cat squinted up his eyes and nosed the offered finger, absorbing the shock, then enjoying all the cops fondling him, till the waitress appeared.

“Hi, guys. What you doin’ so far from home today? Er…the usual?”

“Yes please, Karen. Oh we had to go to court in Fernie, you know. And how are you today in this beautiful weather?”

“Oh, no complaints, you know. And something for your friend?” Her eyes swiveled over to the young man.

“Yeah, coffee for me please, and a piece of that cherry pie over there.” He jutted out his chin in the direction of the counter and a glass case filled with pies and cakes.

Apart from the white-cloth tables, there was a self-service line where you could get take-out stuff. The line at the self-service was slow, even though only a handful of customers were there. The sign at the start of the chrome rails where the trays slid read “You must pay at the end”. It reminded me of the warnings of priests when I was a kid. No matter what good things I did to try to balance my various sins, at the end I would have to pay.

A couple with a small boy stumbled in, kicking snow off their boots and arguing angrily. She clutched the child tightly and growled,

“Well, say what you like, but you sure enjoyed dancing with that sister of George Big Cloud !”

He shouted back half-heartedly, “But it was expected of me, I had no choice. . .”

They took two trays and started to slide them up the chrome rails, picking a sandwich or two, a chocolate bar here, a pie there. Behind them, an old black guy, probably American, pushed a tray with only a pie. At the drinks machine they filled two styrofoam cups with coffee and picked out a can of coke. They argued and bickered loudly over every step….what sandwich, which pie, the price of the drinks. Some hot coffee spilled onto his hand and she sniggered “That’s what you get!” He looked at the hand, rubbed it, and then looked sideways like a snake and menaced, “You’re gonna pay for that . . . “

The American was losing patience, and said loudly, “Let’s go guys, I’m in a hurry here.”

They didn’t respond, too busy arguing between themselves. The couple’s load was spread on the two trays separately. Mother and son shared one tray, father had the other. Easy to tell they were a couple since their quarrel had lasted even from before they came in.

I leaned over the tablecloth and whispered to Seamas, “Och, if that was me and Maura, I reckon we’d have packed it in years ago.”

He nodded, “I know what you mean. Me too.”

It was clearly the opinion of the cops and the young guy too, for they glanced at each other with shoulder shrugs, then at us and made eye-rolling, downturned-mouth grimaces. When the couple reached the check-out, Karen looked at the two separate trays and didn’t know whether to ring up one or two totals. So she asked with a smile,

“Are you together?”

I thought the question was well put, and glanced over my half-eaten burger at Seamas to see if he agreed. He widened his eyes and puffed out his cheeks with a slight hissing of air. Obviously he agreed. I dropped a piece of burger for Rusty.

In the event, the father paid for everything, bagged it up, and then they stumbled out with the child back into the snowstorm. Through the cafe window I could see their car move over and stop again at the outside of the parking area. The old Chevy had seen better days and needed a coat of paint, but the engine had been idling and it was warm inside. You could tell from the clear windows. Casually watching them opening up their food, I couldn’t be sure but it looked as though he spilled some coffee deliberately on her legs, because she jumped and yelled something. From inside their car the sound couldn’t be clearly heard.

“Wonder why they didn’t stay inside here, where it’s more roomy. . .for the kid you know?” I asked quietly.

Seamas shrugged, “Probably couldn’t pay the higher prices at the tables. Didn’t you notice their boots and the kid’s hat? They didn’t have much money at all.”

One of the cops overheard what Seamas said, and leaned confidentially over to our booth.

“Those people are from the Pelgman Reserve near Fort Macleod. That’s our base, where we’re headed now. I’d say they’ve been to a tribal wedding in B C, and that’s why they’re fighting - family quarrel probably, eh?”

We nodded in understanding, and I added, glancing out the window, “Looks like that car of theirs might not even make it to Macleod.”

The sergeant reassured us with a professional soft voice, “Well, we’ll be behind ‘em all the way so if there’s a problem maybe we can give ‘em a hand.”

“Looks like you’ve given plenty of hand today,” I added, smiling at the young man.

They laughed, “Well, we always get our man, haw haw, isn’t that so?”

The American at last got his pie paid for and made to leave, but stopped and spoke to me and Seamas, in a loud American voice that everyone in the cafe could hear .

“Say, I can understand what these cops are sayin’ - but do youse two guys speak English or what? Haw haw - I jest can’t understand a word of what you say”

“Well,” I said apologetically, “ that’s because Seamas here is Irish, and I’m from Scotland.”

We all laughed. The Mounties laughed.

“Take it easy, fellas.” He hauled open the door and got into his logging truck. It started off with a roar and pulled out eastwards, just as the plough rolled in from Blairmore. The young man jumped up, excited and ready to go.

“Looks like my truck’s as good as out of the ditch soon, I reckon. Thanks for the help, guys.”

He dashed out to the plough driver, almost tripping over Rusty as he went.

Seamas gave a sigh, and said, “Us too, Andy. Let’s finish up and get down to Kubic’s before he gives that contract to somebody else.”

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