The Serial: Far From the Rowan Tree Day 59

She was old and wrinkled as a walnut – a straggle of bones with a long pointed nose and a small thin grim mouth. She was dressed completely in black

Ronald explained further. “There’s quite a variety of land and houses to sell,” he said. “The manager told me I’ll have a lot to learn. Acreages will be my bread and butter.

“Acreages are plots of land outwith the city limits with planning permission to build a house or houses. People in Edmonton who get fed up with city life buy them to build the house of their dreams.

“Also there are lakeside lots. These are small portions of land round a lakeside that people buy to erect their own summer cabins.

“Everything I do is on a commission basis. There will be no money until I have actually bought and sold something but the commission is good and they would consider lending me something until I get started.”

Ronald looked so happy that I suppressed any anxiety I had. I decided once again to live for the day only, worry about immediate problems and not to think too much about tomorrow. Who knew what might happen in this bright new land?

Superior

Our basement flat was roomy. It had three bedrooms – a living area with cook-stove and sink and it had a bathroom. It was half underground but the wide windows on the top half of the walls let in plenty of light and all the rooms were warm.

If there was a bit of fug about we didn’t complain because the house was superior to anything we had had in Canada so far.

Immediately outside the living-room door stood a huge natural gas burner which heated all three storeys of the house.

There was a large washing machine adjacent to the burner which I had permission to use – a great boon.

The house was a big one and had been divided into flats, all of which were rented out. We had to pay a month’s rent in advance as did everyone else.

Mrs Nikyforuk, the woman we had met on the first day and who I thought was our landlady, took our first month’s rent and said: “It’s not my house. It really belongs to my mother-in-law who lives on the other side of town. I look after it for her – clean it and rent it out. I live in the house across the avenue.

“If you folks need anything just come to me but as a rule my mother-in-law comes once a month to collect the rent.”

I took an instant liking to Jean Nikyforuk. She had a plain unpretentious honesty about her, was friendly and exuded a pleasant laid-back air.

Gradually I learned about the difficult life she had. But in spite of her own difficulties she was always helpful to us and was able to supply much of the information we needed.

Fortunately for us, she had a Scottish grandfather who was still living at 90 years old and for whom she had a high regard.

I had begun to discover it was all right to ask Canadians a lot about their personal life – what wages they earned etc but you didn’t inquire in to their origins unless they offered the information.

Taboo

I am not quite sure why this was a taboo subject but perhaps it had something to do with people trying very hard to be Canadian and forget their ethnic differences.

Perhaps, also, because many people who had been here for several generations had an Indian somewhere in their background. Canada wasn’t as old as America. They hadn’t begun to boast about it yet.

One day when we had been in Edmonton almost a month, a knock came to the door and without giving anyone time to answer, in walked a complete stranger.

She was old and wrinkled as a walnut – a straggle of bones with a long pointed nose and a small thin grim mouth. She was dressed completely in black – a long skirt, a coat and black kerchief covering iron grey hair – our landlady!

She spoke in broken English and said she had come for the rent.

Ronald had left me money to pay and I went into the bedroom to get it. When I came back she was making her way round the kitchen-cum-living-room peering into everything.

“Ze sink has grease,” she said screwing up her nose. She opened the oven door where an apple pie had bubbled up and dripped on to the enamel tray the night before.

“Ze oven ees dirty,” she said. Quite unabashed she kept on tramping through the house and reached the children’s bedroom. The beds were as yet unmade – the floor a muddle of toys and clothes.

“Untidy,” she said. “Ess a mess. Better you must do eef you weesh to leeve in my property.”

I was too stunned at this intrusion of privacy to say anything. She took her rent and left as quickly as she could, banging the door behind her.

After she left my indignation rose. “Damned cheek,” I thought. “Old witch and considering too the price we pay for this basement flat. It’s not exactly cheap.”

Simmering

I was still simmering when Ronald came home at tea time. He could see I was upset.

“Old bat!” he said. “Much more of that and we’ll move elsewhere.” I calmed down and didn’t say much more, not wanting to get Ronald upset. I didn’t want to move again so soon.

“Maybe I’ll have a word with Jean and see what she says. Perhaps I could give the rent to her.”

When I mentioned it, Jean was fairly noncommittal. “I guess she loses a lot of tenants that way. It makes my job more difficult. But no, she’ll be round to collect the rent. She insists on doing it.”

I said no more about it but resolved that everything would be spick and span the next time she came.

A lot happened in those first two months in Edmonton. Richard was six now and old enough to go to school.

A couple of days before he started, snow had fallen in earnest, making everything into a Christmas card. The sidewalk was passable with galoshes, the roads became something between packed snow and hard beaten ice.

“However am I going to take him to school?” I asked Jean. (More tomorrow.)