he was sitting on the living room floor surrounded by decahedrons and cubes and hexagonal globes all the way from Treadway’s
Reader’s Digest
stack to the television set. Wayne had peeled the twist ties down to the wire. Then he had taken the bread and kneaded pieces into little balls of putty and connected the wires to each other using the putty. The shapes were fragile and powerful.
“Those are beautiful.”
“Miss told us to use toothpicks and modelling clay. But I don’t have any modelling clay. And we never have toothpicks.”
“Those are something else.” Jacinta knelt and looked at the shapes. They were from another world. The skies. “They remind me of planets. And orbits. And stars. And the lines connecting the stars to make constellations. How did you think of using twist ties and bread?”
“That’s how Gracie Watts eats her bread at lunchtime. She picks it off her sandwich. She makes gnomes and dogs. You can make anything. When she eats her carrots, she does this other great thing. Her mom gives her carrot slices. She pops the pale orange middle out so there’s only the bright orange ring left, with a hole in it.”
“What,” Treadway said when he came in from his shed and saw the celestial, symmetrical living room floor, “in the name of God?”
“It’s homework, Treadway,” Jacinta said. “Science.”
“Math, Mommy. It’s math, not science.”
“If that’s math” — Treadway picked his bread bag off the floor; it was nine now, and all that was left in the bag was a heel-end — “those teachers at that school need to have their heads examined.”
The World Aquatic Championships came on television and Wayne watched them with Jacinta. He saw synchronized swimming for the first time. The Russian team turned into a lily. The lily turned inside out and became a decahedron. The hats of the Russian swimmers had starbursts of sequins at the crown, and they were turquoise. The suits were of Arabian paisley. Wayne was transfixed.
“Mom. They’re making patterns. With their own bodies.”
“I had a friend who did that,” Jacinta said. “In St. John’s. Nothing like that though. Eleanor Furneaux.”
Wayne looked at his hands, his legs, and wished he had more than two of them. He couldn’t get over the Russian team. It was glorious. Much more glorious than the English or the U.S. or the Canadian teams. The Russian team had a symmetry that went beyond what Wayne had imagined possible. He dreamed about it that night, and the next day he asked his mother what they had been swimming in.
“What kind of place was it?” He wanted to go there.
“What do you mean?”
“The water. It was the same colour as their hats. What kind of water was that?”
“It was a swimming pool. Is that what you mean?” There was no swimming pool anywhere near Croydon Harbour.
“Where did they get a pool like that?”
“Pools like that are all over the world, Wayne.”
Highlights from the championships were televised over two weekends. Wayne watched the semi-finals and the finals. He noticed the details of the suits, the choices of music. Every departure from perfection on the part of the swimmers, he pointed out, even if he was alone in the room with the television.
When Treadway came in and sat down with his tea and sandwich, Wayne asked him, “Where is their music coming from?” He had been wondering about that for some time. There was no band anywhere visible at the side of the pool. Yet the routines included trumpets, pianos, drums, and all kinds of musical instruments, and even voices.
“What do you want to watch that for?”
“Dad. Where are they getting the music?” The music was loud and it surrounded the swimmers like the water did, and it echoed.
“Well, they just have it for the performance.”
“But where is it?”
“Somewhere in the wings. Wayne, hockey is what you want to watch.”
“How do they know where to put their arms next? How do they know how to do everything
Reader’s Digest
stack to the television set. Wayne had peeled the twist ties down to the wire. Then he had taken the bread and kneaded pieces into little balls of putty and connected the wires to each other using the putty. The shapes were fragile and powerful.
“Those are beautiful.”
“Miss told us to use toothpicks and modelling clay. But I don’t have any modelling clay. And we never have toothpicks.”
“Those are something else.” Jacinta knelt and looked at the shapes. They were from another world. The skies. “They remind me of planets. And orbits. And stars. And the lines connecting the stars to make constellations. How did you think of using twist ties and bread?”
“That’s how Gracie Watts eats her bread at lunchtime. She picks it off her sandwich. She makes gnomes and dogs. You can make anything. When she eats her carrots, she does this other great thing. Her mom gives her carrot slices. She pops the pale orange middle out so there’s only the bright orange ring left, with a hole in it.”
“What,” Treadway said when he came in from his shed and saw the celestial, symmetrical living room floor, “in the name of God?”
“It’s homework, Treadway,” Jacinta said. “Science.”
“Math, Mommy. It’s math, not science.”
“If that’s math” — Treadway picked his bread bag off the floor; it was nine now, and all that was left in the bag was a heel-end — “those teachers at that school need to have their heads examined.”
The World Aquatic Championships came on television and Wayne watched them with Jacinta. He saw synchronized swimming for the first time. The Russian team turned into a lily. The lily turned inside out and became a decahedron. The hats of the Russian swimmers had starbursts of sequins at the crown, and they were turquoise. The suits were of Arabian paisley. Wayne was transfixed.
“Mom. They’re making patterns. With their own bodies.”
“I had a friend who did that,” Jacinta said. “In St. John’s. Nothing like that though. Eleanor Furneaux.”
Wayne looked at his hands, his legs, and wished he had more than two of them. He couldn’t get over the Russian team. It was glorious. Much more glorious than the English or the U.S. or the Canadian teams. The Russian team had a symmetry that went beyond what Wayne had imagined possible. He dreamed about it that night, and the next day he asked his mother what they had been swimming in.
“What kind of place was it?” He wanted to go there.
“What do you mean?”
“The water. It was the same colour as their hats. What kind of water was that?”
“It was a swimming pool. Is that what you mean?” There was no swimming pool anywhere near Croydon Harbour.
“Where did they get a pool like that?”
“Pools like that are all over the world, Wayne.”
Highlights from the championships were televised over two weekends. Wayne watched the semi-finals and the finals. He noticed the details of the suits, the choices of music. Every departure from perfection on the part of the swimmers, he pointed out, even if he was alone in the room with the television.
When Treadway came in and sat down with his tea and sandwich, Wayne asked him, “Where is their music coming from?” He had been wondering about that for some time. There was no band anywhere visible at the side of the pool. Yet the routines included trumpets, pianos, drums, and all kinds of musical instruments, and even voices.
“What do you want to watch that for?”
“Dad. Where are they getting the music?” The music was loud and it surrounded the swimmers like the water did, and it echoed.
“Well, they just have it for the performance.”
“But where is it?”
“Somewhere in the wings. Wayne, hockey is what you want to watch.”
“How do they know where to put their arms next? How do they know how to do everything
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