Gather Gold BARRIE LLEWELYN
Young man, gather gold and gear - Robert Service Get up, get dressed, we’re going soon, not much time, make sure you go to the bathroom.
The girl hated the swap meets. She felt like she was being raised from the dead. It was always too early, too dark. It was cold. But she had to go. They all had to go. The girl and her brother were too young to stay in the apartment alone and her mother wouldn’t ask anyone for help looking after the kids. Her mother wouldn’t think of staying behind herself, missing the day. She loved it – out in the sun and the dust, selling off her wedding presents, selling her clothes, selling old sheets – anything she could find. She loved getting browner each weekend in the sun, wearing a big hat, taking people’s money for junk she found on the tops of her cupboards. The girl was terrified someone from school might see her or recognise her mother and father.
Out of pyjamas, into yesterday’s clothes, no time for breakfast, we’ll eat something later. Quick, brush your teeth.
Saturday or Sunday or both, depending on how much they had to sell, depending on how much more they needed to be able to pay the rent on the new apartment. Last year her dad lost his job and then the house had to be sold to pay all the debts: credit card, car loan. The girl heard them talking about this late at night – not talking – disagreeing, arguing, fighting. It was hard not to hear them, the apartment was so small. It was hard for the whole apartment building not to hear them once they really got going. The girl tried not to think about the people next door and what they thought. But that was hard too, when she passed anyone on the landing she turned her head away so she could not see the way they looked at her.
This was his job now, buying and selling. It was only nickels and dimes and sometimes it came in slowly. Long days in the sun and wind and dust and not many lookers putting their hands in their pockets to become buyers. Still, most months, most of the time, the girl overheard that there was enough to pay the rent and she could tell when the refrigerator was full. That was enough to hold everything together. That was enough to keep her mother from shouting at her father. That would be enough as long as she could keep her brother from mentioning the shoes he wanted like all the other boys. They were called Wallabies and girls wore them too, but they both just needed to remember not to ask for anything.
So she hated it, but she had to go along with it all; the vinyl seats in the car were cold. There was hardly any room, the old station wagon so packed with things: old china cups, silverware, some of her father’s books and records. And other stuff, merchandise he picked up during the week as he travelled through the seedier parts of the city visiting close-out sales, factory clearances, end of lines.
8
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40 |
Page 41 |
Page 42 |
Page 43 |
Page 44