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CHAPTER 9

Chapter 9

MYSTERY OF THE SINGING GHOST

Ana Riley

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This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

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CHAPTER 9

“It’s hers! It’s the nightgown the girl ghost wore! We are having such luck, Ethan! Hold it…let me get that on film.” I’m so excited my hands are trembling as I take the photo. “Did you see that? When the flash went, something flew right over your head!”

“Finally your bat arrived. He’s been waiting for t his special moment!” Grin. “Nothing much more up here. I’ll put this gown back where I found it and then I think we should be going.”

When Ethan was holding that night gown, I felt as if I had gone back sixty years and that at any moment, I’d find myself in this house along with the family and their ghost. Imagination is a marvelous tool.

It’s strange how going down these steep stairs doesn’t seem as awkward anymore. It’s also strange how neither one of us is speaking. Words don’t seem necessary at the moment.

The creaking of the door is almost comforting as I step outside into the reality of a lovely autumn day in Saskatchewan. The wind has picked up a little. Ethan’s jeep is exactly where we left it, not that I expected it to move but you never know when you’re dealing with ghosts. The snakes are probably waiting for me to trundle through the overgrowth so they can giggle at the city girl who squeals when they slither by.

There’s comfort in the smell of the leather seats in the jeep. “I think this was the most thrilling afternoon of my entire life. I wonder if the ghost was watching us? I wonder what her name is?”

Ethan’s left eyebrow rises a wee bit when he’s about to comment. “We could go to the county office on a weekday and check the records of the landowners.”

“They keep that sort of stuff?”

“My mom was into our family tree a few years back. There were a few connections she couldn’t make, so she went to one of the county offices. It so happened that years before, settlers in that particular county had published a history volume of how that district had been settled and by whom. With your luck, you may find a similar historical record of this Norwegian family.”

“When Jenny comes, she and I will go together. Thanks, Ethan! This could be just what we’re looking for.”

“How does all this help you with the singing ghost on your farm?”

“Well, it verifies that there are ghosts, so people will be more open to accept that we have a real ghost on our land. When Alex told a few kids at school that we had a singing ghost on our farm, they laughed at him, ridiculed him. It was devastating. I felt so bad for him.”

I don’t mind if Ethan sees that I show compassion for my brother, but just between you and me, it serves Alex right for opening his big mouth and telling everyone our business. He got what was coming to him.

“Do you feel like eating Chinese food? There’s a good restaurant in Canora.”

Chinese food – lots of noodles and slippery vegetables which might slide around because I’m eating with the most beautiful man in the universe and when I do that, well, stuff happens to me that normally would never happen. On the other hand, I could impress Ethan with how well I use chop sticks.”

“Sounds yummy! Let’s do it.”

The sign says that Canora is only a few kilometers north. Ethan is playing my favorite CD and with the windows all down, it’s a perfect day.

“When does Jenny arrive?”

“In two days.”

“How did you get to know her?”

“We’ve been friends from the first day we met at school. We just clicked. It was as if we had known each other all our lives. We liked the same things, the same music, we took the same classes together and our birthdays are on the same day, though her birthday is in March and mine is in December. You’ll really like her. She’s fun and can talk about anything with anyone. She reads and reads and reads but she doesn’t lock herself up in her reading. She’s into sports, she gets a major role in the school musical every year, she's on every school committee. I guess you'd say she's involved in anything that includes people. She loves being around people.” I smile when I think of Jenny. I’m so lucky to have a soul mate.

“Does she believe in ghosts?”

“She hasn’t said she doesn’t but I’m certain once she hears our singing ghost, she’ll be convinced they do exist. That’s the only thing about city people. They figure if it doesn’t happen in the big city, it’s not happening.”

Ethan is really grinning this time. I don’t know what it is I said, but I’m glad he’s amused by it.

“Spoken like a full-blooded county bumpkin!”

Did I tell you that when Ethan grins, he has perfect teeth? Probably got them being raised on perfect food, perfect water and perfectly fresh air. Or, maybe he has perfect false teeth. Yuk! I hope not. Can you imagine kissing someone who has false teeth? What if his teeth started moving around and what would he look like at nighttime, when he has to take them out to clean them? I need to find out if Ethan has false teeth. Even though he’s only nineteen, he’d look like my grandfather.

When grandpa takes his teeth out at night, his cheeks and mouth sink in and his lips flap together when he’s trying to talk. I saw him one morning before he got them in. It was gross! It didn’t look like Grandpa. A dentist's mandate should be to permanently glue false teeth in so the person never has to take them out.

Once, Grandpa’s top set of teeth fell out of his mouth while we were all at the zoo! We had stopped to eat some corn on the cob. Grandpa took a bite and out popped his teeth! There they were, stuck into the corn, hanging on as if they were glued to the cob. Grandpa quickly yanked them out and wrapped them into a napkin, setting them on the table. He didn’t want to disturb lunch and I think he thought that no one had noticed, because no one said anything about it. He passed me his corn on the cob and sometime later, grandpa excused himself to go to the washroom where I think he was going to put his teeth back in. In the meantime, however, my aunt had tidied the picnic table, gathering up our trash and putting the garbage into nearby trash bins while we all were discussing about what to see next at the zoo. When Grandpa reached for his napkin with the teeth in it, it was gone! My aunt and thrown it into the garbage bin!

Everyone was so upset except my mom, who was smiling along with Grandpa. They sat there, quietly laughing at the pandemonium that surrounded them. My mom doesn’t get too upset about anything. Maybe she got that gift from Grandpa. She’s great to have around in an emergency. Maybe that’s why my aunt, the same one that threw Grandpa’s teeth into the garbage bin, asked my mom to be there when she had her baby last week.

Anyway, back to my Grandpa – we began looking for his teeth. Piece by piece, our entire family reached into the garbage bins and began pulling out garbage, laying it carefully on the nearby grass. There was garbage everywhere. Everything smelled of greasy French fries, left over burgers with mustard and ketchup smeared all over, Popsicle sticks still coated with slimy, melted ice cream or stained with the colorings used in Popsicles. There were remnants of sandwiches and partially eaten apples. The garbage was spread out all over the meticulously groomed lawns. Our noses twitched from the stench.

You think that was bad enough, well, it got worse. Soon, the geese and sea gulls had joined the ‘garbage picnic lunch’. They flew in from everywhere and were pecking ravenously at the garbage, squawking when another flew in and tried to enjoy a morsel. This commotion and mess caused so much attention that the zoo attendants came to find out what was going on. They were scowling at what they saw until they heard my aunt’s story about my grandfather’s teeth. They pretended to be serious about hunting for the napkin with the teeth in it, but down deep, we were all laughing at the scene before us.

By now, you probably figured out that Grandpa got his teeth back, but didn’t dare go to the washroom to put them in. One of the park attendants gave him a zip lock baggie for storing them until they could be properly cleaned at home. After we all found the washrooms and cleaned ourselves up, we decided to finish our trek at the zoo, the odor of garbage still clinging passionately to our clothes, I might add. In the meantime, there was Grandpa, walking around with his sunken cheeks and mouth, slapping his lips together when he spoke. I’ll never forget that day. We laugh about it now, including Grandpa, whenever we get together for family gatherings, like at Thanksgiving. My aunt always reminds Grandpa not to show off by randomly biting into corn on the cob or anything else that might cause him havoc. I wish I had had my camera that day.

My mind has been so caught up in that reverie – cool word, huh? ‘Reverie’, I mean – that I didn’t realize we’ve already arrived at Canora. Time has flown by.

“Hey, Ethan, look at the large sculpture of the lady in the native Ukrainian dress. It’s got to be at least fifteen meters high! It’s amazing! Is everyone in Canora, Ukrainian?

“It’s a thriving Ukrainian settlement, but there are also Chinese people here.” Grin.

Ethan has stopped at a small hole-in-the-wall type place. The door is narrow and very old. I can’t see anything of the interior of the restaurant because the only window is covered with what looks like heavy, red drapes on the inside. There’s one sign in the window that says, ‘Open’ and another that says, ‘Lunch Smorgasbord, $5.95’. My mother always says that it’s what’s on the inside that counts. I hope that applies to Chinese restaurants.

“This is it. Doesn’t look like much but the food’s great.” Ethan must have been reading my mind.

Have you ever walked into a place and felt everyone staring at you? Well, right now, absolutely every person in this restaurant is silently watching Ethan and me. They’re not trying to hide the fact that they’re eyeing us up and down. We’re strangers and they want us to know that they figured that out.

A small, Chinese child is coming towards us. She looks like she’s in elementary school. She has the sweetest smile. The menus in her hands are almost as tall as she is. Okay, that’s exaggerating a little, but seriously, those menus must be half the length of her body. Her shiny, straight black hair is in a ponytail, which is bobbing as she takes us to our table.

We’ve been shown to a red vinyl covered booth. On the table are two placemats that have the Chinese horoscope on them. We each have a cup and saucer and a cutlery setting made up of a knife, fork and spoon, none of which match. No chop sticks. At one end where the table meets the wall, are the salt and pepper shakers, sugar in pouches, tooth picks, a stainless steel napkin dispenser overfilled with napkins, and Soya sauce in a glass container that desperately needs to be washed free of greasy fingerprints.

There are large Chinese lanterns hanging throughout the restaurant and pictures of Chinese scenes are mounted on the walls, one designated to each booth. On the round tables in the center of the restaurant, are large circular trays that spin so that everyone can reach the Chinese food dish they want. There is a racket of noise and a hissing sound that is probably coming from a wok in the process of creating a delectable Asian dish. Add to all this the blue cloud of smoke and you can now visualize where I’m going to be eating. The blue cloud of smoke is coming from the diners in the smoking section. I don’t know why they bother to have a non-smoking section because the smoke fills the place. I also don’t understand why this province still allows smoking in public places. Restaurants in Calgary are non-smoking, except if they have an outdoor patio. Smoking in public places in Alberta was banned years ago.

While I’ve been describing the restaurant to you, the little Chinese girl has brought us a pot of tea – smells like Oolong – and two traditional Chinese teacups. She also brought two glasses of water. Now she’s gone. Disappeared.

“Gia, what would you like to order?” Ethan must be hungry because his head is buried in the world’s tallest menus.

“Ginger beef is my favorite, and shrimp chop suey, and an egg roll, maybe some rice on the side.” I don’t want to pig out but if the food’s as good as Ethan says, I better fill up now because Dad doesn’t take us out much when Mom’s not around.

The child hostess has returned with some sort of dark sauce. It looks like she has her brother with her. It appears that he’s our server. Ethan is ordering. He’s obviously done this many times before because he’s smooth at it. The pair has sprinted off with our order.

“You were quiet coming up here. Thinking of the ghost?”

“No, actually I was thinking of my grandfather and his false teeth. Do you have false teeth?”

Oh great! Remember I told you that when I’m with Ethan, especially when we’re sitting, facing each other, with nothing else to do but engage in some sort of conversation, and especially in restaurants, I lose my decorum and then fumble miserably? I’ve just blurted out the worst possible thing ever! I can just imagine that my face is beet red. He’s grinning.

He’s pursing his lips, pulling them inward as he’s leaning towards me. “No, Mam, got no teeth. Just soft gums to gnaw on you with.”

I love his laugh. It’s full and free. He laughs as if no one would ever be disturbed or offended by the sound. That’s a sign of self-confidence.

He’s still laughing. “Okay, I lied. I have one false tooth.”

Why did I ever ask that question? Do I really want to know that Mr. Perfect isn’t completely perfect? Now I know he has a false tooth. I wonder where it is? Would it ever fall out when I kiss him?

“How come you have a false tooth?” I may as well get to the bottom of this, now that I’ve got this ball rolling.

“My incisor had a tooth growing along the top of it. Instead of wearing braces for two years or more in the attempts to bring the tooth down, and not knowing if it would ever fall into its proper place, I decided to have the tooth removed and a false one put in. Seemed like less stress and bother to go that route.” He’s showing me where the false tooth is. I would never have known it to be false. It looks like any other tooth in his mouth.

“Are you ever worried that it will fall out?”

“No. It will probably be there until I die. Imagine me, the ninety year old, one toothed Ethan.”

Ninety years old is an unthinkable age. I can see Ethan at sixty or maybe seventy, which is how old my grandfather is. I don’t think Ethan will look any different. Maybe he’ll have a few gray hairs at the temples, but other than that, he’ll be as lovely as ever.

Whoever is doing the cooking in this restaurant, is fast because our food has arrived, steaming hot and smelling scrumptious! The mini hostess and her ‘brother’ have carried out the various dishes we ordered. The boy server is filling our Chinese teacups for us. The child hostess is going to speak.

“Chopsticks?” She’s only said one word but it rang out like a bell. She’s like one of those Chinese dolls with her almond shaped eyes and flawless skin. Her little white teeth are like fresh water pearls.

“I’d like some, thank you.” Her tiny hands are so cute. “What’s your name?”

“Cherry. Some of my friends call me Cherry Blossom.”

“That’s a beautiful name. What grade are you in?”

“Grade six.”

“What’s your favorite subject?”

“Art and math. I also take piano lessons. You want chop sticks, mister?”

Ethan is smiling, completely charmed by Cherry. “Thank you.” She’s gone.

Ethan has mastered using chopsticks! He not only can eat well with them but he can pick up the tiny pieces of celery and bits of mushroom, both of which are slippery after being in the oyster sauce. I’m impressed.

“This food is delicious!” I realize this statement is overused, but when my mouth is full and my mind is occupied with tastes and sensations that are almost surreal, I resort to using expressions that are commonplace. Sorry.

“People travel from all around to eat here. Chan’s family has had this business for over forty years. His grandparents emigrated from Beijing. When they passed on, his uncle ran it and now Chan has taken over. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. Cherry sure took to you.”

“She’s as sweet as they come! I’ll have to tell my parents about this place. Maybe when mom comes back from my aunt’s we can all come here for dinner.”

I want to ask Ethan about the corporations squeezing the farmers out. Now might be a good time to do so.

“Ethan, why are the farmers here suffering so much, with crop prices and all?” He’s waiting to finish chewing before attempting to speak. I know that’s the polite way of making conversation at mealtime, but my mind is so frantic to say something, that I forget simple manners like this, especially when I’m with Ethan.

“It’s sort of a ‘catch twenty-two’, Gia. The farmers harvest in the Fall and try to sell what they can before Christmas in order to pay their bills. Grain prices don’t go up until the following Spring. What the Canadian Alliance of Grain Growers [CAGG] does is store the wheat they bought from the farmers in the Fall, until prices rise mid winter. Then they sell off the grain at the higher price.

“Why don’t the farmers wait until Spring to sell their grain? It looks like some of the storage bins I saw along the way would store the grain like any other commercial one would.”

“Some can afford to. Most can’t. Their bills are due in the Fall. If the farmer didn’t make enough on his crop sales, he’s in trouble with the provincial and federal loan companies, both of which are connected to CAGG. What’s been happening lately is that some of these lenders are calling in the loans. The farmers have used their land as collateral and if they have new equipment, the bank probably owns that as well. The farmer tries holding on until spring, when prices go up, but the lenders take possession first. It’s a no-win situation.”

“Sounds suspicious to me – how CAGG wins at all costs. Is it just in Saskatchewan where this is happening?”

“All three prairie provinces have been hit. Alberta wasn’t in as bad of a state until the beef market collapsed recently. Now we’re all in the same boat.”

“What choices do the farmers have?”

“Few. Some have banded together and lobbied in Ottawa. The farmers have received a deaf ear from federal ministers. In fact, a few weeks ago, our provincial cabinet minister called a meeting with the federal minister, to discuss this problem and the federal minister refused to attend. That’s a brick wall response if there ever was one. It’s left a feeling of helplessness amongst producers.”

“I’m the first to feel sorry for someone who has worked hard and then sees no profit for the labour, but I must admit, Ethan, when I arrived in Saskatchewan, I was amazed at how many farmers live in big houses and drive the latest model trucks. Some people in our area live in Arizona or Florida during the winter. It takes money to do that. My parents can’t afford these things.”

“You’re right. Some of the big operators have found their road to success, but if you notice, their business includes more than just grain. One fellow not far from town, runs buffalo. Another has added emus to his business. These older producers also usually have their families thoroughly tied into the business, not unlike Chan having his kids work in the restaurant with his wife running the finances and so on.”

I hear Ethan’s words but something in me tells me it doesn’t add up. “Does CAGG have local representation on their committees?”

“Yes. Mr. Gustafson – where your father had the meeting last Tuesday evening – is a CAGG member. That’s why he calls the meetings – to report to the farmers in his area. Mr. Gustafson has been doing this for a few years. Rumor has it that he’s not too pleased about how things are run at CAGG.”

I don’t know how Ethan can manage to eat small bites of food and keep on talking, without ever having his mouth full or without one single Chinese noodle dangling from his lips.

“I don’t know if I should be telling you this, but if you’ll keep it quiet – “ It must be serious because Ethan has never looked so intense about any topic since I’ve known him.

“Mum’s the word. What’s up?”

“Over the past two years, some funny business has been happening to the Gustafson family.”

“Such as?”

“Two years ago, the Gustafson’s set out to harvest one of his fields. His oldest son started up the new combine and it died in a puff of smoke. A rock got caught in it. Of course, the mechanic believes the rock was placed in the machine. How does a rock get caught in a combine overnight, while it’s standing there? The day only got worse. By the time nightfall came, all three combines and every single grain truck that Gustafson owns, was disabled. Coincidence? I doubt it.”

“Did he lose his crops?”

“The neighbors pitched in and he got his crops off, but if it wasn’t for the fact that Gustafson is a mouth piece for the community, it would have wiped him out, like it has others.”

“Others? The same thing has happened to others in the area?”

Nod. “One fellow took over his family’s farm and fortunately for him, he works at the local car dealership and his wife is a fulltime school teacher, so they were able to keep themselves out of financial disaster after years of blood, sweat and tears. They came home from their day jobs one afternoon, and found their homestead on fire. Lost everything. Two of their quarter sections burned. They had to replant all the trees that skirt their property. It was a devastation for them.”

I am moved by how rural communities come together in times of need. In both of these stories, the community came together for the farmer. I can understand a little better why Alex and I are seen as ‘outsiders' at school. We are outsiders. We come from the city where it’s rare if you know who your neighbor is, or better yet, if you spend any time chatting with your neighbor over the fence that separates your properties. Yet, the neighbor is so close that you can reach out and touch each other through your bathroom windows, if you felt led to do so. They build the houses so close together, it’s unreal that everyone isn’t just one big happy family. But they aren’t. Each family stays to itself. The only time we ever got to know people was through the school that Alex and I attended and other activities we did such as swimming and soccer.

My father being a teacher often opened up opportunities to meet people. This wasn't always a positive thing, however. Sometimes my dad would be at Alex’s Karate competition, and as soon as one of the other parents found out through small talk with Dad that he was a teacher, Dad would have to listen to comments on the educational system and hear every sorry story that this other parent's child had to suffer through when attending school. That’s about as close to neighborly as it ever got in our city.

The sense of community in the city was nothing like it is in rural Saskatchewan, even in churches. The church we attended was very friendly and everyone knew my parents, so Sunday mornings were always social. But, as soon as you went home after the worship service, it was as if the parishioners coiled back into their mole holes and disappeared until dress-up time the next Sunday morning. In rural Saskatchewan, dressing up to meet your neighbor doesn’t seem to be important. I wonder why there is such a difference between here and the city?

“Earth to Gia…” Ethan is tapping my plate with his chopsticks. “Was it something I said? I lost you for a moment there.”

“Sorry. I was just thinking about how wonderful it is that everyone in your community pulled together to help these farmers. It’s not like that where I came from.”

“I understand. I noticed a difference when I moved to Saskatoon for university. People stay more to themselves.” Pause. “What does your fortune cookie say?”

I didn’t notice that Cherry had brought two fortune cookies. I feel magic when I break open the cellophane wrapper and crack apart the vanilla cookie that holds my future predicted on a slip of white paper.

“’You shall uncover a treasure that will bring you prosperity.’ I wonder what that means?” Oddest fortune I’ve ever had. “What does yours say?”

“Love is close at hand. Seize it.” Ethan is either particularly thoughtful with this prediction or I’m reading romance into his response. He’s looking deeply into my eyes. Romance? I hope so!

“Ready to go?”

“Yes. This was great! Thanks for dinner, or supper, as people here call it.”

It has turned rather dark outside in the short time we were in Chan’s restaurant. Blustering rain clouds are hanging over half the city, with the sun trying to make one last appearance before succumbing to the moon. The breeze has suddenly turned cold. I’m glad to be going home. I want to get this roll of film developed and I want to ask Dad more about Mr. Gustafson. I wonder – does Mr. Gustafson have his own ghost to contend with?

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