Errand

Charlie drove them out to the suburbs of Maple Ridge. Priya was incensed at being roped into this errand, Gigovaz’s last-minute order after she’d already worked late and was just powering down her computer and anticipating takeout sushi in her pyjamas on the couch, passing out to some brainless reality show. But now they were heading east on Highway 1 and she had to swallow down her umbrage so Charlie wouldn’t notice.

I can’t believe they’re doing this, Charlie fumed at the steering wheel. What’s that expression you lawyers have?

Cruel and unusual, Priya said, staring at her dark reflection in the window, because it had struck her too.

Charlie turned onto the bypass road and Priya felt the familiar dread close in, the smothering gloom that lingered around the prison, a malignant force field that tightened its grip as they neared. The Women’s Correctional Centre was a grey, two-storey box on neatly manicured grounds with a flagpole and a short flight of steps to the front door. But for the lack of windows, it could have been a school or a middle-tier pharmaceutical company. It struck her how punitive the name was. Correctional.

Charlie yanked up the parking brake and pressed the red button on her buckle so the seat belt reeled back with an angry zing. Truly, she said. This can’t wait until morning? Why are we spiriting the kid away in the middle of the night?

Sellian was half asleep and tearful when the guard brought him out, but he perked up when he spotted Charlie and hugged her hard, eyes squeezed shut.

He thinks he’s going to see his father, Charlie said when they were back in the car.

Priya turned to smile at Sellian in the car seat, small and restrained under the convoluted criss-cross of belts and clips. Though it was after 8 p.m. and he’d been roused from his bed, he was still wearing the government-issued track pants and sweater she always saw him in during the day.

Sellian asked a question in his high child’s voice and Charlie replied, catching his eye in the rear-view mirror. Illai, she said, shaking her head. Illai.

Priya knew this meant no. Sellian bobbed his head as he replied and the hope on his face required no translation. Priya caught the refrain: Appa. Appa.

It’s no use, Charlie said. He won’t believe me. She blew a hard breath, fluttering her bangs off her brow. But when she spoke to Sellian, her voice was cajoling, every sentence turning up at the end. What was Charlie saying, what words could she possibly find to explain where he was going and why?

Priya flipped through her paperwork as they drove, reviewing the business she had to conduct with the foster parents, the forms they had to initial and sign, the copies she must leave with them, the ones she had to take. There was a picture of the couple – Rick and Maggie Flanigan – and their bungalow in New Westminster. Priya twisted back and held the photos out to Sellian. These are the nice people who will take care of you, she said. And Charlie translated. Sellian clutched Ganesha to his chest and shook his mute head.

There are a dozen Tamil families who would gladly have taken him, Charlie said as she signalled to change lanes.

None of them are accredited foster parents, Priya said.

She’d already had this argument with Gigovaz. Haven’t we learned our lesson on this? she’d railed. Stealing children from their Native parents and putting them in white homes? What’s next? A special school run by pedophiles? She’d got so worked up, she hadn’t even known what she was saying. A small voice inside her pleaded: For the love of God, woman, stop! But Gigovaz hadn’t snapped or even taken his usual condescending tone. He’d only asked, with a bemused expression, Are you sure you don’t want to work in refugee law? And that had shut her up. But then he’d given her this assignment and she knew it was her punishment.

Charlie waved an angry hand at the windshield and said, The government is going to all this trouble – jailing five hundred people in the suburbs, busing them to hearings, setting their lawyers on attack mode. They couldn’t fast-track a few foster parent applications and get our families certified?

Priya glanced over her shoulder at Sellian, wondering what he made of all this, Charlie ranting in English, and how much he understood. Imprisoned in the car seat, he sat quietly, holding Ganesha in his lap and petting his elephant head like a dog.

—

At the Flanigans’, Sellian begged to be carried and Charlie lifted him onto her hip. When Priya tried to pat his back, he flinched and snuggled away.

The house had the air of a recent deep cleaning. Hovering under the potpourri was the sharp tang of something astringent, Lysol and Mr. Clean. Priya found her ability to hate the kidnappers – as she’d taken to privately denigrating them – flustered by this obvious effort and their benign, hopeful expressions.

Charlie introduced Sellian to his new foster parents in both languages, enunciating slowly in English: This is Mr. and Mrs. Flanigan. They are going to take care of you.

Maggie Flanigan put her face close to Sellian’s and he began to cry, quietly, in half-suppressed sobs. Charlie, pressing on, suggested a tour.

See? Priya said. You’ll have your own bedroom.

Sellian’s new room had a trim of nineties wallpaper; a parade of cowboys rode their horses along the top of the wall. There was a plastic bin overflowing with trains and Mega Bloks, and Disney sheets on the bed featuring characters from an animated movie about talking cars. The Flanigans had laid out matching pyjamas and Priya wanted to hug these strangers for their compassion. She thought of all the things Sellian would finally be able to do: hang from monkey bars, go to school. Though he didn’t know it, he’d be better off here than in jail. But then she thought of Mahindan, who must be learning the news right this minute, and felt like a traitor.

Charlie was taking Sellian on a circle of the room, the Flanigans hovering behind. See all your new clothes? Charlie said, pulling back the door of the closet. She repeated herself in Tamil, but Sellian only pressed his face into her neck and whimpered. Priya’s stomach sank. How were they ever going to leave him?

Maggie Flanigan suggested tea and they made stilted conversation in the living room as Sellian, in Charlie’s lap, drifted off to sleep, their voices dropping lower and lower with his eyelids.

We only found out yesterday that Sellian was coming here, Rick Flanigan said. We would have tried to learn a little Tamil if we’d known.

We’ve been fostering for three years, Maggie Flanigan said, setting her tea down untouched. But this is our first time with…a language barrier.

There was a fleeting terrified expression on her face that made Priya and Charlie exchange a startled look.

He’ll pick up English quickly, Charlie said. He’s got a little bit already…his alphabet, the numbers up to twenty.

We’ve started the enrolment process for his school, Rick Flanigan said.

If you could just sign here, Priya said, holding out a pen.

Charlie put a finger to her lips and stood with Sellian cradled in her arms. He made a wakeful sound and she whispered, Shhh…shhhhh. Priya gathered up her paperwork and shook the Flanigans’ hands, feeling complicit.

They were buttoning their coats when they heard a rustle in the bedroom and saw the doorknob turn. Charlie gave a quick shake of her head and jammed her feet into her shoes. The bedroom door flew open and Sellian barrelled down the hall. Maggie Flanigan scooped him up and Sellian, struggling for freedom, reached for Charlie through the air, his face twisted into a piteous plea, begging in Tamil to the only person who would understand.

Get out! Charlie muttered to Priya. Go!

Outside, the suburban neighbourhood was quiet. Across the street, a woman on a ladder hung Christmas lights. At their backs, Sellian screamed on the threshold, words blubbering out between sobs and tears as they fled down the walk, Priya’s heart ready to break.