Read Online Truth and Bright Water by Thomas King - Free Book Online

“Right.”
    “‘Blessed is he who has found his work; let him ask no other blessedness,’” says Monroe. “You’re the first applicant, so you have the inside track.”
    The church doesn’t remind me much of our place. It’s larger, and it has windows. At the back of the church is a bed and a large oak dresser, both of which look old. Against one of the side walls is a piano. I don’t play piano, but if I did, this would be the piano I would want. It’s all sparkling wood with nickel-plated pedals anddecorative plates. The front panel is open fretwork so you can see the hammers as they swing forward and strike the strings. Across the top is a low back panel of carved wood with a round little beaver in the centre. And just above the keyboard is a fancy gold decal that says “Bell Pianos, Guelph, Ontario.”
    “So,” says Monroe, looking around the room, “what do you think?”
    The windows are tall, and several are filled with stained and bevelled glass. One of the windows is a religious scene of some sort. There’s an old man with a white beard who has a book in one hand that is nothing but clear glass because you can look through it and see the sky outside. I figure they probably ran out of stained glass when they got to the book, or the window got broken and that piece had to be replaced.
    Next to the old man is a small child, and next to the child is a skinny dog with skinny legs. I don’t know the Bible well enough to know who these figures are supposed to be, but my guess is that the old guy is God and that the kid is Jesus. The dog is probably a pet or maybe one of the animals from the ark who escaped the flood.
    “I’m just getting started in here,” says Monroe. “Had to get the outside going before winter. You hungry?”
    “Sure.”
    “Grilled cheese?”
    “Sure.”
    Monroe heads back to the kitchen. “Look around,” he shouts. “Make yourself at home.”
    There is no altar at the front of the church. I look around to see where Monroe has moved it and that’s when I see the buffalo. It’s not real, and I know that right away, but it’s pretty good.
    “Swiss or cheddar?”
    The buffalo is taller than I am and lighter than I think. I go over and push on it, and it rocks back and forth.
    “Processed?” I tap the buffalo a couple of times. It sounds dull and hollow, and I figure it’s paper mâché or something like that. In the very centre of the church is a large wooden box. It is carved and painted, but I can’t see any way to open it. There’s no lid and there are no seams. My father would like a box like this.
    “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Monroe comes out of the kitchen with two plates on his lap. “It’s a bentwood box,” he says. “The Northwest Coast tribes make them.”
    “It’s great.”
    “I bought it when I was in Vancouver.” Monroe puts the plates on top of the box.
    “What’s it for?”
    “Storing things.”
    The cheese isn’t processed, but it’s good.
    “What’d you think of my buffalo?”
    “Neat.”
    “It’s the first one I did.”
    “Is it paper mâché?”
    “The real ones are on their way.” Monroe smiles at me and eats his sandwich. It’s quiet in the church. You would think you could hear the sound of the wind outside, but you can’t. We eat like that. In silence. “You want another one?”
    I shake my head.
    “So,” says Monroe, “you want the job?”
    I look around the room. “Doing what?”
    “Helping me,” he says.
    “With what?”
    Monroe puts on the wig and starts rolling around the room. He circles the buffalo a couple of times. “I’m planning to do some restoration work.”
    “Neat.” I don’t know if I like Monroe better with the wig or without it.
    “And you can help me.”
    “Neat.”
    “And I’ll pay you.”
    I think I like him better without the wig. “How much?”
    “Plenty,” says Monroe. “Did they tell you I’m crazy?”
    “They said you were dead,” I say.
    “‘It is better to be a fool than to