Gift-a-lee part 4

Billy Bulkley was so new to the Slough that he hadn’t learned to master conversation with sloughians yet, still speaking that more clear form of English that was used by Lulu islanders. He understood sloughian, he just could not speak it well.

It was the first time Billy Bulkley had ever asked to come over to Garry Perry’s. It was strange to Garry Perry that at this time of sorrow he could not expect such an irrational change but there the Simpson Indian was, his milk-chocolate eyes staring at Garry Perry at the Dinner Plate Island School.

“Su enter-ya,” said Garry Perry sarcastically.

He offered the well-known stranger a seat on his couch and asked if he would like a cup of tea or orange juice. Garry Perry always drank orange juice when he was depressed, the sweetness was a necessary antidote to a bitter heart.

As Garry Perry walked towards his fridge he saw that the shadows had changed shape and now looked as if they were crawling on the floor. There was no good reason for them to have changed, the sun was not out, the light had not changed and even the extra presence of Billy Bulkley was not enough to have brought different looks to chez Dinner Plate Island School.

When Garry Perry returned to the couch area, Billy Bulkley was smiling brightly, that his dental shine almost forced Garry Perry to drop the glasses of juice. He had no idea as to why Billy Bulkley would be smiling like a kid at a carnival but he was – his face innocent and joyful.

“Here be da jaweys,” said Garry Perry who then sat down very slowly.

“You fiddled through this day didn’t you?” said Billy Bulkley grabbing the glass and sipping it slowly.

Garry Perry looked at Billy Bulkley confused not understanding a word but nodding his head to hurry up to the point.

“This day. You could see how even the gullies paid attention when on most days they would have pooped on him. Today they walked the street with us. But you slipped under the pressure.”

Garry Perry wondered how that could be, how the man responsible for dropping the wooden casket could come in to his home and lie about who was responsible for that mistake.

A fire began to rip through Garry Perry’s soul. He wondered how long he could take it and he placed his glass down on the table and pushed his cap upwards readying himself for a yelling.

“I didn’t slip,” said Billy Bulkley. “It was you.”

“True?” asked Garry Perry yet more confused by Billy Bulkley’s hateful, smiling face.

Billy Bulkley looked to the ground, his puffy cheeks swelling as if someone had stuck cotton balls in his mouth. A little bit of drool seeped from his lower lip, but Billy Bulkley wiped it quickly.

“They brought his body to me first. I didn’t know what to do. He looked so different, a rotting corpse. He had this lost look on his face like he was not sure where he was and when the police asked me to identify him I said I had never met the man. I had never met the man. Never met him.”

Billy Bulkley’s voice was without a hint of sadness and to Garry Perry, though he had begun to wonder why the confession was being offered, mirrored the smile with a fierce grimace.

“They asked where they could take his body and who knew him. I told them that I didn’t know. I was scared. He was like an uncle to me but, you know, he was dead and I had no idea how to deal with that. They didn’t give me a choice. One of the cops said that he knew I knew Clay Biffley and ordered the other officer to throw the body in living room. I asked about a morgue and they said they didn’t keep his type in a morgue and that he was our problem to deal with.”

This was not done. No true sloughian should ever be placed in a morgue, it wasn;t respectful. You were not gone until you returned to the slough and your body became food for the slough’s slippery inhabitants. To sleep with dead bodies was not acceptable.

Gary Perry swallowed his heart and tried to remain composed.

“They tell ya a ‘tory ‘bout how Clay Biffley died?” asked Garry Perry.

The shadows had spookily crawled up Billy Bulkley’s face, seeming to age the sloughians face. Garry Perry’s heart jumped out of his stomach and on to his tongue. Yet he bit it.

He recalled that it was Char McCool who told Garry Perry about finding of Clay Biffley’s body and confirming to him that he was dead. She had ostensibly forgotten to tell Garry Perry about how she had come across the body.

“They told me that he was found in a farm field near the Slough a week or two after he had disappeared. They said when he was found, his hands were stained with red berry juice, likely it was from Strawberries.”

Garry Perry felt very frustrated with this piece if news. He was dealing with a lot at this point.

“I mean I would have told everyone as soon as I could but I needed time to think of a way to tell everyone, it was a great responsibility…” said Billy Bulkley, who was still smiling, his voice filled with all sorts of insincerity.

“IT WAS ME ‘TORY TO TELL BUDDAY!” yelled Garry Perry pointing emphatically at his chest. “UNKLY FOR YA, SURE. No fiddly. A BRO TA ME, NO DOUBT!”

“Listen I just came over to let you know. I thought you would appreciate this gift of information. You may have known him well but really he was my friend. I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Two weeklies. Two. Ya no be da only one who love him. How could you have left da Biff in ya paws for dat long?”

“He needed to air out. He looked like shit. He was my friend too. You don’t own him.”

Garry Perry’s red hat had fallen off his head to the ground and his face was a raging crimson colour and it somehow felt good to turn on this tap of anger and allow the spout to rage until Billy Bulkley had received a sink full of digust because that, in then end, was exactly how Billy Bulkley had always made him feel, he had always felt that Billy Bulkley got the best of Clay Biffley’s time.

“I no wanna buy him neither. One like you killy him, I know id. I have da ‘fo.”

Billy Bulkley smile grew larger after that statement – stars were shooting out of his mouth. Garry Perry felt Billy Bulkley’s face was egging him on and he wanted to hurt him, to bash his bones in so badly, to turn this man with chocolate milk-coloured skin in to a man with a mixture of red, black and blue just like the way he said Clay Biffley was returned to him. He went to grab a bat that said “Lil’ Slugger”. It was blonde and would certainly be evidential of Garry Perry’s new found insanity, but Garry Perry didn’t mind. He would make Billy Bulkley pay for the poor way he treated Clay Biffley on his final days on this planet.

“Come on little man. Bring what you got!”

The two would-be combatants stood opposite looking, examining who would blink first.

“How come ya no looky at da slough. Ya no real sloughian,” jabbed Garry Perry.

“How come ya never left the slough. You are not a real human,” returned Billy Bulkley.

They stood staring at each other for a long time – probably 10- 15 minutes until Billy Bulkley’s face lost its smile, his mouth lost those stars and a black hole ate his brightness. That shadow had worked its way over to Garry Perry and now reached for his heart.

“He was a good man,” said Billy Bulkley who’s voice had taken on that of a ghost locked down a well, hallow and filled with echoes.

Garry Perry began to see him as just as pathetic as he was feeling and begun to understand the greater connection between the two men that had been connecting them all along.