Shirker

Mr. Adams was early for the office. He found his way through the wave of office girls on the block near Toronto's Queen and Yonge without any problem. Being a fair haired young man, it was not unusual for him to be challenged as a shirker. Anyone that looked like he should be in the army was questioned as to why he was in civilian clothes. Girls had been known to give them a small white feather. Today however, they seemed interested in other things.


Strange, he hadn’t heard from his man in Kingston. Usually Portland called him by ten in the evening, but last night he had heard nothing. He picked up the Toronto Star from the floor outside the door and flipped it open. “Unidentified Man” the sub headline said. Quickly turning to page 4, he read:

The body of a short stout white male was found beside the Grand Trunk line just east of Ganonoque last night. The body had no identification, and was clothed in a dark blue business suit. Pockets contained only a small sum of money Local police say it seemed he had fallen from the passing Montreal bound train. Anyone having information about this man or missing someone of this description is asked to contact the Ganonoque police or the Grand Trunk Railway Police “

Adams thought for minute. Portland wore a dark blue suit and would definitely be described as short and stout. No mention of any other pocket contents. Maybe the authorities were holding back details, in case someone inquired. He picked up the phone and asked to be put through to the British American Hotel in Kingston. After a few moments, Adams asked if a Mr Portland was in residence, the employee said, “No he’s not here now. He ran out last night and never returned. Do you know if he’s coming back? Where can I send the bill?’ Adams hung up and then asked to be connected to the Grand Trunk Railway terminal in Kingston. A short fat man had tried to purchase a ticket to Montreal on the 9:17 but it was leaving, so he got on the train without a ticket. Adams thought “What is going on here?” Dialing “0” he asked the operator to connect him with Walnut 254.

“Hello, is this Jimmy?”

“Yes”

“This is Adam. Do you have a dozen cream cakes?”

There was a moment’s pause and then the voice said “We are out of cream cakes, but I can supply strawberry tarts. Where would you like them delivered?”

Adams said “In front of the parliament buildings at Queen’s Park by the main entrance at 10:15. I will be wearing an orange marigold in the lapel of my brown suit. I will be carrying a brown paper package”

“Brown paper package, orange marigold, brown suit, in front of the parliament building” the voice repeated. The line was disconnected.

Sharp and the girl sat side by side in the terminal. She was very quiet. Sharp looked over at her. Her eyes moved back and forth over the passing crowd. She seemed to be checking on passing people, but not as though she would recognize anyone she saw. Sharpe said “What now?”

He said “I guess you’d like me to accompany you, watch your back trail, run interference?”

She said “I can’t ask you to do that. Your wife will be worried, your CO will think you’ve gone AWL. You could get cashiered”

Sharpe looked at her as if that thought had never entered his mind before. She was right. He said “Let me worry about that. I can’t leave you out here alone and un protected. Old Richard Sharp would rise up from his grave with that terrible sword of his, and have my gizzard”

She smiled. “You come from a long line of fighting men, don’t you?”

“You might say that. My pappy went to South Africa with the Gordons and his father Patrick Sharpe fought at Inkerman. If it wasn’t for some good luck and fine nursing by a Scottish lass, I wouldn’t have been born”

“What about Patrick’s father?”

“Old Richard? He was a piece of metal. Born the son of a whore, signed on with the 95th Rifles and fought his way up through the ranks of Wellington’s army till he became a Colonel. Captured a French eagle, he did. Married a French lady and retired in Lancashire. My dad Patrick was named after his best friend. They were hell fire and brimstone, those two”.

“How did you end up in Canada?”

“Well, I wanted to make something of myself. As I said, father married a Scottish lass and they lived in Dundee. I came over and lived in Ottawa with my wife Jessie. Since I came from a family of soldiers, I joined the local militia. It’s where I feel most comfortable. When the present unpleasantness broke out, I went to a friend of mine who lived in Ottawa, a Col Bill Hughes, and asked him to keep me in mind if he ever he raised a battalion. A few weeks later I got a note from him, saying “Get down here” and I ended up in the 21st Battalion in Kingston.”

The comfortable muted Scottish accent was pleasant to listen to. She half turned to him and asked: “How did you meet Jessie?”

“Oh, she was working on the ship as a ladies maid when I came over. I met her in the passage way, carrying some laundry. As I reached her, the ship pitched and she and her pile of pantaloons, slips and chemise careened into me and we both fell to the floor in a mess of lingerie! I was too embarrassed to do anything but help her to her feet, but she smiled at me and put me at ease. That’s how it all started, in a pile of lingerie.”

She laughed and seemed to relax. “Do you have any children?”

“No.”

They sat for a long time without speaking. “How did you end up in the office in Kingston, with the war still on?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it”, he said “My health hasn’t been good. There are more ways to wound a man than blow a hole through his hand”

She saw then, for the first time, a star shaped scar on the back of his right hand, and looking into his eyes, saw unnamed horror written there. He turned and looked away. She shuddered and said “Thanks for helping me. You are doing me and the country a great service. More than you know”

“You can’t tell me anything about it?

“No”

“Well, orders is orders” Sharpe chirped. He stood up and said “Let’s go find some tickets”. She picked her bag and followed him to the ticket counter.