The Capitol's Last Christmas

In Grampa's mind, he was travelling with an older salesman who was near retirement. That older salesman's part was played by my dad, "Poppa." So I guess you could say that Grampa thought my father was his father.

Each morning when my dad got up and started getting ready for work, Grampa would putter around getting ready to go to work, too. He'd say to my dad, "Well, Poppa, I suppose we'll be headin' West this morning?"

Then Grampa would say more.

"This has been a good stopover, you know. Nice, clean place. Pleasant. Good bed. Nice, clean woman runnin' it. What did you say her name was again?”
Then my mother would take Grampa by the arm. "Come and get your breakfast, Thomas, before it's cold."

And then, in the kitchen, Grampa would say to me, "Well now, here's a pretty little girl. I wonder what her name is."

This happened so many times that I started giving different names, names that I sometimes wish I was called instead of Martha. Names like Marilyn Monroe or Julie Andrews or Barbra Streisand – names of people you could maybe meet on the big screen at the Capitol Theatre. Or Katharine Hepburn.

And then Grampa would maybe say, "Katharine Hepburn. Hepburn! I knew some Hepburns out West — you're not one of that gang, are ya?"

Before my dad went off to work, he and Mom would talk Grampa into staying on for another day. Mom would pretend that my dad was just going out on a few errands and that he'd be back later, and maybe they'd better wait until the next day to leave for the West.

As my dad drove off down Murray Street, Grampa would wave and shout, "So long, Poppa! Will you be here when you get back?" That was one of his favourite jokes: Will you be here when you get back? Another one of his jokes was, "Were you very old when you were born?"

Then he would cry a little bit and Mom would get him back in the house and he'd see me again and say, "Well now, here's a pretty little girl. I wonder what her name is."

"Shirley MacLaine," I might say.

"MacLaine. MacLaine! I sold a hay rake to a bunch of MacLaines out West. They never paid fer it."

My dad was talking to the stranger in the living room, who said his name was Mr. Mandrake.

Grampa came in from the kitchen after his hot chocolate.

Grampa looked at Mr. Mandrake for quite a while. Looking at his white beard and his little potbelly and his raggedy sweater and his worn-out pants and his bent shoes. "Are ya stayin' here tonight at this place?" he asked Mr. Mandrake.

Mr. Mandrake looked at my dad. My dad looked at Mom. Mom sighed. Then she nodded her head just a tiny bit. Yes.

"Yes," said Dad. "He's staying at this place tonight. And so am I."

"It's a nice, clean place," Grampa said. "And the woman who runs the place here is a nice, clean woman and a fine cook on top of it. My father over here and I stayed here last night as well. Tomorrow we'll be movin' on. Headin' out West, we are."

My dad smiled. Mom rolled her eyes. Then Mom and I went to make up the bed in the spare room for Mr. Mandrake.

When we came back to the living room, Mr. Mandrake.

When we came back to the living room, Mr. Mandrake was doing magic tricks for Grampa. Making coins disappear. Snapping a dirty handkerchief so that now it has a knot in it and now it doesn't. He got Grampa to give him a quarter. The quarter was put under the handkerchief — poof! — no more quarter. He got Grampa to give him his tie clip. He flipped the tie clip into the air toward the ceiling. The tie clip didn't come down. Then he reached over to me and pulled the tie clip out from behind my ear. He got me to get him an orange and an apple and turned his back while I held up one of them over my head. Then he told me to bring it down and he turned around and told me that it was the orange I had raised and he was right. I did it five times and he was right every time.

He flipped a coin 10 times and made it come up heads each time. Then he got Grampa to try it and it came up tails.

I was getting pretty tired and so I went to bed and dreamt I was sitting in one of the special box seats high up on the wall of the Capitol Theatre reserved for the Queen and other special people like me.

The next morning I woke up hearing the sounds of a big breakfast being made, and the smells of pancakes and bacon and coffee and toast crept up the stairs and made me feel so safe and comfortable that I went back to sleep. Home.