Magi

Magi Cate Sandilands (bio) The one window in Anna and Harry’s basement was just above ground. Even in July it only let in a small slice of sun. In late fall, all it revealed was soggy, Vancouver grey. The cement walls might have looked modern in the early 70s when the house was built. Now, fifty years later, they didn’t. “It feels like a medieval dungeon,” said Harry. “How can you work down here, love?” “It’s quiet,” replied Anna. “I can think. And I can listen to the CBC while I’m working without the kids complaining.” Anna worked on her “pedestrian art,” as she called it, at a battered, pine table underneath the one fluorescent light in the middle of the room. Every November, she absorbed herself in huge clumps of donated Christmas lights for their annual display, none of which arrived in working condition. For hours, Anna would massage connections and replace fuses, her concentration punctuated by gentle, barely audible curses. As she told Harry, she loved to create the display, more elaborate every year: it was a gift to the community. But she couldn’t understand why her neighbors didn’t do the repair work themselves, for their own houses. “It’s just a few tweaks,” she said, more than once. “Not everyone is as handy as you,” Harry reminded her. “Besides, they love that you take their broken stuff and make art from it. It’s a gift. For the community. Right?” This year, Anna had especially elaborate plans. Someone had left her a collection of lighted wire animals, among them a polar bear, a moose, and something looking vaguely like a dolphin that she decided to re-fashion into an orca because it was the west coast, after all. She would [End Page 93] create an interpretation of the scene in the manger complete with the wire animals, one of Joey’s old dolls in an illuminated basket, a large star at the top of their brick chimney, and white lights and a rainbow of angels in the trees along the street. “The animals here will be the three magi,” Anna pointed out for Harry as they surveyed their tiny front garden. “And they’ll bring their gifts to Jesus in the manger over there in the corner, under the crabapple where everyone can see him.” Harry raised an eyebrow. Anna was familiar with his skepticism. “You know, it’s sort of an environmental take on the idea of wise men. Animal wisdom. Like in that movie we watched with the kids about elephants being smarter than people, only . . . more Canadian. The angels can be kind of abstract, like the Northern Lights.” Harry couldn’t resist teasing her. “But how would the orca swim to the manger?” Anna rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so literal, sweetheart. It’s art.” Still, Harry agreed to trim the crabapple so the angels wouldn’t risk electrocution in the overhanging power lines. ________ Immersion in a project usually made Anna almost intolerably cheerful, but by the end of a week of work on the light display she looked drawn. She spent all her waking time downstairs at her table, but none of the project had made its way outside. Harry was concerned. Although Anna hated to be disturbed when she was creating, early one afternoon he went down to the basement to check on her. Tangles of wire spilled out from overturned cardboard boxes, the de-constructed polar bear was splayed out on the table like a lab dissection, and Anna sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the aspirational whale in front of her. “Do you want something to eat, love?” asked Harry, alarmed by the uncharacteristic mess. “I’m going to make grilled cheese for Joey and Sal. I could make you one?” Anna didn’t look up. “Sure, thanks,” she said half-heartedly. “Can you bring it down here?” [End Page 94] Harry tried to keep his tone light. “Don’t you think it would be good to see some daylight, maybe talk to the kids for a bit? They’re really excited and want to know what’s so secret...

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