I ‘d heard that a couple of the men who’d returned were living somewhere on Hilldale Road, on the edge of town, and I went to see them. No, they didn’t know Einar, but they did know Ed Rynnanen and Walter Elomaki, the two men Einar had run into when he’d signed up for Spain at the Seaman’s Hall in Toronto. They were almost sure that Rynnanen had returned home to Sunshine.
Rynnanen’s face fell when I asked about Einar. The last time he’d seen him was on the ship coming home. Einar hadn’t seemed well. “The way he acted,”
said Rynnanen. “Didn’t answer when I spoke to him. Just stared. “
He told me the returned men had split up in Toronto. I made up my mind to go there. I knew Mother would do anything to stop me, but I wouldn’t give her a chance. I said not a word, bought my ticket, and boarded the train for Toronto.
Toronto Western was the hospital closest to Spadina Avenue and the Seaman’s Hall, and I went there first. They had no recollection of Einar. “Why not try the Yonge Street Mission? He might have eaten a meal or two there.”
The man in charge seemed sympathetic. He looked me over carefully, then shook his head. I came away empty-handed.
A bar close by on Queen St. W. was crowded at four in the afternoon. Smoky and noisy. A congestion of languages came from every table in the room. Except one. In the far corner I noticed a group of 4 or 5 men, sipping their beer, saying nothing. Finns maybe? Not exactly morose. No they didn’t know Einar.
But they had run into someone who could fit his description. “You might find him around Dundas Street. In a bar or a pool hall.”
By the time I tried the third pool hall, I no longer felt self-conscious. No thick cloud of smoke, no habitués standing around; in fact there were only two men. I knew at once I’d found Einar. He was stooped and haggard.
Neither one looked up. I waited till their game was over.
“Einar!” was all I said. Startled at first, he turned to me but his eyes were vacant. He seemed frightened and he clutched his friend’s arm. Then found his voice. “Maggie!”
“Let’s go next door for a coffee. A Finn coffee,” I added, as playfully as I could manage.
We sat facing each other. Silent. How to begin? I studied his face as he groped for words.
“I couldn’t, Maggie. I couldn’t go back. I can’t go back. Too much has happened. You think you can help, but you’re wrong. I won’t go back. I don’t want anyone to see me. I don’t want my family to see me. I didn’t want you to see me.”
He stood up. “I loved you, Maggie. But now it’s too late.” Wiping a tear, he lurched a little as he made his way to the door.
I stood there, dazed, confused, a jumble of grief, bitterness, resentment. I watched until he disappeared.
So this was Spain. Without the romance.
The sky was beginning to darken. I began to walk.
***
