The Gallery of Lost Species by Nina Berkhout Read Free Book Online

Paul was proof of it, as were other similar and unpredictable gestures, though they were few and far between.
    My theory was that my resplendent sister kept her distance so she wouldn’t crack up. So I forgave her and let her be.
    *   *   *
    A T FOUR IN the morning, we packed into the wagon for the five-hour drive to Toronto. Viv slept the whole way there. By the time we reached the Hilton, where the contest was being held, her complexion was washed out and she was shivering.
    Con dismissed it as nerves.
    In the room we’d rented for the day, she wrapped my sister in a blanket and sat her down at the mirror. Humming “Au clair de la lune,” she pulled Viv’s costumes from their garment bags and laid them out with care on the king-size bed.
    When they started arguing, Henry and I left the room and installed ourselves in the back row of the large conference space. Soon the lights dimmed and the girls paraded out one by one: Calista wants to be a chief executive. Her hobbies include shoe shopping and surfing. Madison dreams of being a physicist and Miss Universe. Her favourite foods are Astro Pops and KFC .
    The first segment was character costumes. Snow Whites and Rapunzels dominated. When Viv’s turn came, Constance participated in the skit, as parents sometimes did. My sister had been adamant about choosing her own attire. The music was also stopped at her request. In silence, she stepped onto the platform and lay on her back for what felt like forever in pageant time. People in the audience started fidgeting. Then Con emerged all dolled up in her strapless dress and mules. With a dancer’s grace, she bent over and dragged Viv out by the ankles to centre stage.
    My mother attached Velcro strings to Viv’s head, wrists, and knees. She took a few steps back and raised a wooden control bar high in the air, prompting Viv to sit up and turn her head from side to side.
    My sister had converted one of her princess cones into a Pinocchio hat. She’d stamped circles on her cheeks with a bingo blotter, and put the cardboard cylinder from a roll of toilet paper over her nose, fastening it around her head with twine.
    For three minutes, Viv entertained the audience as our mother acted as the puppeteer. There was applause and gasping when Viv snuck behind Con to fake a kick or make the strangling motion around an invisible throat with her white-gloved hands. When her time was up, Viv stiffened. She dropped her upper body down and pinned her nose against her knees, returning to an inanimate object that Constance hauled offstage.
    The judges and audience roared with laughter. We all did. Only when Viv flipped Con the double bird from the curtain wing, which everyone saw except my mother, did the room go quiet.
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    T HERE WAS A two-hour break before the final glitz-wear portion of the contest.
    Back in our hotel suite, Con turned on the TV and plugged in the hair appliances. When the irons were hot, she began the lengthy activity of creating ringlets of varying sizes out of Viv’s hair, over which she fastened a heavier artificial hairpiece, which stayed on with sharp-toothed metal combs that gave my sister severe headaches.
    My father put his hand on Viv’s forehead. Then he grabbed my mother by the upper arm and pulled her into the bathroom, closing the door. Viv turned the volume up on Oprah, but we could still hear them arguing about whether or not my sister was really sick. When they came out, he told me to put on my coat.
    â€œHenri Walker, don’t you dare. ”
    â€œHang in there, sweetheart.” My father studied Viv, ignoring our mother.
    My sister moved the curls away from her eyes. “I am a pageant angel, ” she said, blowing kisses weakly in our direction.
    That afternoon, Henry took me to the Royal Ontario Museum. The rotunda’s mosaic ceiling was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. It was made from a