Free Finnie Walsh by Steven Galloway Page B

asked Finnie.
    “I
helped him,” Louise said.
    Finnie shrugged. “You wanted to play on ice. Here’s the ice.”
    Finnie had turned the pumping-station shack into a locker room. Before we could put on our equipment, we had to warm it over a large metal barrel filled with waste wood that Finnie had procured from the sawmill.
    Because the water in the reservoir was insulated by earth and snow it didn’t freeze all the way down. We used a hand pump in the shack and connected it to a hose. Finnie was a dedicated ice maker. He used a lawn sprinkler to ensure that the water was evenly distributed across the ice’s surface. He movedthe water around with a giant squeegee and then meticulously rolled up the hose and drained the pump. He often reminded me that it was very important no water be left in either the hose or the pump because if they froze they would be ruined. We could get a new hose if we had to, but there would be no replacing the pump.
    Finnie also made periodic inspections of the boards and nets, making repairs when necessary. My only job was to operate the hand pump. It was a tough job physically, but Finnie assured me that it would toughen me up. I did what he told me to do.
    Occasionally, kids Finnie and I knew and trusted were invited up to the rink to play. Mostly they were players from Finnie’s team or friends from school. Once in a while we’d be joined by Jim Stockdale, Jordi Svenson or Bruce Selby. We hadn’t actually invited them, but we didn’t mind if they played. For the most part, we were left alone because of the remote location of the rink. We were never joined by any of Finnie’s brothers, which was just as well. I was allowed to develop my skating and shooting skills without having to watch out for Ahab.
    Finnie spent an enormous amount of time playing hockey that winter. The rink stayed frozen until the end of March, the same month his league play ended.

Second Period
    I n his first season, Finnie was easily his team’s most valuable player, posting many performances similar to the one I had first witnessed. For my part, I was steadily improving because of the ice time I managed to get on the reservoir rink. By the time the ice melted, I was a capable and confident player, sure of my abilities and gaining both speed and strength.
    Things were hectic at home. Our family was in the midst of a full-scale recession; every penny was pinched and scrimped and saved. My father even cut down on his goldfish supply. He didn’t go cold turkey, but instead of buying 25 goldfish every month he bought only five. As it turned out, this was good for the goldfish too; because there were fewer of them, the oxygen supply lasted longer. However, because there were fewer dead goldfish as food for the survivors, my father was forced to start feeding them.
    My mother didn’t have any more “spells;” she was very good about controlling her diet and taking her insulin so she managed to keep the diabetes in check for the rest of her pregnancy. That’s the way she was: steady, unflappable.
    It was announced that Louise and I would have to share a bedroom to make room for the baby, a prospect that didn’t really appeal to either of us. Although I think that we got along fairlywell compared to other brothers and sisters our age, Louise was a private person and quite protective of her personal space. We both knew this and foresaw trouble.
    Louise came up with a solution: she would move into the basement. At first my parents were against the plan, but they slowly came around. My father and Pal spent an afternoon building a makeshift room, a crude construction but, all things considered, a good little space. Louise wouldn’t have cared if it was a cardboard box; she was just happy to have her own place. She moved in as soon as it was finished and her old room was just as quickly filled with cribs and stuffed animals and other baby-related things. It seemed strange to me that something so small could require so