Corporal Theodore “Ted” Lyon was a trained land surveyor from the British Army. When I knew him he was just recently divorced from his wife and quite upset about it. He said, “You know, John, you always think she’ll come back, and then you call to see how she is and some guy answers the phone.”

Jesus Christ! What could I say? I was only nineteen at the time, and had only known him for a few months. He scared the shit out of me.

He was sitting in the dark with a downturned face and hunched shoulders, his usual look for the past week, when I came in one morning.

“You know she’s changed her look,” he said, startling me. “She used to always wear her hair down and now it’s always up. Felt like I didn’t even know her.”

I thought of something to say, but nothing good came to mind. Should I say forget about her? Move on? I didn’t know him all that well and certainly not his wife. After a long silence he said, “Don’t worry about me, John. It’s tough, you know. But I’ll be alright. Just gotta keep digging.” I nodded. I didn’t know what it was like. I’d only known that feeling vicariously through movie actors. And the girlfriends I’d had so far I never cared about them so much that I felt like he did. But I nodded along to his lamenting just the same. After I’d loaded up the truck with the equipment and supplies, I found him slumped in his office chair holding a client’s file.

“Maybe we’d better call it a day,” he said, wanly.

I was no therapist but I didn’t think it was a particularly good idea for him to brood over his ex- wife for the whole day.

“Oh come on, Ted. We’ll get out for some fresh air. It's a beautiful day. We’ll dig a few holes. Have a beer at lunch. Come on.”

It was enough to get him into the truck.

We were working in a cul-de-sac in a lovely little residential area lined with cherry blossom trees. It was April now and they were fully green. The fallen cherry blossoms had all but vanished from the street. The houses had all been built twenty years ago and surveyed by Chapman. They were all identical three-bedroom houses with the basement half underground. They all had about twenty feet of front lawn to the curb, and a cement walkway smack dab in the middle leading up to the front door. They were unfenced at the front, the boundary being identified only by the landscaping.

“Which house?” I asked.

“Ten twenty,” he said.

He sat in the truck with the file in his hands. He didn’t move from his seat with his usual jump that day. His face was darker than it once was, as if there was a shadow over him. He looked smaller, less sure of himself.

“Who’s the survey for, Ted?”

He looked out at the houses curling his lip without control, it seemed. I didn’t want to know what he was thinking.

“Come on, Ted. You need some sun,” I said, opening the door.

He didn’t move. His eyes were fixed ahead. I looked out and saw a house surrounded by rose bushes. I imagined the people living there had plastic-covered sofas and gaudy, floral ornaments and wallpaper bursting at the seams, with photos of cats on the mantelpiece and a bowl of mints on the side table which god knows how long had been there.

“Terrible upkeep,” he said. “Always creeping over to the other yards.”

“They all are,” I said and smiled at him. He gave a hint of a laugh and then got out.

We put on our survey vests, placed some traffic markers around the vehicle, and set up the tripod.

“Nice lawn,” he said, pointing.

I saw a very green, lush lawn.

“Makes you want to roll around in it with your girlfriend, the old roll in the hay—or grass, I should say.”

Cedar hedges ran along the sides; they were pruned well and kept to about waist height. But the grass was clearly the main attraction at that house, unlike the one next to it, which displayed two circular gardens on either side of the walkway. They both had mini fountains which were not overly showy but still had the air of a show off. The one on the right had a bathing girl, the one on the left had a couple embracing. Surrounding them were various flowers, rhododendrons, and orange osmanthus shrubs, which were pleasantly fragrant.

I laughed at his remark. But his expression betrayed his playful comment. He looked to be grinding his teeth, and I thought for a moment he was going to start crying. I thought he’d feel better out here but he seemed distracted by everything he saw, as if he was in a dream and couldn’t control his actions. Again, I hoped he’d cheer up once he started digging a few holes.

“Come on, let’s go talk to the owner,” I said.

For the first time I felt embarrassed to be next to him. I wanted to punch him he was being so mopey. The Ted Lyon I knew puffed up his chest and used great sweeping gestures. His voice boomed as if he was reading a royal decree. It was quite a spectacle. The homeowners were helplessly overjoyed at our being there to survey their property. He had a gift for conversation and was able to charm even the grouchiest humbug or the scowliest crone. And it was rather adorable when a lovely lady opened the door and you saw his ears turn red—he loved the ladies. But there was no chance with this sad sack.

The walkway we took had a fruit tree, apple, I think. The weed-choked grass was in need of a cut.

“Yikes, this place has let itself go,” I said, grinning.

“Nice cherry tree,” he said, ignoring my comment. He seemed angry. Then he stopped dead in the walkway and turned to me, a grin appearing on his face.

“John, why don’t you knock on the door today. I’m not feeling myself.”

“You don’t say,” I said.

“I’ll hang back here.”

His sudden change in disposition worried me. He seemed awfully depressed. What was he going to do? I didn’t want to lose sight of him for fear of him doing something dramatic. I was just thankful he didn’t have a gun. He noticed the worry on my face and my hesitation to go, and said, “Remember, don’t mumble. Speak clearly, and smile.” He shoved me ahead.

I puffed up my chest and marched up in my best Ted Lyon walk and rang the doorbell.

“Who is it?” a lady asked from behind the door.

“We’re the land surveyors. We’re here for the property survey. My name is John.”

I sped through my lines like a drug addict. The excitement shot through me.

“We need to measure your house for the cadastral survey—er, for the city plans. It shouldn’t take us more than an hour.”

“What? Land surveyors?” she asked. She opened the door slightly. She was middle aged, well made up with recently done eyelashes and auburn-coloured hair, done up in a bun.

“Surveyors, huh? I’ll never be rid of you,” she said.

“What? We need to survey your house.”

“Why?”

“Maybe you just sold your house.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Did you take out a mortgage then?”

“No, and this is getting very specific and a little uncomfortable.”

I couldn’t believe it. I’d done everything just like Ted Lyon, hadn’t I? Maybe I wasn’t sounding grandiose enough. She probably just thought I was some punk kid. I started over, this time with more purpose in my voice.

“My name’s John and I’m with the BC Land Surveyors for the property survey.”

“Who asked you to do this?”

I thought maybe someone had ordered the survey for her house and she didn’t know, maybe she was renting, or she’d been divorced and her husband ordered it. I started sweating and was getting anxious. Damnit lady! We were just being polite anyway. We’re going to survey the house whether or not you agree with us. Just say “OK” and let us get on with our work. It’s not like we need to go inside your house. I took a deep breath and continued.

“Are you renting?” I asked.

“No, I own it.”

“Divorced?” I asked.

“Well, I never! This is unbelievable!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just—We’re surveying the house and we’ll be around the house for about an hour. You don’t have any dogs, do you?”

“Enough is enough. I didn’t order any survey. Please leave, or I’ll call the police!”

Her voice echoed around the cul-de-sac. I felt dizzy and frightened. I was sweating profusely.

I heard Ted Lyon cough behind me so I turned to look at him as he waltzed up the walkway, his chest was puffed up and he had on a big grin. He was back! I knew he’d set this flustered lady straight. She glared as he approached, and looked to be in a kind of defense mode, like a cornered wild dog, and I genuinely felt scared for him. He seemed indifferent to her animosity. He stood very close to her, much closer than anyone would think socially acceptable for strangers. And they spent a moment in silence just staring at each other. Then Ted Lyon took a step back, put his arm on my shoulder and with a reassuring voice said, “I’m terribly sorry ma’am for your trouble. I hire kids from the special needs school to help out every now and then. Come on, John. It’s the next door house we are measuring.”

“I should have known it was you, Theodore,” she said.

“Just wanted to say hi, is all,” he said. We walked down the walkway. I glanced back and she was still standing with the door open.

“Oh, and cut the goddamn lawn, would you?” he said.

She was furious and slammed the door.

We walked up the next door house walkway and I stopped him.

“What the hell was that?”

“That was my ex-wife.”

I couldn’t get any words out. I was flabbergasted.

“You told me the wrong house,” I said.

He exploded with laughter. Some colour came back into his face.

“You did good, John. Completely riled her up. That made me feel better. Come on. Let’s get this over with and go for a beer.”