“You have to study me, my boy. She understands us. She says she felt like she knew me. When she gets home, she’ll think about me. She’ll realize that she is somehow one of us, that we connect from the past. And we do.”

I say nothing. All the double-talk that I’ve been putting up with. I am not in the least bit interested, but Ittura presses on.

“You see and you have to understand. Only our body dies. Our spirits live on in the world until we’re assigned to one of the Lands. Of course, that’s after we have been aired outside for a few days—our body, that is. The body has to be in a sitting position, with the knees close to the chest. And it has to be wrapped in a good fur and leaned up against the igloo or tent, depending on the season. We need that time to sort ourselves out once we’re not in body form.”

“And how long does that take?” I ask dryly. My patience is wearing thin. I’m sweating on a city transit bus. Not one window is open.

“Ah, our stop is up ahead. Okay, I’m ringing the bell. My favourite part!” Ittura leans past me and pulls the string. “Let’s roll, priest!”

We’re walking west on Whyte Avenue. It’s hot out. I wish I could take off my black jacket and my collar. I wonder if dogs ever feel that way about their collars. They must.

“Let’s go in here!” Ittura is practically running down the sidewalk. He takes me past a restaurant with an outside patio and tables. He trots past a Fat Franks. He looks awful in his caribou jacket and pants. He stands next to a bar and holds the black door open for me.

I put my hands up, “Stop right there! No bar for me! I don’t do that!”

Ittura bends low and says, “Step in, Father. You’re about to enter the Wild Side.”

“Ittura, listen, I’ve been tolerant over the past couple hours. But come on, a priest and a ghost walk into a bar . . . come on!”

Ittura nudges me through the door. There’s air conditioning in the bar. I’m grateful for that. I take off my black jacket and slip it onto the back of my chair. Ittura stays fully dressed.

“Take off your jacket,” I say. “Relax!” I’ve given up. I’ve given in. I can’t fight what I can’t stop. I tell myself to take deep breaths and to just enjoy the moment.

“I got no shirt on under my caribou coat,” Ittura whispers into my ear. “If I take it off, it’s just my hairless bare chest, and we don’t want everyone to see that.”

“Why not? Do ghosts have some sort of uniform protocol?” I am beginning have fun despite myself. Just go with it, I keep repeating, hoping that if I don’t resist, I can be out of here sooner.