Mink River: A Novel (12 page)

He opens his eyes and clears his mind and takes a deep breath and thinks truck keys May and notices that he is shivering night’s not that cold hmm and he steps inside and closes the glass door gently and walks thinking of Daniel poor child through the studio past the wooden man but just as he reaches for the studio door a savage raging pain explodes in his chest so suddenly and cruelly that it knocks him to his knees and only by shooting his arms out blindly and landing on his hands does he avoid smashing his face on the floor.

O May he thinks faintly from far far away.

He can’t breathe uh uh uh uh uh uh gasping uh uh uh uh but desperately raggedly he gains a half a breath uh uh uh and gulping uh uh a whole one uh uh then another uh and greedily aah he fills aaah his lungs as deeply as he can aaaah he would eat all the air in the room if he could aaaaah he would suck it dry the blessed air aaaaah and somehow the friendly air aaaaah forces the fire in his chest down aaahh and the rage retreats snarling aaah and he kneels there by the wooden man aaaah breathing aaah his shoulders shaking aah his knees throbbing ah his sweat dripping freely to the floor ah his mind whispering May o May o May.

4.

In the last few minutes before dawn when the world is a muted pearl moist and poised Sara’s hands warm and eager draw Michael into her and they kiss gently and he slides into her gently and they make love gently her eyes closed and his open and then they lay cupped facing east so Sara can watch the curtain rise on the world. His arm a blanket on her arm gently.

Tell me more about your man Puccini, she says into her pillow.

Really?

Yes really.

Hmm. Well, his sister Iginia …

Shh. Whisper.

His sister Iginia, he whispers, entered a convent when she was nine years old and lived the rest of her life cloistered at the foot of a mountain, but they were very close and they loved each other dearly and when Giacomo was rich and famous he would come to visit her and hand her his wallet and she would take whatever she thought the convent needed. That story always stayed in my mind. He hands over the wallet without a second thought. He was a lout sometimes but never with his sisters.

That’s sweet.

And Iginia told him stories too one of which he turned into a piece of music, about a beautiful nun who dies young.

What was her name?

Angelica. Isn’t that lovely?

II

Shhh.

If we have another girl we can name her Angelica.

Or Albina, for Puccini’s mother.

You remembered! I thought you were asleep.

Shh. What would you name a boy?

Giacomo?

No.

No?

No.

James?

Shh.

Giacomo is James in Italian.

Okay.

James?

James or Albina.

Deal.

Deal.

Do we need to be so sure about names right this very minute?

Yes.

5.

Maple Head looks at the clock again and decides enough is enough. She takes one loaf of bread and puts it on the windowsill with a note for Cedar and takes the other loaf and a bottle of wine and floats down to the Department of Public Works. The night is velvet and still. An owl wheedles in the woods. She floats over the path. The owl floats silently overhead. She worries. The owl lands in a big cedar. She decides not to worry. The owl hunkers and fluffs. She floats over the path. The owl is still. The wine bottle bumps against the bread against her back as she floats over the path.

She slips in the front door of the shaggy dark building.

Billy?

She floats through the cavernous dark central workspace of the building where the truck and tools are where she keeps wine glasses and candles for when Billy is working late.

Cedar?

She slips into the warren of little offices in the rear of the building.

Nora?

Sees the wooden man half made and half darker than the dark.

Billy?

Sees her husband on the floor sitting smiling in the dark.

Billy!

O May o May.

What happened?

I had … an adventure.

She is on her knees cupping his face in her hands.

Your heart?

Yeh.

Bad?

Yuh.

Still? Now?

No, no. It’s gone now. I couldn’t catch my breath there for a long while though.

She runs her hands through his hair and feels the sweat his fear hatched.

That was scary, May. To not be able to draw a breath. Wow.

She feels his neck and wrist for the throb of his pulse.

Your pulse feels raggedy.

What say we have a glass of wine, you lovely creature?

Let’s get you to the doctor, love.

There are wine glasses in the shop, you know.

She has to smile and suddenly she’s exhausted.

You are so …
you
, she says.

I’ll take that as a compliment.

You almost died.

But I didn’t die and you’re with me and I smell fresh bread.

You almost died alone.

Never alone, May. Never.

She closes her eyes and he folds her in his long arms like wings and for a long moment they sit there together wordlessly in the dark the wooden man half made in the dark above them.

I’m scared to be old, she says into his chest.

Mm.

Are you scared too?

Yes.

I’m afraid we’ll lose each other.

Never.

We’re always on the lip of lost, Billy.

Now he cups her face in his hands huge as oars.

No matter what happens, May, no matter what, we will
always
have each other. We’ll
always
be in each other. I don’t know how but I know we will. Some bright morning everything will change. I see it sometimes in a dream. In my dream the morning is bright and silent. The colors are white and blue. Everything has a shining edge like it was cut from the most amazing ice. In my dream we go on journeys. I go one way and you go another. But we never come apart. We never lose each other. I can’t explain it. We are always braided together. I can’t explain it. That’s just how we are. That’s just how it is.

Pause.

You are a very strange and fascinating man.

I’ll take that as a compliment.

I love you very much.

Then I am the envy of all men absolutely.

She opens her eyes and smiles.

What say we open that wine and talk it over? he says.

And they do, on the floor, in the dark, without a word.

6.

The instant after Grace’s eyes open in the murky green dark of the trailer she is out of bed furious and silent and within seconds she is outside struggling into her jeans and sweater. Can’t find her shirt. She stuffs her boots in her gear bag and spits twice furiously on the trailer and swings her bag to her shoulder and pads away barefoot. Just past dawn. She trips over a little fake knee-high picket fence and realizes she’s in the trailer park near the highway. Spits furiously on the fence. Her mouth is sour and dry. When she is out of sight of the trailers she slips into a thicket of alder and pees and pulls her boots on and considers. Sunlight hits the tips of the trees. She brushes her hair what’s left of it what was I thinking stupid me. Listens: robins, a thrush, a woodpecker, an ouzel, the silver plink plink of a hammer on metal. Stretches. Swings her bag to her shoulder, walks through the trees, and there in an opening in the woods through a bright yellow window in the warming morning she sees Owen Cooney hammering away at something in his shop. He’s shirtless and sweating and looks like a painting of the ancient god Vulcan in his forge. Mom read that book to me a thousand times, gods and heroes and warrior queens. Vulcan’s hard muscles and jet-black hair and relentless hammer. A book in the morning and a story at night. Thor and Hercules and Cú Chulainn of the three-colored hair red black brown. A book to wake and a story to sleep. The warrior queen Meadhbh the intoxicating one who started battles. Mom’s hands turning the pages. The warrior queen Grace the brave one who slept with the hawsers of her ships tied to her bed. Mom’s tiny hands the color of nutmeg and cinnamon. The princess Caer the wise one who could turn into a swan. Mom murmuring stories in the dark. The warrior queen Aife who fought Cú Chulainn and then slept with him. Mom wetting her forefinger with her tongue quick as a cat before turning the page. The princess Deidre of the gray eyes desired by all men but her heart open to only the one. Mom’s fingers tracing Vulcan’s rippled back as she told his fire and fury.

Grace steps forward and knocks on Owen’s window.

7.

Owen’s hammer pauses in mid-blow when he hears the rap of knuckles on his shop window and he turns to see who is knocking and sees Grace and she sees the startle in his face and her belly leaps and tumbles.

Grace. Come in.

Sorry to bother you so early.

Is it early then?

I think so.

I’ve been … busy.

What’s that?

Daniel’s bicycle.

What happened to it?

He crashed, Grace. He went off a cliff. His legs are all smashed.

O God.

They operated for hours. His legs are all smashed. His knees are all smashed. My little boy. His bike is all smashed. My little boy. I have to fix his bike. He’ll want his bike. My little boy. He’s all smashed.

O God.

Everything’s all smashed, Grace.

The shop is broiling hot and Owen is sweating profusely and he sits down heavily on his work-stool and bows his head so Grace can’t see his face but only the roil of his hair black as the inside of a dog and the hammer huge and steel-blue in his hand.

She doesn’t know what to say. She reaches out and puts her hand in his wet hair and he begins to weep and she reaches out her other hand and touches his rough jawline. His face is all wet with tears and sweat and her hand gets all wet. She steps forward and brings his wet face into her loose sweater below her breasts and he weeps and weeps his shoulders shaking and shuddering. Her belly roils and tumbles. She doesn’t know what to say. The shop is broiling hot. She wants to say something but doesn’t know what to say so she says nothing and he weeps and her hand sifts through his hair.

8.

Worried Man here telling stories to my poor grandson as he sleeps with his broken legs. I think my voice crawls into him and heals him some so I will tell him some stories of the People. We have been here from before even our stories remember, my sweet boy. We lived by the mouths of rivers. We had magic numbers. Five was the magic number for men and four was magic for women. We had brothers and sisters far to the north, into the ice. Sometimes their boats appeared here out of the mist and we would talk to them. We built big houses of cedar and often several families would live together in the same house. Some of our houses were a thousand feet long. We ate flounder, herring, smelt, seals, sea lions, whales, salmon, elk, deer, bear, and
yetska
roots from the marshes. In winter we wore waterproof hats and robes of woven cedar. We used cedar for diapers, canoes, masks, drums, arrows, paddles, cradles, harpoons, rakes, weirs, looms, nets, rattles, rope, bowls, horns, whistles, blankets, and baskets. When we fought we wore armor made of dried elk leather and we painted our faces red and black. We made hats woven of spruce roots. We liked to drink sea lion oil. We ate salmonberries, thimbleberries, gooseberries, bearberries, shotberries. When one of our children died we left her toys and dishes out in the rain to bleach and fade. The greatest people among us were those who gave everything away. Our names were earned by deeds or dreams. Sometimes our old people would hand over their tired names to their children and take fresh names with which to die. We told stories sometimes for ten hours at a time. We could sing for ten hours at a time for days and days. We went to the mountains to see clearly when that was necessary but we were a people of rivers and the sea. Our houses faced the river or the sea. Sometimes our best storytellers would be the mayors of the town. There were two mayors for each river. In winter we would dance and sing and pray the world back into balance. We made blankets and baskets. We made the best canoes there ever were and our infants slept in cradles shaped like canoes and our dead slept in canoes that we would hoist into
asayahal
, the south wind. South Wind had many adventures. He lives in a cave now. No one knows where the cave is but Cedar and I have an idea. Ice was
gecla
in the old language, and the winter surf was
xilgo
, wild woman, and thunder was
nixixunu
, powerful but kind. Everything had a story, Daniel. Beaver liked to be alone. Blue Jay was a gossip. Crane carried people over rivers with his long legs. Eagle you could trust. Muskrat was a brave little man. So many stories. And those stories had a certain flavor in the old language, a shape in your mouth, a taste. Sometimes when I am half asleep I hear the old words in my ears. I hear my grandfather saying
quoatseha tetlewap leluk
, goodbye you sweet boy. He would say that as he hugged me into his chest, as strong and hairy as a bear, so I never heard those words without his arms around me and his smell like salt and smoke. Sometimes I whisper those words to myself and they make me sad and warm at once. I whisper
quoatseha
to you now, my boy. Don’t you be afraid. Crane will carry you over this dark river, his wings strong and fierce.