Monkey Beach (41 page)

T’sonoqua is not as famous as B’gwus. She covers herself in a cloak and pretends to be an old woman. She will ask for your help, feigning a helpless shake in her hands as she leans on her cane. If you are moved to go close enough for her to see you with her poor vision, she will straighten to her true height, and the hands that grip you will be as strong as a man’s. She is an ogress, and she won’t let go because, to her, human flesh is the ultimate delicacy and young flesh is especially sweet. But discredited scientists and amateur sleuths aren’t hunting her. There are no conferences debating her existence. She doesn’t have her own beer commercials. She has a few amusing notes in some anthropology books. She is remembered in scattered campfire tales. But she is, by and large, a dim memory.

I pieced together three of her stories for the final English essay of the year. It was due in two weeks, but it was supposed to be ten pages long and I had only two. I wanted to get it out of the way so I could concentrate on math. I had to modernize a myth by analyzing it then comparing it with someone real, and had got as far as comparing her with Screwy Ruby.

Jimmy was pretty mad when I brought him here. He was a busy guy, things to do, people to see. I didn’t know Karaoke had left Kitamaat until he started smashing up his room, throwing things off the walls.

“Don’t,” Mom said when I started up the stairs. “He was like this after … the accident. It doesn’t help, Lisa. Just leave him alone and he’ll settle down.”

I didn’t believe her. I had no doubt about going into his room, even when I saw his strained, red face as he hurled a lamp against the wall. “Get out!”

“Hey, hey, hey, back up. What’s wrong?”

“She left. She left. She left.”

No need to ask who. “What did she say?”

“She didn’t say anything. She packed her things and took off and she didn’t even say—”

“Did you have a fight?”

“No.” He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. “No fight. Nothing. She just left.”

“Do you know where?”

He shook his head miserably.

“Maybe she’s in Terrace.”

“She’s gone. She hitched to Prince George. She left me.”

“Look, don’t take it personally. She’s got her own troubles. Did you think of that?”

“I thought she loved me. I really did. How stupid …”

“Give her some space, Jimmy. Maybe she needs to blow off a little steam. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks she’ll be back. Here’s my hand. If you don’t believe me, shake on it.”

“What you looking at?” Jimmy said as I stared at him the next morning after we’d awkwardly said hello. He didn’t look like much of a catch right now, with his bleary, puffy-eyed hangover.

“Is that a beard?” I said.

He scratched his chin. “Maybe.”

“Good,” I said. “I was afraid it was just blackheads.”

“You’re so funny.”

“You’re a laugh a minute yourself this morning,” I said.

“Fuck off.”

I punched his arm. “Tough guy. You ready to go a few rounds? Come on. Up and at ’em!”

He stormed out of the kitchen and I heard his bedroom door slam. I never thought I’d see Jimmy look that angry. I sat at the table and pushed my Cheerios around. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I went and knocked on his door anyway.

“Piss off,” he said.

“Come on,” I said. “Open up.”

“I said piss off.”

“I’m going to sing. I’m serious.”

He didn’t answer. I took a deep breath and belted out, “A million bottles of beer on the wall, a million bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around, nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine bottles of—”

He ripped the door open and shouted right into my face, “Why the hell did you come back!”

“Good,” I said, pushing past him into the room. “You’re awake.”

He grabbed my arm, pulled it up so I was standing on tiptoe then marched me out of his room and slammed the door in my face.

Well, I thought. There goes my counselling career.

Jimmy might have been partying his ass off, but he didn’t look like he was having any fun. For the first week after she left, he moped around, his grim and unapproachable expression not deterring any girls from hanging off his arms. I’d never appreciated the merits of having a good-looking brother before. I was intensely popular at parties because girls were trying to get close to Jimmy through me. They went out of their
way to be friendly. I found it ironic that now that I’d decided to sober up, free drinks and invites to parties were practically being pushed into my hands.

The Olympics started. I watched the opening ceremonies. I found Jimmy at a party. Frank had got an arm under Jimmy and was steering him to the front door.

“Jimmy?” I said.

I had a flutter of nerves as I smoothed down my hair, caught Frank watching me, tried a smile. Frank cleared his throat. “He’s getting heavy.”

Jimmy thrashed around. He had the skanky smell of someone who’s been partying too hard to worry about personal hygiene.

“Where do you want him?” Frank said, opening his car door. Jimmy rolled his head and swore at us.

“Jeez,” I said, looking up at the house. Mom and Dad would freak when they saw him like this. Inspiration hit and I ran inside to get the boat keys. “Wait here.”

I scribbled a hasty note saying Jimmy and I had gone fishing for a few days. I didn’t really have a plan. I just wanted to get him alone and away from his party friends long enough for him to sober up. I grabbed some food, the extra tank, a couple of blankets and some matches.

“You’re fucking nuts,” Frank said when I told him to drive us to the docks. He carried Jimmy down to the boat for me. I was afraid Jimmy would wake up before I could get the boat going, but he was so passed out that he slumped over his seat and started snoring. “You sure you’re gonna be okay?”

I gave him the thumbs-up and told him to cast us off. He grinned and shook his head, but untied the rope anyway.

At first, I was going to take Jimmy to Kemano, but after thinking about it a bit I knew that wouldn’t work. If there were any people around, Jimmy could get a ride back. The whole point of this was to get him alone so he couldn’t storm off. I’d heard about a camp of some kind being set up in Kitlope too, so that was out. Then I remembered the trip we took when we were kids, when Jimmy had wanted to take pictures of sasquatches, and I thought, hey, what a kick if he wakes up on Monkey Beach.

The water was flat all the way to the beach, but Jimmy woke up fifteen minutes away from it and I had to stop so he could vomit over the side. He stared around, head bobbing. He wiped his mouth, then tried to stand up.

“Hey!” I said. “Easy, easy, or you’ll tip us over!”

He flopped back in his seat, eyes glazed. When he closed his eyes, I started the engine again. He didn’t wake up as I dragged the boat up the sand and I unloaded the gear. As morning turned into afternoon and afternoon sank towards evening, he still sat in the boat, chin tucked into his chest, oblivious. I set up camp above the waterline and sat on the sand, waiting for him. The tide was coming up. Ravens argued in the trees. A plane broke the blue of the sky with its tiny white exhaust streak. After it passed overhead, I could hear the whine of its engine. I’d forgotten to bring any bug repellent, and as the sun began to set, the mosquitoes came out. Jimmy woke up with
a start, slapping his face. I reached down and lit the kindling.

“Where’re we?” Jimmy said. At least, I think that’s what he said. He wasn’t quite sober yet, but fear was doing a good job of jolting him awake. He slowly made his way out of the beached boat and staggered up the sand to watch me get the fire going.

“Evening,” I said.

Jimmy slapped his arm. He stared at it. The mosquito had left a smear of blood on his arm. “Jesus.”

“You hungry?” I said. “I brought some marshmallows.”

“Marshmallows.”

“Little fluffy white things that you put on the end of sticks.”

“Is this a joke?” Jimmy sat in the sand beside the fire. I handed him a stick I’d whittled, with a marshmallow stuck on the end. He shook his head and gave it back to me. “I need a drink.”

“Coffee or water?”

He glared at me.

“That’s all I got,” I said. I roasted the marshmallow until it caught fire, then waited until it was practically hanging off the stick before I blew it out and ate it. Jimmy lay down and passed out again. I took a life jacket out of the boat and stuck it under his head, then put a blanket over him. He muttered thanks.

It was so quiet that I could hear the clams spitting. I hunted around in my bag for my cigarettes. I lay back against the sand and watched the stars and smoked. As the fire died down, I realized I’d forgotten how dark it got out here. The stars popped out of the
blackness. A falling star streaked down behind the mountains. I closed my eyes and hoped my brother would smarten up.

Jimmy shook me awake. “The engine won’t start.”

“What? What?” I said, sitting up. It wasn’t even light yet. I shivered and wrapped the blanket around my shoulders.

“The engine,” Jimmy said slowly. “Won’t start. Get up. Get up and get us the fuck out of here.”

“Go ’way,” I said, pulling my blanket over my head and sinking back into the sand.

“Lisa!” Jimmy shouted. “Get up! Now!” He ripped the blanket off and yelled at me to get up. “Fine. I’ll start it myself.” He got in the speedboat and I listened to him cursing and yanking at the motor’s cord. His swearing stopped suddenly. I raised my head and squinted at him. He was looking at his hand in disbelief. A string was dangling from it.

“Um, Lisa?” he said. “Do we have any tools?”

I sat up. He guiltily showed me the cord.

“Oh, that was smart,” I said.

He threw the cord at me. It landed near my foot. He stomped off down the beach.

“God,” I said, watching his shrinking back. He kept going until he reached the isthmus, then he went over the hill and disappeared. I looked down at the cord. Another one of my brilliant plans down the tubes. Get him away from everything and of course he’ll spill his guts, and I’ll come up with some answer and solve all his problems and mine, create world peace and still have time to get my shit together to start school.

I put the cord back in the boat. First things first. I opened the thermos of coffee. Cold. I’d used up all the wood last night and for the moment was too lazy to collect more. I sipped the coffee straight from the thermos and nibbled on crusty marshmallows. I’d left the bag open and they were a bit stale. When I shook the bag, there were no bugs in it that I could see, so I figured it was safe.

Jimmy came back while I was prying the motor open with a butter knife.

“Can you fix it?” he said.

I glared at him.

He hovered over me as I lifted the cover off the motor. There was a frayed piece of rope in what looked like the inside of a giant yo-yo. Jimmy handed me a Swiss army knife.

“Where’d you get this?” I said.

“Who cares? Just fix it!” he said.

I trimmed the cord and threaded it back where it looked like it had come from. Jimmy breathed on my shoulder and I gave him another look. He backed up two steps, still watching me hopefully.

“Where’d you learn to fix engines?” he said.

“Does it look fixed?” I said. “Jeez, you’re going to jinx it.”

The corner of his mouth quirked.

The mosquitoes from yesterday came back for refills and brought some of their friends along. I pulled a blanket over my head, leaving only my eyes and hands available. Some of the more determined buggers snuck up my pant leg or just bit through the blanket.

“Where you going?” Jimmy said when I stood up and started walking towards the bushes.

“None of your damn business.”

“Aren’t you going to fix—”

“I’m taking a piss, do you mind?”

He swatted the cloud of mosquitoes in front of his face. “Don’t yell at me. You got us into this.”

“Yeah, I forced you to wreck the motor.”

“You brought us out here in the first place.”

“So sue me.” By the time I reached the bushes, I realized I hadn’t brought any tissue paper. I picked some leaves, checked them for bugs and wished I had an ounce of sense.

“Is there any more food?” he asked when I came back.

“No,” I said. “That’s it.”

“A can of Spam and bag of marshmallows.”

“You don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it.”

“That’s all you brought?”

“We were supposed to stay only one night.” I lit up a smoke and puffed at the mosquitoes.

“Can you get on with it?” he said, waving his hands at the motor.

“When I’m good and ready, buster.”

“Some of us have lives, you know.”

“I’m pretty sure there’ll still be booze around when you get back.”

“You’re one to talk,” he said.

We were both furiously silent for about five minutes. Jimmy paced back and forth, arms crossed over his chest, fingers tapping against his elbows. I finished the first cigarette and started another one. Jimmy saw me lighting up and said, “Get in the boat.”

“And do what? Paddle back?”

“Yes. Yes, if that’s what it takes, we’re going to paddle back.”

“There’s only one oar,” I said.

“Get in the boat!”

I blew smoke in his direction and deliberately sat down. He took off his shoes, his socks and rolled up his pants. He untied the towline, waded out to the boat, hopped in and searched around for the oar.

“Look on the side,” I said.

He brought the oar up and poled the boat out to deeper water.

“Jimmy,” I shouted as he started rowing towards Butedale. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“You are the biggest pain in the butt in the history of pains in the butt!” Jimmy shouted back.

“Fine! I’ve got nothing to say to you either!” I furiously power-sucked my cigarette.

Jimmy struggled with the boat until his arm gave out and the tide brought him back to shore. I peeled the label off the Spam tin, poked a hole in the side, stuck a stick in it and roasted it over the fire. Jimmy stomped down the beach to stand beside me, waving the mosquitoes and horseflies and no-see-ums away from his face as if it would help.