Mink River: A Novel Page 11

  21.

  Red Hugh felt his self drift up into the air over his truck, as he had half expected would happen when he died, though he had not at all figured on dying in his truck. He had always figured he would die in his muddy field, a suitable death for a man mucking with cows, the death he expected, a heart attack pitching him face down in the mud that never dried not even in the hottest summer, not his fecking field, it was under some sort of fecking ancient water curse, as he had snarled many times to Grace and Declan, who themselves envisioned different ends for their father: that his hard cold cruel frozen hazelnut of a heart would finally rise up rebellious through his foul vulture throat and choke him to death (Grace’s vision) or someone would beat the relentless life out of the old troll with that fecking stick (Declan’s vision). Red Hugh however fully expected that his heart would stop on a howling wet day in his muddy field and he would pitch forward into a puddle and drown there, drowning in land, on land, his own land, his last breath, like his last penny and his last hope, buried in the sucking stinking mud of a field on a hill by the coast.

  But no, here he was, or rather here what he was now was, drifting calmly up into the air above his truck settling bubbling into the river.

  He sailed up slowly, eddying in the complicated air. He noticed all sorts of other creatures or former creatures or inexplicable beings or visions drifting up and around him. From them emanated all sorts of words and sounds. He didn’t hear their languages and songs exactly but he was them in a way he could not have explained even if he still had a tongue. He was in and of and infused with all of the beings who floated with him and he spoke all of their languages and he had always known them and been most intimately their brother and they loved him and had always been his most intimate brother also. Some of these creatures or former creatures were undefined areas of mostly sound but some were still recognizable versions or bright shadows of what they had been when alive. The air was dense and shimmering with uncountable millions of them, all floating and swirling down to the sea. They rose from the land in numbers beyond calculation, steadily but calmly. A gust of wind sent an uncountable number of them whirling into the forest where some caught in the spruce branches and hung there smiling and others tumbled away calmly into the vast and impenetrable woods.

  He looked down and saw his long white rod, an slath ban, float out of the passenger window of his truck and set off merrily down the river bobbing and whirling, a bright clean line against the swirling circles of the water. From sheer bodily instinct he reached for his stick but having no actual hand anymore nothing happened and he remained floating gently, turning this way and that in the freshening breeze. He had a memory of his body, and he retained the shape of his body, but he was no longer actually in his body, which felt peculiar and wonderful. He smiled.

  My toes! he thought, and he looked down and there they were, and there they weren’t, both things true at once, and he smiled again. He was also fat and old and young and thin and bitter and joyous all at once, which seemed wonderful.

  Most of the beings or former beings floating above the river with him were too small to see and millions are or were infinitesimal insects but he could make out some familiar shapes amid the jostling beings: an enormous beaver, a sandhill crane, a rabbit, a blue jay. He saw a flotilla of tiny oval steel-blue creatures all floating together and it took him a minute before he recognized them. Mussels! he realized, smiling, and the instant he remembered them everything he ever knew or felt or thought about mussels hummed instantaneously through his mind as a chord or tone, and this tone was also a word, the word for what mussels are, for what they think of themselves as, and they sing it perpetually in voices almost too high to hear, ataw ataw ataw! they sing, a kind of a cheerful prayer or chant of musselness and musselhood, and the beaver sings himself, tuqusu!, in a gravelly baritone, and gigiliw! trills the smiling rabbit, and aniza! coughs the stately crane, and waswas!! shouts the jay again and again just as rough and exuberant as she’d been when alive, they sing themselves and their names in their languages, and Hugh finds that he too is singing chanting saying praying his song, his name in the old language, the language he was born into, Aoidh! Aoidh! he sings, smiling and turning slowly end over end as he rises through the lowering light with everything else that has recently died, all of them singing to the sea.

  22.

  Declan O Donnell wakes up in the very last minute of daylight and realizes with a start that he has slept for ten hours straight and he swings out of bed and the instant his feet touch the floor the sun drops into the sea. He showers and dresses for a night on the boat and wonders where everyone is. He wonders who took the milk to the co-op and where the old man is and where Grace is because they have to catch the tide. He checks the tide chart on the refrigerator and makes sandwiches and coffee and throws his gear in his truck and roars off.

  Pokes his head into the bar by the dock just to check Grace isn’t there. No reason for her to be there now, he thinks darkly, she’s already caught her daily limit of loser, but he sees Stella the bartender whom he likes and she grins at him and he grins back and then he sees the boy whose father beats him whom he knows from playing basketball in the winter rec league. Good kid. Good ballplayer. Strong as a bear, that kid. Wouldn’t shower with us because of the bruises. One time he had a bruise on his back the size of France. The old man must have hit him with a log or something. Some day that kid will hit back good and proper and there’ll be a funeral.

  Hey, he says to the kid.

  Hey, says the kid.

  Want a beer, Dec? says Stella the bartender.

  Nah. Going out tonight. Just looking for Grace.

  Grace the gracious, says a guy at the bar.

  What? says Declan.

  Give you the shirt off her back and her pants too.

  Some guys laugh.

  Give you the stars in her eyes and her full moon.

  Some guys laugh again.

  Fuck you, says Declan to the guy.

  No, fuck you, says the guy, and he starts to stand up, but Declan catches him with a fist in the face just as he starts to stand up, and the guy’s nose explodes and he falls backwards over the stool and knocks the next guy half off his stool, and then a friend of the first guy jumps on Declan’s back and smashes his head against a table, but the boy whose father beats him grabs the friend of the guy off and shoves him to the floor like you would flick a piece of dust off your shirt, and then Stella comes running out of the kitchen and screams get out! get out! so they get out, Declan and the kid, everybody yelling.

  Declan hoists his gear over his shoulder and heads darkly for the boat and the kid walks with him for lack of anything better to do.

  Thanks for the help in there, says Declan.

  Sure, says the kid.

  Why’d you help me?

  I don’t know.

  They walk in silence for a moment.

  Ever been on a boat? says Declan.

  Canoes and stuff.

  Ever been on the ocean?

  Nope.

  Listen, come on out with us tonight.

  Fishing?

  Halibut.

  Well … I don’t know.

  You doing anything tonight?

  Just going home, I guess.

  To your old man.

  Yeh.

  Come on out. We could use the help.

  Can I help with the fishing?

  Sure. You just need muscles.

  I’d like to help with the fishing.

  Okay then. All right.

  They get to the boat and Declan throws his gear in and the crash of his gear wakes up Grace who is sleeping in the cabin.

  Who the hell are you? she says to the kid.

  He’s coming out with us tonight, says Declan.

  He’s a kid.

  I’m eighteen years old, says the kid. How old are you?

  None of your business, and you didn’t answer my question, says Grace.

  My name is Nicholas, and you didn’
t answer my question.

  Declan grins at the kid’s brass.

  You and Grace will get along just fine, he says.

  I have to tell my father that I won’t be home, says Nicholas.

  We have to catch the tide, says Declan.

  I don’t want him to worry, says Nicholas.

  I know you, says Grace. You’re the kid whose dad beats him up.

  Nicholas says nothing and Grace flushes.

  I have to tell my dad. I don’t want him to worry.

  Five minutes and no more, says Declan.

  I’ll be back in four, says Nicholas and he takes off sprinting like a deer. Grace and Declan watch him go and then they pack their gear and bait up and sit silently as the boat rocks gently and just like that Nicholas is back on the dock not even winded. He climbs in and Declan guns the engine and off they go to the gate of the bay. Outside the bay big dark waves are leering and lurking.

  Grace and Nicholas sit face to face in the stern.

  My name is Grace and I am twenty-one years old, says Grace. Glad to have you aboard, Nicholas.

  Glad to meet you, Grace.

  Sorry about that crack back there.

  It’s okay.

  I have a big mouth.

  I don’t believe it.

  Believe it.

  They grin and Declan shoots the boat through the gate of the bay and the waves reach hungrily for the boat and the wind howls and stars appear overhead and two cormorants hurry by intently like nervous commuters and a big seal pops his head out of the water looking for all the world like a cheerful bald bewhiskered grandfather floating peacefully in the vast and impenetrable sea.

  23.

  Worried Man here telling stories to Dan. He sleeps and sleeps, my little grandson, and I tell stories over him like blankets like prayers. He is my sweet little boy and we will heal him. All of us together. One morning he will wake up and all will be well.

  I will tell stories of the way it used to be here. There is healing in these stories. They lived here for a very long time, these stories. They have seen many things and they forget nothing.

  So.

  My grandfather had two capes, one made from beaver and the other from deer, and three fur blankets, made from rabbit and bobcat and otter. He parted his hair in the middle and painted the part red and wore his hair in one braid. Women wore two braids and they also painted their parts red. Everyone wore earrings and some men wore nose rings but not my grandfather—he said he had things going into his nose all day long and there was no reason for a gatekeeper there. He said a lot of things that made you laugh if you listened carefully. And he told so many stories! He told me how when a baby was born its mother would stay awake for five days pressing her belly to make sure all the blood went home, and its father would stay awake for ten days praying, and the afterbirth would be left at the feet of a spruce sapling so the baby would grow as tall and strong as that fine tree. When a child’s teeth came out one by one they were put by the same tree so the child’s teeth would be straight and strong also. When a girl collected her first basket of berries or roots she would go around the houses and give them all away to the old people, and when a boy killed his first deer or seal he would go around and give all the meat to the old people. That’s just how it was. When a girl or boy was ready to go find a name they went in the woods and walked and took baths. You might be out there three days or five days or ten days. You had to find your guardian spirit. You had to take a lot of cold baths! When you were ready to receive your spirit, there it was. If you weren’t ready, it wouldn’t show itself. If you saw a snake you would be a healer. If you saw a beaver or a woodpecker you would make canoes. If you saw a salmon you would be a fisherman. If you saw a wolverine you would be a warrior. If you saw a hawk you would be a hunter. That’s just how it was.

  When I was a boy I went walking to meet my guardian spirit and I walked for days. I lost track of the days after a while. I took a lot of cold baths! I walked all the way to the holy mountain, Wyeast. That was one long walk! I walked up the mountain as far as I could go and then I had to rest where the trees end. All things grew silent, even asayahal, the south wind, even the ravens who never stop telling jokes. I kept my eyes open. I was very tired but everything was so clear. Then I saw a huge bird coming toward me from the south. It was enormous! It saw me sitting there but it didn’t veer away or anything. It kept coming toward me and getting bigger and bigger. I thought maybe it was Thunder coming to take me to his huge house! That bird flew right over me and he looked down and I looked up and our eyes started talking.

  He said I will take care of you now and I said thank you, Father.

  He said now you must begin your work and I said what is my work?

  He said you must see everything and I said I will see everything.

  He said you can never rest and I said I will never rest.

  He said your eyes are holy and burning and I bowed and he flew on.

  He flew up and over the top of the mountain. He got smaller and smaller as he rose up against the snow. Blue against white. Those have been my colors ever since. That was how I met Heron and we have been friends all these years since. I see herons all the time and whenever I meet a heron we have a good talk. A few herons just want to talk about fish and frogs but most of them have very interesting minds indeed. They have seen so many things and they forget nothing. That’s just how they are. They are very quiet. Their eyes are restless and burning. They don’t say much but when they do it is worth hearing. They say a lot of things that make you laugh if you listen carefully. That’s just how they are.

  24.

  Daniel wakes up finally in the doctor’s house facing the sea. He’s been asleep for days in the hospital and here. The first thing he sees is the sea. The sea is green and blue and gray and white and purple. He stares at it for a long time. It shimmies and shivers and shines and shudders and shimmers and twitches and glitters and trembles and gleams. It stutters and whispers and moans and sighs. It snarls and roars and hammers the patient shore. It tosses its hair and rolls its shoulders and shuffles its feet. He can hear it singing from his bed. He can smell its impatient spice. He can smell storms and salt and seawrack. He can smell yearning and mourning. He is very tired. The room is silent. He tries to figure out where he is, exactly. The room is bright and filled with maps of the sea. All the windows are open. He is very cold. The air seems very clear. The sea sings. His eyes adjust to the room and he sees a chess set and a telescope and books everywhere and everywhere maps of the sea. By his left hand is a carved wooden sea lion. The sea lion is looking at him. The sea whispers. The room is very quiet. He stares at the sea lion. The sea murmurs. The sea lion has shoulders like brown hills and a trunk like a tree and flippers like oars. The sea grumbles. The sea lion looks at him steadily. The room is colder. He reaches out to touch the sea lion and his shoulder hurts something dreadful when he moves it but the sea lion wants to be touched. The sea hums deep in its ancient blue throat. Daniel tries to say something to the lion but his lips are dry as sand. His hand touches the lion’s shoulder and the lion flinches slightly but doesn’t pull away. The sea breathes in and out. The lion looks at him steadily. Daniel can feel the shiver of muscle under the lion’s shimmering leathery skin. The room smells like kelp. The sea sings in a lost blue language. Daniel closes his eyes and drifts out to sea and sees halibut as big as houses and salmon bigger than the biggest canoe. He sees incomprehensible whales and canoes of every shape and size and color scattered on the bottom of the sea in numbers beyond counting. He sees lions above and below him and to each side and ahead and behind, lions of every size imaginable from tiny pups to hoary giants, lions in every imaginable shade of brown, lions swimming faster than the eye can see, lions looking at him steadily, lions speaking in a wet brown language he has always known, its words kelp and salt in his mouth, its verbs the whispers of the sea.