Savage Gerry

by John Jantunen

  The girl had turned towards him too.

  My name is Angela! she barked.

  I guess we’ll just have to see about that.

  Hunkering low, his hands flexing to grab, he stalked after her. But she wasn’t in a playing mood. She took a hard line towards the middle cabin, marching up the steps and pausing only once she’d reached the door, spinning back and screaming, Angela!

  If her outburst bothered Evers at all, he didn’t show it, and the lackadaisical meander returned to his stride as he approached the firepit.

  What’s got into her? he asked.

  The pregnant girl was blowing at the flames creeping over the edges of the birch bark.

  I guess she don’t want to be called Honeybear no more, she said between puffs.

  Well all she had to do was say so.

  Evers had gone back to plucking at the hair on his belly though a certain wantonness had crept into his gaze as he let his eyes wander over the subtle curve of the girl’s back.

  The flames had taken hold and she was pushing herself up. Evers reached out to grab her by the arm and the girl shrugged him off too perfunctorily for him not to take it at least a little bit personally.

  Tend the fire while I go take a pee, she said starting away. I’m about to burst. And tell Zack to stop pissing in the lake.

  Zack, stop pissing in the lake! Evers yelled without skipping a beat, his gaze never once departing the girl until she’d disappeared into the space between the middle cabin and the next. We got to eat those fish too, you know!

  The boy had already finished his business and had taken up his rod, casting his line a good twenty feet out.

  But the fish piss in the lake too, don’t they? the boy shouted back.

  Evers knelt down at the fire, taking a quartered log from the pile and setting it on top of the rapidly keening flames, and Gerald knew exactly what he was going to say next, for hadn’t he himself said it often enough when the boy’s logic had defied him, though it rarely defied his mother.

  Well, he said with Gerald mouthing the words right along with him, I guess you got me there.

  45

  He watched their morning unfold, as patient as the sun cresting the tops of the trees at his back, harrying the shadows into a tenuous retreat.

  They ate soup for breakfast. Evers had heated it in the old tin pot missing its handle and then ladled it into the blue metal bowls that had taken up permanent residence in the main cabin’s lone cupboard. He ate sitting on an upended log and the boy on another sitting beside him. While they slurped at the soup they carried on a hushed discourse, Evers several times pointing out at the lake’s lone island so it seemed to Gerald he must have been giving him fishing tips.

  The pregnant girl sat on the porch’s top step, Angela behind her, leaning against the wall of the cabin. She seemed to be in a better mood now and chattered happily away at the other, Gerald catching little of what she said except for the odd word, town being prominent amongst those, and the pregnant girl seemed to have caught even less. She didn’t so much as speak a word the whole time, most of which she spent gazing down at Evers by the fire with an expectant expression as if she was just waiting for him to turn her way. When he finally did, she responded by sticking out her tongue in girlish spite and Evers answered that by calling over, You better watch yourself there, someone’s liable to cut that off!

  She frowned and then heaved herself up, leaving her bowl on the stairs and calling down to the boy, Come on Zack, you can help us pick some blueberries.

  But I want to fish!

  There’ll be plenty of time to fish when we get back. Come on now, don’t make me ask twice.

  The boy scowling and Evers whispering something to him, reaching into his pocket and taking out a penknife, holding it out. The boy snatched for it but Evers held it firm, giving him instructions with the solemn countenance of a father sending his youngest son off to war. The boy nodded and Evers ruffled his hand through his hair then released the knife.

  Ev’rett said I could check the traps! Zack hollered to the pregnant girl as he raced past the cabin and that gave her reason enough to frown again.

  He’ll be okay, Evers soothed.

  If he cuts his finger off, it’s on you.

  He won’t.

  The girl smirked and turned back through the cabin’s open door, calling out, Hon— and cutting herself off. I mean Angela, we’re—

  I’m coming, I’m coming already!

  She came out the door carrying two empty four-litre plastic milk jugs, the both of them capless and stained purple. She handed one to the pregnant girl and then tromped down the stairs, banging the jug against her leg and hurrying along the same path as the boy, the pregnant girl following after her and calling over her shoulder to Evers, Mind you do them dishes while we’re gone!

  * * *

  Watching his son crouched over at the end of the peninsula, rinsing out the pot and four bowls, the spoons and the ladle, Gerald felt a grave reluctance creeping out of the pit in his belly.

  He seems to be making out fine by himself, he thought, though it wasn’t Evers he was really thinking about, it was Charlie Wilkes. You stick around it’ll just mean trouble down the line. Best thing you can do for him is to just leave him alone.

  Yet still he sat watching Evers trundling back to the middle cabin, setting the pot holding the bowls and the cutlery on the porch and standing there arching his back and scanning over the lake. He’d been doing so for only a few seconds when a shudder all of a sudden ran through his body and an anguished expression blanched his face. He muttered something, sounded like, Motherfuckers!, and his hand clenched into a fist and his face into an angry mask, his teeth grit and his skin shading red, his eyes darting about, as if looking for something to smash. Taking a deep breath then. His hand relaxed and he shook his head, spitting at the ground and running both hands up over his face, weaving his fingers into his hair and digging his nails into his scalp, looking like he was about to scream out again. He didn’t and after a moment he released his grip, slapped his hands against his cheeks and muttered something else, Gerald had no idea what.

  Gerald was thinking about all he’d gone through to get here and wishing his son had had an easier time of it, seeing now that he probably hadn’t and wanting nothing more than to run down to him right then, take him in his arms, tell him everything would be all right the same as he had after Evers had fallen off the cliff face, knowing even then that it was a lie.

  It was that ever-present lie that had been foremost on Gerald’s mind every time he’d tried to write Evers a letter from prison and here it was again keeping him away from his son, so close and yet in the five years he’d spent in a cell he’d never felt further apart from the boy than he did right then.

  46

  You need a hand?

  He’d snuck up behind him without making a sound.

  Evers was using a claw hammer to pry apart the boards on the backwall of the last cabin in the row and when Gerald spoke he lashed around, holding the hammer raised above his head, about to strike. There was hate in his eyes, same way there’d always been when Gerald had snuck up on him and startled him when he was a kid, but there was something else in them too. If Gerald had put a word to it that word would have been murder and seeing his son looking at him like that a half a tick from caving in his skull with a claw hammer, his legs wobbled, about to give out beneath him.

  But shortly Evers’s eyes softened into a familiar expression of grudging bemuse, though they stopped short of dazzling with that spark of tenacious remonstration that when he was a kid would tell Gerald he was already thinking about how he’d get him back. Instead he smiled wide enough that Gerald could see he was missing one of his two top front teeth, a healed over scar on both lips bearing testament to its abrupt removal and Gerald wondering how he’d come to lose that.

  Son of a bitch
, Evers said, drawing out the curse into a perfect expression of disbelief. Then shaking his head: I guess Wayne-Jay was right after all.

  Wayne-Jay? Gerald asked, hardly able to suppress a grin of his own at the mention of maybe his only real friend in all the years he’d lived on the farm.

  He said if anyone’d make it back, it’d be you.

  He’d since averted his gaze and snuck a quick peek out of the corner of his right eye which told Gerald he still couldn’t quite believe his father was standing right there.

  When did you see Wayne-Jay? Gerald asked, happy they still had something to talk about after all these years.

  Evers, too, seemed pleased about it.

  First time was a week ago, he said. He dropped by on one of his wanders.

  It was how Gerald had met him in the first place, a couple of weeks after his grandfather had died. He’d been practically living up in the cabins then, the house seeming too big and too empty and all too full of the old man. He’d been frying up a couple of walleyes over the firepit and Wayne-Jay, or so he’d said, had caught a whiff of that. They’d been friends ever since.

  The second was just a couple days ago, Evers continued. Dropped us off a half roll of Typar for the cabins, said it’d get us through the winter anyway.

  Boy, Gerald said, I’d sure like to see Wayne-Jay again.

  You will. Said he’d be back before the snow to bring us a new wood stove, if he can figure how to get it up here.

  If anyone can figure that out, it’s him.

  Evers nodded and they stood for a moment just looking at each other. A lump was forming in Gerald’s throat and a glisten was appearing at the corners of Evers’s eyes. He turned away, rubbing at it with the back of his hand like there was a piece of grit in it.

  You were saying something about Typar? Gerald asked and Evers had to clear his throat before speaking again.

  Wayne-Jay had a half roll left over from when he built his new house, he answered.

  He finally got around to that? He’s been talking about it for years.

  I guess he must’ve. Evers then turned towards the middle cabin, looking almost embarrassed. Got gramps’s cabin pretty much done before I realized it’d work better on the outside.

  You put the Typar on the inside?

  Evers nodded.

  Stupidest damn thing.

  Evers was shaking his head, looking sideways at Gerald, his cheeks flushing red.

  It’s an honest mistake, Gerald said.

  I was leaving it up until I got the wood together to use as siding.

  It’ll be easy enough to get back off.

  Evers was looking at him just short of relieved.

  I was figuring on using a screwdriver, he offered.

  All right then, well let’s get at ’er.

  47

  Wayne-Jay had dropped off a staple gun and a box of staples and it was these that Evers had used to tack on the thin shield of protective sheeting. It didn’t take much to pop them out with a flat screwdriver from the bag of tools Wayne-Jay had also left. Evers had gone back to stripping the wood from the other cabin and Gerald didn’t see him again until an hour or so later.

  Gerald was just coming onto the porch carrying the rolled-up Typar on his shoulder and he heard Zack’s voice raised in jubilation.

  We saw a snake! he was saying while Gerald draped the loose roll over the porch’s railing.

  Was it a rattler? he heard Evers ask.

  There ain’t no rattlers around, you said so yourself.

  So what kind was it?

  It was a big old garden snake.

  You mean a garter.

  No, it was a garden.

  Was it green and black with a yellow stripe?

  Yeah.

  Then it was a garter snake,

  Was it a garder snake we saw? The boy’s voice had elevated some and he was calling his question to the pregnant woman. She’d just come to the steps of the middle cabin and had frozen stiff at the sight of Gerald.

  Was it a garder snake we saw? the boy repeated when she didn’t answer.

  What? she asked, irritated.

  The snake! He was clearly exasperated too. Was it a damn garder?

  No, she said, unwilling it seemed to take her eyes off Gerald, even for a moment. It was a garden snake. That’s what Rachel always called them anyways.

  It was a garden snake.

  You say so, Evers was saying as he and the boy came to the front of the cabin with Angela trailing behind.

  Zack and Angela were both carrying milk jugs full of blueberries and when they saw Gerald standing on the porch they too stopped short, the boy gaping up at him in open-mouthed wonder and the girl wiping the blueberry juice from her mouth with the back of her hand, no less surprised.

  Oh shoot, Evers said. Where’s my manners? This here’s Gerald. He’ll be staying with us for a while. Gerald this here’s Zack, Angela and Melody. He pointed off each in turn and they all stood there for a moment, saying nothing.

  Then to Gerald:

  We were all staying together at the home. After Milt and Rachel took off — they were the couple who owned the house — I figured coming here was as good a place as any.

  The pregnant girl — Melody — was glowering at him with a sour look and Gerald didn’t know what to say to that so he kept his mouth shut. Zack had got over his initial surprise and was now tugging at Evers’s free hand, whispering upwards at him just loud enough for Gerald to hear.

  Is he the one you told us all them stories about?

  Evers whispering back, That’s right.

  Isn’t he your … dad?

  He sure is.

  Then looking over at Melody and raising his voice a trifle so as to make his point loud and clear.

  And you all are going to treat him real nice now, you hear?

  Is it true you killed a bear one time with only one stab? Zack asked.

  Melody had dragged Evers down to the lake and they were engaged in some sort of a hushed argument, the way she kept pointing her chin back at Gerald leaving no doubt in his mind it was about him. Angela had since gone inside, walking past Gerald with a shy smile as he nailed the Typar to the front of the cabin, but Zack had no such reticence, planting himself beneath the porch, gazing up at Gerald. It had only taking a few moments for him to summon the nerve to ask about the bear.

  It’s true, Gerald answered. With this knife right here on my belt, as a point of fact.

  But I thought you left that knife in the bear’s eye.

  Oh, I did. A friend, he got it back for me.

  He stole it from the police?

  I guess he must’ve.

  The boy nodded at that, believing the lie.

  I thought you were supposed to be in jail, he said after a moment.

  I was.

  They let you out?

  I’m here, ain’t I.

  Ev’rett said they weren’t never going to let you out.

  That’s what he said?

  Uh huh.

  I guess I must’ve got lucky then.

  The boy opened his mouth, about to say something else, but was cut off by Melody yelling out, angry:

  Zack! Angela! We’re going to town!

  She was striding away from Evers and he was looking after her with a rough approximation of the expression Gerald had worn in that first birthday photo.

  I want to stay, Zack protested, whereby Melody took a hard line straight towards him.

  You’re coming!

  No!

  Lashing out with her hand, she gave him a twisting pinch on the back of his arm.

  You’re going and that’s final!

  She landed a swat on his ass and the boy tromped away, rubbing the back of his arm and grumbling, You didn’t have to pinch me.


  You’ll get more than a pinch, I hear another word out of you!

  Angela came out of the cabin, slinging a large army-green rucksack onto her back, and seemed to have no compunction at all about going to town.

  I hope they still have candy floss, she was saying, hurrying after Melody skulking up the path winding rootworn and serpentine on its way to the old farm on Stull.

  Evers had since come to the foot of the steps, watching after them with his tongue prodding at the gap in his front teeth.

  Don’t mind her, he said after they’d disappeared among the trees. She’s been pissed off ever since I told her we’d be living up here rather than finding a place in town. You’d have thought after what happened in Scuzzbury …

  Shaking his head then. It was obvious that whatever had happened in Sudbury, he wasn’t ready to talk, or maybe even think, about that.

  Being so pregnant don’t help much neither, he said by way of changing the subject.

  How far is she along?

  Seven months.

  It yours?

  Gerald had been wondering that ever since he’d first seen her.

  Evers shot him a look of startled bewilderment.

  No, he said. God no! You know, she’s only fourteen?

  Sorry, I—

  It was a boy she knew from school. He stopped coming around after she started showing and that sure as hell didn’t help her mood none either.