But he also didn’t want his father to hurt him. He felt certain that the guilt of what he had done was punishment enough. But he didn’t know what his father was capable of. His father did not seem like anyone else he knew. And now Jesse had broken a rule—a law, it seemed—by pretending his brother had fallen through the ice. Everything else he had ever done—every little cruelty—seemed so small now. He wondered if his father might kill him this time. He had felt before that his father hated him, but—after what he had done—he knew if it hadn’t been true before, it was now.
“I can’t leave a little boy alone in the woods, do you understand?” she said. Her voice was sharp, and Jesse winced.
“Okay,” he said, stepping away from the tree cautiously, as though his father were around the corner, keeping watch. He took another hesitant step. And another. Finally, he walked to the woman and petted her dog. It was a nice dog, with thick fur. The dog licked Jesse’s hand, and he smiled.
“My name is Vera,” the woman said. Her voice was softer, and sweeter.
“I’m Jesse.” He felt better now that he wasn’t facing the tree, his face bright red from the cold.
“Okay, Jesse, my car’s up here a hundred yards or so,” said Vera. “Come along now.”
“We were going to learn how to shoot today.”
“Oh?”
“My dad said he’d teach us.”
“We’ll find him.” She put her hand on the top of Jesse’s head and they walked along the trail that way, as though he were a little puppet. “How old are you, honey?”
“Ten,” Jesse said.
“Just about all grown up.”
“Yeah.” Jesse felt his heart lift a bit.
“Here we are. Come along now.”
They reached the parking lot and she unlocked the car, held the door open for Jesse. “Hop on in. That’s it. Okay. Let’s get the heat on.” It was a much nicer car than the one his father had. It was a nicer car than his mother’s. He had to step onto a running board to get into the passenger seat. He was high up, way up off the ground, in this woman’s beautiful car. The seat was leather, slippery and cold, and he watched his breath leave his body in a narrow jet. In his father’s car, the gearshift said “Toyota,” right on the knob. There wasn’t a gearshift in this car. The woman had a fuzzy black steering-wheel cover and the car was spotless.
The woman shooed her dog into the back seat and got into the driver’s seat. She took off her gloves and Jesse saw that her fingers were covered in beautiful rings. He had never seen rings like that before; they looked heavy, expensive, unusual. One had a giant gemstone on it and the woman caught him looking at it.
“Look,” she said, waving her hand in front of his face. The gemstone glowed a blue-green colour. “Now look again.” She put her hand down by his feet, out of the light. The gemstone was dark red, almost purple.
“How does it do that?” he asked. His mother wore a thin gold wedding band and that was all.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But it’s my favourite thing in the world.”
The woman unzipped her jacket, turned on the car, and blasted the heat. Freezing air blew out of the vents, and Jesse moved his face away from it, dug his chin into his chest. The stereo had come on and weird music was playing now, too loudly, violin and piano music, people moaning in the background. It took the woman a long time to turn it off. She kept pressing the volume button instead of the power button. It made Jesse want to scream.
“I’m sorry,” she said to him. “I’m just so nervous.” She looked at him, then shook her head. “Look,” she said, “let’s drive to the other parking lot, see if your dad’s there.”
Jesse sat on his hands, which were raw and red from the cold, and stared out the window of the woman’s car. His breath fogged the glass and he fought the urge to draw a picture with his finger—his father scolded him when he did that. But he couldn’t resist. Quickly, hoping Vera wouldn’t see, he drew three vertical lines. He pretended they were bars, and that he was being taken to prison. Vera offered him a butterscotch candy and he sucked it slowly, let it clang around in his mouth. He drew two more lines on the window. He listened to Vera tell him what a brave boy he was being, how she would help him find his father, how the trails should be more clearly marked. In the back seat, her dog panted out stale breath. He was whining again, and the woman kept hushing him in a stern voice.
“The good news is that there’s plenty of daylight left,” she said. “We’ll find your dad and your brother, Jesse.”
“Okay,” Jesse said. He had an urge to wrench open the car door and hurl himself out, then run into the woods. He felt strong and self-sufficient. He felt as though he could be a boy who lived in the woods—he knew he could survive it. There was nothing more beautiful than snow falling in the forest. There was nothing more beautiful than the lack of sound—so quiet it was as if his ears were stuffed with cotton—and nothing more beautiful than the smell of damp earth.
Down a little road, and then they were at the second parking lot. There was no one in sight. The woman looked at Jesse. “No,” she said. “Well, all right.”
Her face looked suddenly exhausted, and she turned away from him, looked out the window.
“Oh, I’m a fool,” she said, laughing as she turned back to him. “What we ought to do is call your mother. Do you know your phone number?”
He nodded.
“Good,” she said. “I’ll find a quarter.”
She turned off the car and hopped out, dug through her pockets and then looked under the seat. Jesse could see a quarter on the floor by his feet but didn’t say anything. He did things like that sometimes—didn’t speak up, didn’t help people—but couldn’t say why, or what pleasure it gave him.
“If I had kids, I’d never let them out of my sight,” she was saying. “Can’t imagine it.” Her face was flushed. “Damn it,” she said.
Jesse watched her as she tried to figure out what to do. She kept twisting one of her rings off her finger—the one that changed colours—then sliding it back on. She asked whether she had left her change purse at home. How would he know? He watched her rummage through her jacket and produce a pack of cigarettes. She brought one to her mouth but did not light it.
“There,” she said, finally spotting the quarter. She asked for his phone number, then shut the car door and walked to the pay phone, so that Jesse could hear only the sound of the dog panting behind him.
“Good boy,” Jesse told the dog. “Such a good, brave boy.”
He reached behind him and stroked the dog’s ears, which were thick and soft and slightly damp from the snow. He let his hand rest on the dog’s head. The dog kept trying to lick Jesse’s hand and finally Jesse let him. He held out his hand, and the dog’s big rough tongue ran over his palm. “Good boy,” he said again. He tried to imagine what would happen next: his mother would arrive in her car, take him into her arms. She would be mad about him pretending Dmitri had fallen through the ice, but she would get over it. He took a deep breath and let himself relax for the first time that day.
The woman tapped on the driver’s side window and Jesse looked up. She was shaking her head and gesturing back at the pay phone, the unlit cigarette in her hand. She opened the car door and told him his mother hadn’t picked up. She walked again to the pay phone. Jesse felt his body tense. He leaned toward the open car door, so he could hear her. She asked to speak to the police, and he knew suddenly that his father was back at the other parking lot, walking toward the tree, Dmitri behind him. He felt it in his bones. If he ran fast enough, he could reach the tree. If he ran fast enough, he could catch up with his father and he wouldn’t be beaten. He knew the trails well enough. In an instant, he was out of the car, the woman shrieking behind him, the snow falling faster now, until he was invisible.
Jesse had watched the Olympics on TV: he knew how to run. He kicked up his legs,
imagined there was a windmill beneath his waist, a circular motion, both feet off the ground, his arms at ninety-degree angles, all the power coming from his shoulders, his feet flexed up and then down each time they struck the ground; he imagined he was moving the earth, kicking up a huge cloud of dirt and snow to wipe out whoever was behind him. He would be a great athlete one day, he was sure of it. He ran deep into the woods, past the campground, until he reached the lake. He had a good sense of direction and knew if he crossed the lake at this point he would meet up with the trail that led to the place where he had been standing. If he ran fast enough, he could reach it before his father and he wouldn’t be punished.
His heart was beating so hard that it seemed to be outside his body. He stopped at the edge of the lake and wrapped his arms around himself, sides heaving. He spat into the snow. He heard something behind him and spun to face the dog, the woman’s nice dog, wide-mouthed, its tongue hanging out, snow balled onto its legs so that it looked as if it were wearing white leg warmers.
“Go on,” he said, waving his arm in the direction of the trail. “Get.” The dog stayed put, its mouth hanging open so that it seemed to be laughing. Jesse heard the woman whistling for the dog. He felt a heaviness in his chest that he was not the runner he thought he was; surely he should be farther away, out of reach.
“For crying out loud,” he could hear the woman saying. “Slow down.” He stared at the icy expanse of lake ahead of him. If he crossed it, he’d be on the other side in a matter of minutes—and back to where his father had told him to wait. He could even see the hole where his father had broken through the ice, in search of Dmitri. He could run around it. Surely the woman wouldn’t come after him.
“Good, brave boy,” he whispered as he slid one of his boots and then the other out onto the frozen lake. His legs were shaking and he clenched his fists, determined to make it to the other side.
“Jesse.”
He could hear the woman close behind him and the loud panting of the dog.
“Stop that. Come back here.”
He shook his head, not looking at her, and continued his journey across the lake, back to his life with his father and brother. He reached the spot where his father had broken through the ice. A thin layer had formed over the hole, and snow fell softly on it; soon it would be covered. The paper boats were nowhere in sight. Underwater probably, or pecked apart by birds.
“Everything is going to be okay, Jesse,” she called out. “I need you to turn around and walk back to me.” Her voice was shrill, hysterical even. He hated the sound of it.
His father would be so angry, not only that he wasn’t waiting by the tree but also that the woman had called the police. Jesse would have to tell the police the awful truth: that he had pretended Dmitri had fallen through the ice. They would ask why. Because I was angry with my father. Because I wanted to make him suffer. He would have to say these words to the police in front of his father. His father hated the police. The police would see the bruises on Dmitri’s face and take his father away. And then, once his father was out of jail? Well, his father—his father would kill him.
“Leave me alone,” he shouted back at the woman. “Please, I’m fine,” he said. “Go away.”
He slipped and felt the toe of his boot plunge into the cold water. He scrambled to his feet and stared at the long stretch of ice ahead of him. He couldn’t see the hole in the ice. It was snowing hard and he was turned around, couldn’t tell which direction would lead him back to the tree where his father had told him to wait. “Go away,” he said to the woman. He could not make his legs move in any direction. “Leave me alone,” he said. “Please.”
“Stay right where you are,” she said. “Don’t move. I’m coming, honey. You’re going to be okay.”
He watched as the woman charged onto the lake toward him, her dog behind her.
He put out his arms as if to stop her, but she kept coming for him.
“No,” he said.
Despite all the exciting stuff Jesse saw on TV or read about in books, nothing exciting had ever happened to him. He would get sick but it never turned into pneumonia. His mother complained of a headache but it never turned out to be a brain tumour. She took a corner too fast but they never crashed into another car, or ran anybody over. The black backpack left at the bus stop in front of their house never exploded; the knock at the door never ended in a home invasion, everyone gagged and tied to chairs. The phone rang but nobody had ever died.
The woman was one step away from him, and Jesse watched as she put her foot down and the ice below shattered. Oh god, he heard her say. She came crashing down, unsteady on one knee, teetering at the edge of the hole in the ice, and she reached for him. She had him by his coat. He wrestled away from her grasp, terrified of being pulled into the water. One push. All it would take was one push. He closed his eyes and pushed her as hard as he could.
“Don’t,” she said, but he leapt away from her, and then she was underwater.
* * *
—
In an instant his father was beside him, shoving him out of the way. Leo reached into the water and grabbed the woman’s arms, and dug his knees into the ice.
“I’ve got you, don’t worry,” his father was saying. “Hang on, hang on,” he said.
“Don’t let go,” the woman yelled at his father. “Please,” she said, but her voice was unsteady and Jesse could barely make out her words, her mouth full of cold water. His father had the hood of her parka wadded in one hand and her arm in his other. He slipped forward and the woman’s head went under again.
When she came back up, as if by a feat of incredible strength she lunged toward Leo and grabbed his shoulders. “Please,” she said. “Please.” Her glasses had fallen off and Jesse could see her eyes, which were deep-set and wild, almost bulging. It was too much and he looked away, wished she were still wearing her glasses so he wouldn’t have to see those frightening eyes.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Leo said. He was kneeling at the edge of the hole, embracing the woman. Her legs were kicking frantically. She was trying to use Leo as leverage, trying to get one of her legs back onto the surface of the lake.
“What the hell is wrong with you,” Leo yelled at Jesse. “Help me. Grab on to her.”
Jesse could see his father’s eyes darkening. His father’s face morphing into that other face. The other face, the other one Jesse knew so well.
“I didn’t mean it,” Jesse said. “She wouldn’t leave me alone.” But his voice was nowhere to be found, and it came out only as a whisper. He couldn’t make himself move.
“I’ve got you,” Leo said to the woman. “Stop fighting me. Relax a minute.”
“Help me,” said the woman, “help me.”
Leo whipped his head around to look at Jesse. “Grab her! Come on!”
The woman was crying, scrambling to keep her hands clasped around Leo’s shoulders. “My hands, my hands,” she said. She began to wail. “I can’t hold on.”
“God damn it,” said Leo. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He was looking at the woman but Jesse knew the words were meant for him.
“My hands,” she said. “My hands are too cold.”
“Don’t let go,” said Leo.
His father’s legs were slipping. He tried different positions but there was no traction—everywhere he placed his feet, they shot out from under him. There was nothing to hold onto. No rope to throw. The woman was thrashing in the water, and she was screaming.
“God damn it. God damn it,” his father was saying, over and over.
“Don’t let go of me,” the woman said. “Help,” she said again. “Please help me.”
She was clawing at his jacket and Jesse saw that his father was going to be pulled down with her, down into the water. His father gasped, struggled to secure his footing again. He braced himself to lift the woman onto the i
ce, but soaked with ice-cold water, she outweighed him.
“Dad! Dad!” Jesse said. “Let go!”
His father was making a horrible wailing sound and Jesse knew he wouldn’t stop trying to save her. The woman’s lips were turning blue and her teeth were chattering. His father’s clothing was wet and plastered to his body. Jesse grabbed his father’s shoulders and tried to pull him away from the hole in the ice. He tried to wrench open his father’s hands. He began to hit his father as hard as he could, but he saw it was making no difference and so he took hold of his father for balance and kicked the woman’s arms and hands, anything he could reach of her, until she let go and plunged into the water.
“Don’t,” the woman was screaming, and his father threw Jesse onto the ice with a strength that was almost superhuman, and scrambled to grab her again.
“Grab my jacket, grab my hands,” his father yelled. But it didn’t matter. The woman’s face had changed and she had stopped screaming. Her mouth opened and a gush of water spilled out. She raised her arms and tipped her head up. She broke through the surface of the water with her hands one last time, as if she were trying to lift herself out of the lake and fly into the open sky. She opened her mouth once more, and seconds later she was underwater.
“No,” said his father, and he grabbed for her but she was unresponsive, staring up at him from below the surface. Her arms floated down to her sides and then she was sinking.
A bubble, then another, then nothing.
Jesse could see her. He could see her face. The woman’s expression softened. His father backed away from the hole in the ice and together they watched her go.
Jesse and his father knelt at the edge, peering down. At some point, Jesse realized his father was holding his hand. He waited for the black water to bubble with life and for the woman’s hand to shoot out and grasp the ice. His father seemed to be waiting, too.
The ice cracked beneath them, and the next thing Jesse knew, he was in his father’s arms, and his father was carrying him to the lake’s edge. The snow had stopped and for the first time that day Jesse did not feel cold. His father set him on the ground.
How a Woman Becomes a Lake Page 19
