Sukkwan Island Free Novella with Bonus Material

by David Vann

  He finished off with a bit of seaweed and went back to the cabin for a drink of water, then went out to visit with Roy. Haven’t been thinking about you as much, he told Roy. Been thinking about myself when I was your age. How I used to hunt ducks right in front of the house. Croppies and bluegill and catfish at night on the pier with a lantern. I’ve been thinking about all of that, too. It seems to me that one life is actually many lives, and that they add up to something surprisingly long. My life then was nothing like my life now. I was someone else. But what makes me sad, I guess, and the reason I bring all of this up, is that you won’t be getting any other lives. You had two or three at most. Early childhood in Ketchikan, then living with your mother in California after the divorce. That would be two. Maybe being out here with me was the beginning of the third. But you know, you killed yourself, I didn’t kill you, so that’s what you get.

  The rest of the afternoon, Jim poked around the shed, looking at all the rusting tools and odd projects. He was getting more active, mostly because it was a weirdly warm spell. Normally he wouldn’t stay outside this long. But really, winter in Southeast was not that big a deal. He had been too freaked out with that cache and everything. It wasn’t that hard to survive here.

  And then Jim went through a time when he didn’t seem to have any thoughts or memories at all. He stayed in bed and stared at the ceiling. When he went out, he stared at the trees or at the waves. The water was calm, no whitecaps. A surge more than waves at times, the water gray and opaque and thick-looking. He sat with Roy sometimes, but he was through talking. He was ready to get back to his life, to get back to other people.

  But he stayed. A storm came through for over a week and he had nothing to eat. He didn’t want to go outside. It seemed the cabin might collapse under the strain. Hail pelting the windows, rain, snow, outrageous winds, dark all the time. He hated this place. He wanted a hot tub.

  When the storm finally ended, he was so desperate and starved he decided to set the fire. Everything was soaked, but he walked out into the trees with his spare gas can and a box of matches, resting several times along the way. He found a spot with a lot of deadfall and trees packed in close and he doused as much wood as he could with the gasoline, then struck a match to it and stepped back as it flared up. He started yelling, excited, as the flames devoured the deadfall and licked up the sides of the small trees. The heat was a beautiful thing. Truly warm for what seemed like the first time since summer, Jim stayed as close to it as possible, close enough that he could feel his face too hot and probably burning. The smoke obliterated the tops of the trees and the evening sky, and the sound of the fire overcame everything else. Jim danced around at the edges of it, telling it to consume everything. Grow, he yelled. Grow.

  And it did grow, quickly. It took over the entire area where Roy was buried, burned all the way to the water’s edge, and moved along the shoreline toward the cabin. Jim hoped it was spreading in other directions, too. The wind was coming this way, though, toward the cabin, so this was its main movement. He thought for a moment that he should have set it on the other side, so that the cabin would have been upwind, but then he didn’t care. Let it all burn, he thought, and then let them come for me. I can’t spend the rest of my life out here like this.

  The fire grew over the next hour, through sunset, and reached the cabin just as it started to rain. Jim raged at the skies, threatened to punish the rain, but it kept coming. The fire burned part of the roof and one wall of the cabin, then drowned and smoked and finally only smelled. It was the middle of the night. He went into the bedroom, which had been spared and now smelled of smoke rather than of Roy, and he slept.

  He woke to the roof collapsing in the kitchen under the weight of all the rain. The crash was monstrously loud, but he knew what it was and he didn’t get up. He went back to sleep and woke again at midday wet and shivering. Though the section of roof above him was still good, the rain was blowing sideways into the room and drenching him.

  You better find me, he said. You better find me now.

  He hiked through the charred forest later that day to Roy’s grave. The rain had ceased. He wasn’t completely sure he was in the right place, but the depression was still there and the charred trunks in roughly the right places, so he sat down shivering in the wet black ash and visited for a while.

  I don’t know, he answered Roy. Could be they’ll see it, could be they’ll see it and not care. It’s not burning anymore, after all. It’s not a fire now.

  He went to the unburned section of the forest and was stripping bark to eat when he heard the helicopter pass overhead and then come back and hover just offshore from the cabin. He walked out as fast as he could to meet it, but he was very slow and had to rest several times. It was still there, however, when he cleared the tree line and waved.

  Hey, he yelled. You look beautiful. He kept waving. Come on, he yelled.

  They weren’t able to set down anywhere, he assumed, because they only hovered. It was a sheriff’s helicopter, but it didn’t have pontoons. He could see their faces, the two of them with their earphones and caps and glasses. He waved and rubbed his arms to make it clear he was freezing, and they waved in return. Their machine seemed a modern wonder to Jim. They stayed there hovering for probably five minutes before they came on over the loudspeaker.

  We’ve radioed for a float plane, they told him. You’ll be picked up in an hour or two. If you are James Edwin Fenn, please raise your right arm to confirm.

  Jim raised his right arm. Then they rose and turned and flew off. Jim was excited. He was ready to have a normal life again.

  An hour or two later, after he had gone back to the cabin, dug out the stove, and started a fire in it to warm himself, afraid now of hypothermia, a float plane came up the channel, banked, and landed hard in the small chop out from his beach. Jim waved and stood at the edge of his beach waiting. They taxied up until their pontoons hit the gravel and then they cut their engine and two men in uniform came down onto the pontoons while the pilot stayed inside.

  Howdy, the lead man shouted.

  Jim waved. I’m glad you’re here, he said. I was over on Sukkwan with my son.

  We found that, the man said. Been looking for you and your son. Sheriff Coos.

  They shook hands.

  We’ve been worried about you. Had a missing persons out for both of you for almost two months now.

  Well, I’ve been right here. Look, my son died. He killed himself. So I went looking for help and I didn’t find any. I ended up here and I had to survive the winter. I pretty much wrecked these people’s place but I’ll pay for it; I had to do what I did to survive. I buried my son out in the woods.

  Whoa, Coos said. Slow down. Your son killed himself?

  Yeah.

  Okay, Coos said. Let Leroy here take your statement. He has to write all this down.

  So Jim waited and then gave a slower, more complete version, though still not the whole story. They said they’d take a more complete statement when they got back to town. But for now, they took the basic story and then wanted to see where he’d buried Roy.

  The men were close behind him. Jim tried to walk faster but he couldn’t. And then he got confused and was having trouble finding Roy. Hold on a second, he said. It’s somewhere around here. It’s hard to find now because of the fire. I came out here and talked to him earlier today, but I can’t find it now.

  They only stood close and didn’t say anything. He knew this looked bad, that it looked like he was trying not to find Roy, and that panicked him and made it harder still. Every charred bit of forest was starting to look the same. I can’t do this, he said. I’m sorry, but I just can’t find him today.

  He turned to face Coos. Jim knew he could be reasonable. I haven’t seen anyone in so long, he said.

  I’m sorry for your troubles, Coos said. And we’ll get you home today. But you need to find your son.

  So Jim kept looking until he was standing in one spot and looked down to see that
he was in a small depression and saw his prints from earlier in the day and realized this was the grave. He started crying without meaning to and told them, This is it.

  Jim backed away from the grave and sat down while the men inspected the depression and Leroy took pictures of it and then went back to the plane for a shovel.

  I’m sorry, the sheriff said. But we can’t leave the body here. You understand.

  Sure, Jim said. He lay down on his side to watch them. The smell of smoke was so strong close to the ground that it was difficult to breathe, but he felt he was safer lying down here and had no intention of getting up. He would watch and then soon he’d see Roy buried decently. And then if they tried to charge him with anything, he’d get a good lawyer and get out of this. He hadn’t done anything wrong. His son had killed himself, and though Jim had broken a lot of laws after that, it had all been necessary for survival. Jim felt an enormous pity for himself and hated the sheriff and Leroy, unreasonably he knew. They were just doing their jobs, and they hadn’t even accused him of anything.

  They were careful. And they took pictures. When they came to the sleeping bag finally, they took many pictures of that, from the first glimpse of it to fully uncovered, and then Leroy opened it and threw up.

  Coos took over and got the bag open, and they took flash pictures of what was inside but didn’t empty it out. They closed it up again and then Leroy went to the plane for a big clear plastic bag. They put the sleeping bag and Roy in this and duct-taped it shut.

  I’m placing you under arrest, Coos told Jim. And then he read Jim his rights.

  What? Jim asked, but they didn’t answer. The two of them pulled him to his feet and Leroy held his arm as they walked back over ash and rock and beach to the water’s edge.

  They loaded Roy in the back and then put Jim in one of the aft seats. The pilot taxied, then gunned the engines and the plane lifted free. Jim was dizzy during the flight and fell asleep until they landed in water again.

  When they got out, Jim was surprised to see that they were in Ketchikan. He had lived here with Elizabeth and Roy, and Tracy had been born here just before everything had fallen apart.

  We’ve called the boy’s mother, Coos said. And we’re taking you to the hospital so they can take a look at you.

  Thanks, Jim said.

  No problem. But I have to tell you, if you’ve killed your son, and I think you did, I’ll see you put in prison, and if you ever get out, I’ll kill you myself.

  Jesus, Jim said.

  The doctor examined him quickly and said all he needed was lots of food, water, and rest. He looked at the end of Jim’s nose and said he had lost a little piece to frostbite but there was nothing he could do about that. Then Jim was taken to the sheriff’s office to give a longer statement. For the rest of the day, they made him give his statement over and over. They kept coming back to why his son would have wanted to kill himself.

  I wanted to kill myself, and I came close to doing it. I was on the radio with Rhoda, and I intended to do it. Roy had been having to listen to a lot of that for a while. Not just on the radio, but when I would talk with him about it and when he’d have to hear me crying and such.

  Jim shook his head. He was having trouble continuing, trouble breathing. His lungs were getting all gluey. So I was there with the pistol to my head and ready. I’d been like that for a while and hadn’t been able to actually pull the trigger. I kept thinking, What if I’m wrong. But Roy walks in and sees this and the way he looked at me I didn’t know what to do, so I turned off the radio and handed him the pistol and walked out. I didn’t mean anything by that. I had no idea what he might do.

  Tell us what happened then, Jim.

  Well, I was out walking and I heard the shot, and even then I didn’t figure out what had happened, so I kept walking around like a dumbass for a while longer and then I got back and found him.

  What did you see when you found him?

  Jesus. How much do you want? It was him lying there. He’d blown off his head. You know what that looks like.

  No, I don’t.

  Don’t you? Well, he only had half his face and parts of him were everywhere, and there was nothing I could do to put him back together.

  What did you do after with the body?

  I buried him. But then I realized he needed a burial with his mother and sister to see it, so I dug him up and then I guess I went looking for a boat or cabin or someone with a radio.

  What happened to your own radios?

  I broke them.

  When?

  Right after he killed himself. I don’t know why I did it.

  You broke the radios right after your son’s death. Was this so no one would be able to contact you? Did you have something to hide?

  Stop it, Jim said. Stop being idiots. I just broke them and then went looking and couldn’t find anyone and had to break into that cabin to survive while I waited. It took you forever to find me, and that was only after I set half the island on fire. Otherwise I’d still be rotting out there.

  Who was rotting?

  Shut up, you fucker.

  Mr. Fenn, let me remind you. We have you on many charges, not only murder. You need to cooperate with us and answer our questions.

  I’m a dentist. This is outrageous. I didn’t kill my son.

  That may be.

  This was only the first of many sessions. They had him tell the story over and over, all the details, trying to find pieces that didn’t fit. Why Roy was in the sleeping bag. Where the pistol was, which was something Jim honestly could not answer. Where had he put it? He had no memory of putting it anywhere. The last he remembered it had been on the floor, but they hadn’t found anything. So apparently he had done something else with it.

  Breaking the radios was another thing they went back to again and again. And the time he’d stepped off the small cliff. And handing Roy the pistol. All of these things over and over until Jim could not be completely sure whether any of it had happened exactly as he remembered. It began to seem almost like someone else’s history.

  They kept him in jail for several days and didn’t let him make any calls. No one except the doctor knew he was there until finally they sent in a lawyer. But this man wouldn’t say much. He only paced back and forth in front of Jim’s cell, then said, You want your own private lawyer, right? Is that what you’re asking me right now?

  Sure, Jim said.

  Okay, the man said. I’ll go call one and he’ll be in today.

  The man left then. Much later in the day, another man in a suit and tie came in.

  Name’s Norman, the man said. Be happy to have me. It sounds like you’re in trouble. But first I need to know whether you can afford me.

  I need to get out of here, Jim said. On bail or something.

  That’s all. I don’t care what it costs me.

  Okay, Norman said. I can work with that.

  It was almost a week before they held the arraignment and Jim was able to leave. He wanted to fly to California to see Elizabeth and Tracy and Rhoda and try to explain, but the terms of his bail were that he couldn’t leave Ketchikan, so he took a taxi downtown to a hotel, a crappy little place called the Royal Executive Suites. When Jim had lived here in Ketchikan eight years before, he had befriended the owner of this hotel, who at that time had been only a young guy fresh off the ferry. The man had been moving here, and though he was a Mormon and Jim was not, Jim had taken him fishing and let him stay at the house and helped him to find work. The man’s name was Kirk, and he didn’t have time for Jim now, but he did let Jim buy a room for twice what it was worth.

  Jim stayed in his room with the heat on and made phone calls. He called Roy’s mother, Elizabeth, but only got the answering machine. After the beep, he stood there with the receiver in his hand and had no idea what to say. He finally just said, Sorry, and hung up. Then he thought about calling Rhoda, but he didn’t feel ready for that yet. He didn’t feel ready to talk with anyone, really, so he gave up on the phone cal
ls.

  He spent the rest of the day sitting in a chair by the window, looking out at the water and not thinking anything coherent. He daydreamed that Roy had been shot and he had killed the men who had done it, picking them off one by one from around the cabin with the rifle, and then he carried Roy to the inflatable and sped over to the next island, where he found a fishing boat and got Roy aboard. They laid him on the deck with the red salmon and Jim pumped at his chest to keep him alive until a helicopter came and lifted him away. Jim tried to hold on to this last image of Roy spinning slowly above him on the stretcher, being lifted into safety. He felt his love for Roy hard in his chest and was overwhelmed by the grief of having saved his son.

  But he couldn’t hold the daydream forever, and soon he was just sitting in a chair by the window and it was another overcast day with the heater going. He looked down at his feet in socks on the clean beige carpet and looked at the cream walls and spackled ceiling and back down to the bad watercolor of a gillnetter pulling in its catch. He wanted to talk to his brother or Rhoda, but he also couldn’t imagine calling. When he was too hungry to sit there any longer, he bundled himself up and prepared to face the good folk of Ketchikan.

  Jim walked through the lobby without looking at anyone and crossed the street to a restaurant that served fish and chips. He sat himself in a corner booth and stared down at his own clenched hands. The waitress when she finally came over didn’t seem to recognize him, though he had seen her here years before. He didn’t seem to be famous yet for what had happened out in the islands, either. He had imagined the whole event might attract more attention.

  Jim drummed his fingers on the red Formica and waited and sipped his water and wondered how it was he had ended up without friends. No one was flying up here to visit him or to help him wait this thing out. John Lampson in Williams and Tom Kalfsbeck in Lower Lake: he hadn’t called them yet, so they couldn’t know, but even if he did call, he was pretty sure they wouldn’t come. And this was because of women, too. It was because of his obsession with Rhoda over these past years that he had lost touch with his friends in California and not made new ones in Fairbanks. He had done his work and bought things and talked on the phone and seen prostitutes and had dinner a few times with other dentists or orthodontists and their wives, but that was about it. It was no wonder to him now that he had fallen so low. He had cut himself off from everyone and had nursed what he thought was love but was only longing, a kind of sickness inside him that had nothing to do with Rhoda at all. And it had taken this to get him out of it, to get him to see it. His son had had to kill himself so that Jim could get his life back. And yet that wasn’t going to work, either, because it wasn’t just that his son had killed himself.