Ralph marches over, face flushed crimson. ‘Now listen here, young lady. This is my friggin’ day. I paid through my teeth to have your father with me. Dang it. I’m going to take that trophy home. Then we have a list to complete.’
‘No,’ I say again. My hand’s back on the moose’s chest. If only I had a bandage, I could stop the blood running through my fingers. But wait, we do.
‘Bring my bag!’ I yell to Jaxon, who’s still halfway up the hill. ‘There’s a first-aid kit with medical supplies.’ I look up at my father, who’s standing over me. ‘Please don’t kill him, please,’ I say. ‘Please.’
‘It wasn’t a clean shot, Sky,’ he says. ‘Give Ralph a minute to finish the animal off.’
The blood isn’t stopping, the pool of red now staining my pants. I see Jaxon returning with the kit and get up to walk towards him. I look at my father as I pass. ‘Please. Don’t kill him, Adam.’
He sighs and turns to Ralph. ‘Buddy, hold on.’
‘I’m finishing this animal off and continuing with our day, then we’ll see if we’re buddies or not,’ Ralph says angrily.
‘I can’t … She’s my daughter. I just can’t.’
‘You’re an idiot. And, anyway, it’s not humane,’ Ralph says. ‘You taught me that: The objective of every conscientious hunter is to kill the animal as quickly as possible.’ Then he kneels down on one leg and raises the rifle to his armpit.
‘No!’ I lurch towards the moose’s body, but Adam grabs my shoulder just in time.
Bang!
‘Sky!’ My father swivels me around and screams into my face. ‘Are you insane? You could have been killed.’ He’s looking at me like I’ve turned into a lunatic. And maybe I have.
Ralph lowers his gun and looks at Adam. He’s shaking with anger, his face turning a deeper red. ‘I could have shot her. Do you know what that means, Adam? You are over.’
‘We can still get him help,’ I say to my father. ‘I’ll bandage him. Jaxon, do you have the bandage? And we’ll get a vet and … and …’ I’m stuttering, tears choking my words. ‘We can save him. He’s scared. Look at him, he’s freaking out.’
It’s not entirely true, as the moose’s eyes have closed and he isn’t moving at all. I feel my father’s gaze on me, and Jaxon is sitting down on the hill, watching the scene like we’re actors in a show.
‘Leave the animal here,’ Adam tells Ralph. ‘I’ll call the Lodge and make arrangements to pick it up on their ATV and process it. We’re not butchering it or packing the meat, Ralph.’
‘I’ll take the antlers then,’ he says.
‘That’s illegal here; you can’t bring the antlers out before the meat.’
‘I’ll take the antlers now, for Christ’s sake, and the Lodge will pick up the rest later,’ Ralph says.
‘Ralph, we’re done for the day, forget about the fee, you can go home.’
He stands up, brushing the snow from his pants, and takes a menacing step towards my father. ‘I’m really pissed, Adam. Leaving with nothing? Your daughter throwing herself in my line of fire? You’ve ruined my trip and your reputation is finished.’ He glares at me and then at the moose. ‘All for this. Wait till the Lodge hears about it.’
He stomps away, snow flying from his feet, his gun clanking against his binoculars, knives and other equipment, huffing up the hill until we can’t hear him anymore.
‘You could have been killed,’ Adam repeats. ‘How could you do that?’
I don’t answer.
Jaxon leaves too, saying he’s going for a walk.
That leaves me, my father and the moose, together in the reddening snow. The moose is alive but barely, his eyes closed and breathing shallow. The forest is quiet except for our inhales and exhales and the occasional shrill bird whistle. The sun has banished all signs of the night, and it’s turning into a warmer day, freezing but less freezing. Clouds brush the sky like watercolours in a painting and fresh powdered snow glistens like diamonds. There’s no wind, no sign of a storm. The surrounding beauty clashes with the ugly reality, like a pretty melody sung out of tune.
I shiver, although I’m not cold, as I kneel and stroke the moose’s fur, thick and coarse. It reminds me of my dog, Bella, sleeping beside me, and my chicken, Chirp. Despite the outward differences, all animals feel and breathe, like us.
‘He can’t be saved, can he?’ I hear myself say.
‘No.’
‘Do you have to shoot him again?’
‘He doesn’t have long now,’ my father says.
I feel the fur run between my fingers. ‘Can we stay with him?’
‘Yes, we’ll stay.’
Several minutes pass, or it could be longer.
‘Will you lose your job?’ I ask. ‘I’m sorry I embarrassed you. Do you want me to tell your boss that it was my fault? I can write a letter or something.’
‘I don’t think it’s such a big deal, but thanks. The manager’s a buddy, he’ll be okay. May need to compensate the Lodge a bit, loss of future income and all.’
I hear my teeth chattering.
‘You could have been killed,’ Adam says again, with a sigh. ‘Sky, if you were so against me going, you should have told me at the start. Or even in town yesterday. I gave you plenty of time to tell me. What were you thinking coming out here to sabotage the hunt, and putting your life—all our lives—in danger? I told you how dangerous moose are; a grown moose can kill you in an instant. Or a misdirected bullet from an inexperienced hunter like Ralph. Happens all the time. All the time.’
‘I didn’t come to sabotage you,’ I say. ‘Jaxon needs your help with his dad and we thought we should come get you.’
‘Doug’s back?’ Adam turns to look at me.
‘Yeah, he’s really drunk and the police took him.’
My right hand’s getting tired and I switch to my left, continuing with the rhythmic stroking. The moose doesn’t react.
Adam digs his gloves into the snow, letting the flakes pour from his hand like dust. ‘Still seems like something that could have waited until I was back.’
I think about this. Did I subconsciously want to disrupt the hunt? Was I being impulsive, again? Maybe, on both counts.
‘Sorry,’ I say.
‘It’s okay, what’s done is done. I’ll deal with it, with Doug.’
We listen to the rustle of the wind in the trees.
‘How’s it even a fair fight if someone has a gun?’ I say, more to myself than him.
‘For God’s sake, Sky. You could have been killed.’
‘Stop saying that already. I know, okay, I’m sorry.’
He sighs again and moves to sit closer to me. ‘When I started hunting with Steph, she and her family would use the entire animal. It was always a way of life for them, never a sport, but now she’s gone … I guess …’ He pats the snow down next to him. ‘I don’t know if you know, but hunters actually help conserve animals, giving hundreds of millions of dollars through taxes on equipment, fees, licences and whatnot. Recently, the Department of Fish and Game helped reintroduce wood bison. And Steph told me that hunting in the US really saved species like elk and deer and …’ He stops and looks at the moose. ‘Anyway, it’s a huge responsibility. I try to educate all my clients about conservation and ethics, of course, and I’m extremely careful—I only hunt bulls, never cow moose, because that has too big an effect on the population.’
His words feel like they’re flying over me like leaves in a breeze.
I watch the moose. When I glance over to my dad, I realise he’s doing the same. We are transfixed.
‘How old do you think he is?’ I ask.
‘About eight to ten years.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘The antlers are around five feet … they have a butterfly shape.’
‘Oh.’ I touch them—they feel like bone, or teeth, each enormous, half the size of my body. If I stretched out my arms as wide as they can go, I wouldn’t be able to touch both sides.
The clouds drift,
making patterns over the moose’s head. I stroke his long snout softly. I wonder what he’s thinking about. If he’s dreaming or feeling angry at us.
My father takes off his beanie and runs his hand through his hair. I smell apple.
I think of the yoga meditation I used to do with Mum. And how, when she went, I’d wondered if she was practising the special breathing techniques and mind-focusing mantras. She seemed at peace, but that may have been the drugs.
My father takes my other hand in his. ‘I don’t think it’s suffering.’
‘He’s not an it,’ I retort, looking at my father for the first time. ‘Animals aren’t things … just stuff for us to use. Their lives are …’ I stop to think. ‘They are just as meaningful to them as our lives are to us. Don’t you get it?’ I shake my head. ‘Don’t you believe they have souls?’
A shaft of light appears between the clouds and illuminates the moose’s face. And, just then, like a sign from above, his eyes open.
I gasp without meaning to, and my father grips my hand tighter.
The sunlight moves and suddenly the moose’s eyes close.
‘Did you look into his eyes?’ I say. ‘There’s a whole world in there. Just like us. I know there is.’
A big exhale deflates the moose’s body. He seems to shrink on the spot.
‘See?’ I whisper, half crying. ‘His spirit is gone. Now there’s just a body. This is why it’s wrong. You killed somebody, not something.’
We sit together, quietly, watching. I wonder if the moose’s life flashed before his eyes in that final moment, or if he, if any animal, had thoughts about an afterlife. We would never know.
‘Let’s say a prayer,’ my father says, surprising me. He puts his hands on the animal’s body and I do the same. He whispers something, and at the end I join him with Amen.
‘I’m sorry, Sky, really, I’m sorry.’ He puts his hand back on mine.
But I pull mine away and stand up, brushing the snow from my pants. This time, I don’t know if I can accept it.
Chapter 18
My forehead rests against the cold car window as the hot air slowly heats the icebox. The truck driver Ted’s, Melody’s and Autumn’s words bang around my brain like clothes in a dryer.
If there’s anything I learnt, it’s that people aren’t perfect, I hear Ted say.
There’s no perfect parent, Autumn said.
We are all flawed, Melody told me.
I touch the dry blood on my pants. Hunting is against everything I believe in. Everything. And once you’re dead, there’s no returning. Life is over, forever. And what about your family? Those left behind. Like me without Mum or the moose’s calf calling for her dad tonight in the woods. She’ll soon realise he’ll never answer. I don’t care if I’m mixing animals with humans, anthropomorphising as they say, but losing Mum is making this loss too real, unbearable. And I know animals have super-complex social structures, I’ve watched enough National Geographic documentaries—it’s a fact.
Outside, it’s snowing again. I’m sitting in the car with my father while Jaxon follows in his dad’s car. Before we left, he filled Adam in on what’s happened with his dad, the truth this time. Adam promised he’ll get Doug out of prison first thing tomorrow—not exactly berating Jaxon, but he did say we could have waited twelve hours longer to let him finish his job; Doug wasn’t going anywhere and it isn’t the worst idea for him to spend a night there and think about what he’s done.
‘What will happen to the moose?’ I ask my father after he’s called to tell Miriam all’s well. She wasn’t happy I lied but wasn’t worried either; it’s only 9am and she hadn’t found my note yet and didn’t even know we had gone. ‘Will he be eaten by a bear or something? No, they’re hibernating, aren’t they?’
‘The Lodge will pick it up—him up—’ Adam corrects himself, ‘on their trailer, process him and donate the meat to one of the charities in town who’ll distribute it to people in need, the elderly, homeless folk … That’s what we often do with meat not taken home by the hunters. They appreciate it and make it into stews, chillis, meatballs, stuff like that.’
The fact that I’m not grossed out by the thought of moose meatballs surprises me. But it may be on the top-ten list of the strangest things I’ve ever heard.
It seems like neither of us feels like talking anymore, both lost in our own thoughts. Not mad, exactly—I think we’re just sad, bummed. This day has sucked beyond measure, for both of us in different ways. My father puts on the radio, not music this time, a talkback show. His hands grip the steering wheel and he rubs it with his thumb.
When we get back home, Jaxon following close behind, I say hi to my grandparents and excuse myself to run my snowpants and thermals under hot water, scouring out all traces of blood. Then I scrub myself clean in the shower and curl into bed with a sandwich. For the rest of the day, I do nothing but read and journal, my grandmother occasionally popping her head in to see if I’m okay. I also watch Mum’s video, but only once, just to relax me.
The next morning, I drag myself out of bed and join Jaxon and Adam to go the police station—I want to support Jaxon.
When we arrive, I follow him and my father to the reception desk.
Adam says he wants to speak to an officer about Doug’s charges, and we’re told to sit and wait. I leave my phone in my pocket—for once—and pick up an old magazine, Horse and Style, and mindlessly flip through it.
Jaxon’s head is in his hands and his foot is tapping fast, like it’s been possessed by a demon. My father scratches his beard, watching the desk.
At last a police officer appears, and Adam and Jaxon follow her. They sit at another desk just outside my view.
I look at the pictures of the plaited horse tails, only able to hear snippets of what they’re saying. My father’s talking mostly.
‘Doug’s wife … not long ago … still grieving.’
When the police officer speaks, I can’t hear her. I debate moving a few seats closer, but that would look awkward, like I’m eavesdropping, which seems to be a common pastime of mine these days.
‘No officer … I know … it’s the second time,’ my father continues. ‘Not regularly … I can vouch for his character.’
I hear Jaxon say something, but his voice is also too soft for me to make out whole words. I strain my ears as Adam and the officer continue talking. Only Adam’s voice reaches me.
‘His son needs him home … Take all my details … Why not? … I’ll check on him … But … No … Can’t you have them dropped? … That’s not fair … He didn’t do … Please, Officer …’
I bite my nails.
‘I’m happy to pay for the damages to the neighbour’s postbox he sideswiped, and as for the other complaints … I’ll be back,’ Adam says finally. It doesn’t sound like it’s gone well.
I jump up as my father and Jaxon walk away from the desk, and follow them back to the car. Neither is particularly interested in me at the moment.
‘We’re going to Doug’s neighbour’s,’ my father says as he pulls out of the parking lot. ‘I can drop you home first.’
‘No, it’s okay,’ I say. ‘I’ll come.’
‘You sure?’
I nod.
‘I’ll stop for some supplies first; the usual should do the trick.’
‘You don’t have to,’ Jaxon mumbles from the back seat.
‘I promised, didn’t I?’ Adam says. ‘You’ll have your dad back by evening, bud, sober and sorry as hell, I’ll make sure of it.’
We stop outside a small grocery store, and Jaxon and I wait in the car as Adam runs in, leaving the heater on. I peek around to the back seat, not sure what to say. But Jaxon’s got his earbuds in, fingers tapping on his knees to some silent soundtrack, eyes closed. I’m not offended; he needs his own space. He’s the kind of person who freezes up when things get tough, like a computer with too many programs open at one time. I wouldn’t want to talk either.
My father’s back in a minute, car
rying two shopping bags. Boxes of fancy-looking chocolates stick out the top—there must be at least ten or so.
We continue on to Doug’s house and pull into the driveway.
‘You sure I can’t call my mom to pick you up in a taxi?’ my father says, turning to me.
‘No, it’s okay, I’ll wait here.’
‘Okay. I’ll leave the keys in the ignition so you can listen to music.’
I recline my seat, take off my shoes, wiggle my toes in my socks and stretch my legs, my feet up on the dashboard. I remember I still have the snacks I packed for our last trip and pull out a chip packet.
I watch out the window as Adam and Jaxon walk to the first neighbour’s door and knock. My father has a box of chocolates in one hand, and his other grips Jaxon’s shoulder.
A young woman opens the door only to disappear, replaced by an older man. I can’t hear what my father says, but he smiles brightly, squeezes Jaxon close, and gives a longish speech. The neighbour’s face is impassive at first, but soon Adam’s words must be having an effect as the man takes the chocolates and says a few words, nodding. My father shakes his hand and when the door closes, smiles at Jaxon.
I make my way through the chip packet, licking my salty fingers, as the pattern repeats at more front doors, some still showing off their Christmas decorations. There are three houses on one side of the street, and two on the other. Each time my father seems to sweet-talk the neighbour, Jaxon standing solemnly by his side, head down, only nodding when needed. The encounters end with the giving of chocolates and a brief shaking of hands. A few people aren’t home, and Adam and Jaxon return with the leftover chocolate boxes.
‘That’s five people promising to call the station now to retract their complaints and vouch for your father’s usual good character,’ Adam says, looking at Jaxon in the rear-view mirror and starting the engine. ‘Let’s hope that will do the trick.’
My father does a U-turn and soon we’re back at the station. Again, I wait on the chairs as Adam and Jaxon speak to the officer. They return and we wait silently. Jaxon’s leg bounces, making a dull tapping sound on the concrete floor, and my father holds his chin in his hands, rubbing his beard. I’m not sure what’s happening but don’t want to pester them.
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