Since Tomorrow

by Morgan Nyberg

  “I’d rather stay here with you.”

  “Bloody peat. Maybe I should’ve got cordwood from the Park Crew.”

  “No. Leave the trees.”

  They were quiet for some time. He said “That woman who had the amputation – is she all right?”

  “Yes. She and her daughter have got Fire’s room. Her name is Salmon.”

  “Like the fish.”

  “Yes. Did you ever see a salmon?”

  “Oh yes. I’ve caught them. I’ve seen many different.... When we were sailing I....” But he stopped and sighed and shook his head slowly and stared at the glow in the bucket.

  Grace rocked him a little and went “Shh, shh.”

  He sighed again and whispered. “I just wish I could go to sleep and wake up in the spring.”

  She said in her halting, unsure way “Think of something else. ”

  He continued to stare into the fading glow. He said “It doesn’t matter what I think. Winter comes around, thinking or no thinking. I would get drunk and stay drunk, but I’ve got to be sharp. Langley could come any time.”

  Grace stopped rocking him. She stiffened. He took his arm from her shoulder.

  In a while she said “Do you ever wish you were someone else?” It seemed as if the whole cold and lightless night beyond her window had entered the room and inhabited her voice.

  He turned to her and said “Grace, don’t.”

  “Do you ever wish you could be anyone except who you are?”

  Somewhere a baby was crying, Mitchell’s child. Frost went onto his knees and leaned toward the fire. There was a pile of peat near the window. He placed a chunk into the bucket. With the scrap of aluminum he delicately poked at the fire. He cleared his throat and said “In the spring I want to travel up the valley. I want to have a look at it in case we have to leave here. Which I think might be best. I know the soil is good up there. I’ve heard there are a lot of trees. Would you like to come to see it with me? I would like you to.”

  Some dogs on the bridge started barking. Others close by joined in. It took them a few minutes to settle down. In the quiet he could hear coyotes yipping far away to the south and now, through the wall, a woman sobbing. And again, somewhere, Brandon, outside in the drizzle. “...and I think to myself....”

  He looked over his shoulder, saw that Grace was trembling. He said “You’d better come down for a little hooch.”

  “Bring it up to me. Would you bring it up to me, Frost? And stay with me tonight. Please?”

  18

  There was a workbench in front of a plastic-covered window. A two-by-four was clamped vertically in a woodworking vise that was fixed to the bench. Daniel Charlie climbed onto a low platform of concrete blocks. He said “Saw.”

  Frost handed it to him.

  A straight line running the length of the two-by-four had been scored near one edge. Daniel Charlie started sawing along it. He held the two-by-four steady with his other hand and moved the saw in purposeful strokes. After a minute he stopped and got down from the platform. He left the saw in the groove. There were grains of sawdust in his hair. “My arm’s had it. Need a break.”

  Frost said “Want me to have a go?”

  “When’s the last time you ever sawed anythin’?”

  Frost appeared to be thinking. He looked tired and slumped and haggard.

  Daniel Charlie said “Is it bad again? I know it’s that time of year.”

  Frost inhaled sharply and drew himself upright but said nothing.

  Daniel Charlie said “Try one.”

  There was a pile of finished bows, perhaps ten, on the bench. Daniel Charlie took the top one. Its string of yellow twine was loose. Daniel Charlie flexed the bow against the floor and slipped the loose loop of the twine into its notch and handed the strung bow to Frost, who pulled the twine back. “It’s strong.”

  “It’ll shoot far.”

  Frost slowly released the tension. “You’re a genius, Daniel.” His voice was worn and sandy.

  Light came into the shop both from the window that faced the river and from the wide, jagged, plastic-covered crack that ran down the opposite wall.

  Daniel Charlie said “We could take Langley up on his offer, you know. We could move over to Wing’s. Nobody dies that way. Not his people. Not our people. You must be worried about Noor and Will.”

  Frost shook his head. “Wouldn’t work. He’d just find another way to screw us. My wife and my daughter are buried on this land. If he wants my farm he’ll have to take it.”

  “I heard you were thinkin’ about maybe movin’ upriver.”

  Frost shook his head. Daniel Charlie reached out and squeezed his arm. He sat on his little platform and said “Do you ever wonder what made him the way he is, where he came from? He just seemed to show up.”

  “Langley? No. No more than I wonder where the rats come from that turn up in the spud room, and what made them the way they are.” The venom of the declaration seemed to animate him a little.

  Daniel Charlie said “Could you shoot someone, Frost?”

  Again Frost seemed to be thinking. He said “Tyrell wants heavier spears. Wooden ones.”

  “Fine. Send him over to Town to pick up another vise and another ripsaw. Shouldn’t take him more than a lifetime or two. Then teach him how to use the saw and away we go. Spears up the ass. Spear city.”

  “Spear city?” Frost smiled briefly.

  Daniel Charlie shrugged. “You choose, Frost. Spears or more bows.”

  “Bows. Lots of bows. But I’m sure I saw some smaller lumber. One by twos.”

  “I’ll look at it. It could be warped all to hell and probably rotten. But you never answered my question. Could you shoot someone? I’m not sure I could. I’m not even sure I could shoot Langley.”

  “I think about that a lot, Daniel. I could kill, yes. I’m almost sure of it. I believe it’s only a matter of choosing to do it beforehand, and then you can do it. Making the choice first.”

  There was a rattling of the plastic that hung over the workshop entrance. Frost held the plastic back, and Will pushed in. He was carrying a black plastic bag. He set the bag down at Daniel Charlie’s feet. He said “That’s what Clausewitz says too, Grampa. We must have blind faith in the results of our own earlier reflections, in order to strengthen ourselves against the weakening impressions of the moment.”

  Daniel Charlie gaped. He said “God damn. You want to see a real genius, Frost, just take a look at your grandson. He’s got that whole book memorized.”

  Will’s dusky face flushed.

  Frost said “I’d better make an effort to find more books. Ones not about war.”

  Daniel Charlie reached into the bag and slid out a stick about two feet long. He said “I see you’ve already cut the cattail parts off.”

  Will said “They took up too much room.”

  Frost said “How many did you get?”

  “I got two hundred.”

  “You must be tired.”

  Will nodded and came and leaned against his grandfather.

  Daniel Charlie said “They’ll have to dry a little so they’ll be lighter and harder.” He spun the cane in his fingers. He pushed at the bigger end with a fingernail. “The pith is still soft.” There was a papery covering, which he shredded off and let fall among the sawdust on the floor. He stood. “Let’s try it. Bring a few more.”

  He took the strung bow, and the three of them went out. It was a crisp, clear day. There was no wind. They walked down to the river. Daniel Charlie said to Will “You got the arrows, so you can have the honour.”

  Frost gave Daniel Charlie a look. Daniel Charlie shrugged. “It’s only a stick still, Frost. A cattail stalk. It won’t kill anyone. Let her rip, Will. There are people at the Market, so you’d better aim left a bit.”

  Will let out a shrill guffaw. “That’s way the other side of the river.” He took the bow, and Daniel Charlie showed him how to set the arrow on his hand and how to place the thin end on the twine.
>
  Will shook with the effort of drawing the bow.

  “Aim high” said Daniel Charlie. “Higher. Watch the string doesn’t snap against your arm. Pull it back more. More.” With a slight hiss the arrow was gone. It darted in a wide erratic spiral. It danced wildly on the air before it veered and dove into the river like a kingfisher.

  “Try this one. It’s straighter” said Daniel Charlie.

  “Me again?” said Will.

  “Go ahead, you’re the expert now.”

  This time the cane flew in a narrower spiral and cleared the three hundred yards of the river and appeared to come down in a blackberry patch.

  “Whoa" went Will “did you see that!”

  “I’ve got an idea” said Daniel Charlie. They went back into his workshop. He had a few plastic buckets of bent and rusty nails. He got his hammer and took a three-inch nail and straightened it on a concrete block. Then he flattened the head to make a half-moon shape, with the curved edge at the top. He found a cane that was straight. He pushed the nail into the pith in the larger end of the cane, with the flattened head protruding. He tapped it softly twice with the hammer. “They need weight at the front. We’ll get a little less distance but more accuracy. We don’t have time to add feathers.”

  Frost said “It’s more than a stick now. With that nail.”

  They went back to the river. Daniel Charlie looked to Frost for permission. Frost hesitated, then nodded. Daniel Charlie gave the nail-tipped arrow to Will, and Will shot again. This time the arrow only dodged and jogged a foot or two off its trajectory. It cleared the river but did not make it to the blackberries.

  “It’s fine” said Frost. “It’s perfect. We don’t need accuracy. We need distance.”

  Daniel Charlie said “They’ll fly farther when they’re dry.”

  “And we need quantity. Better get a few hundred more.”

  Will sagged. “I’m tired, Grampa.”

  “I’ll send a someone to help” said Frost. “But you’ve got to show them where the best picking is.”

  Daniel Charlie said “Can you send someone here to do the nails?”

  “I’ll send Granville” said Frost.

  “The addict? Is he up and runnin’?”

  “Pretty well” he said tiredly. “He wants to be useful.”

  19

  When Grace entered the apartment Frost did not look toward her but shifted in his hammock and turned his back. It was almost noon. From outside drifted the distant, excited sound of men’s voices. Frost stared into the fire, where a battered and blackened aluminum pot simmered on embers.

  Grace said “Are you ready, Will?”

  Will sat on a narrow plastic-covered mattress under the window, leaning back against the wall, with his knees up, reading Principles of War. He put the book down and got up, glancing at his grandfather as he stepped past the hammock. He went to Grace. She bent her head, and Will whispered “Grampa’s not feelin’ well. He needs to rest. Maybe we should go without him.”

  Noor was seated at the table. With a single curling yellow thread from a length of twine, she was stitching a cloth patch onto a pair of canvas trousers. The two women exchanged a look. Noor said “Up you get, Grampa. Will needs your help. So does Grace.”

  Grace whispered to Will “He’ll feel better if he comes.”

  She went around the hammock and crouched between Frost and the fire. She stroked his hair and laid her hand on his cheek and said “Come on. Come with me. It will be good. Come on now.”

  Frost’s dull eyes had not moved. They had not been looking at the fire, and now they were not looking at her. She stood and lifted Frost’s legs over the edge of the hammock. “Will” she called. She and the boy managed to hoist the old man to a sitting position. Will handed Frost his glasses.

  Frost said, barely audibly “Okay.” He let Grace and Will help him to stand.

  Noor now stood by the door. In one hand she held three pairs of oiled scissors, which she put in a small plastic bag and handed to Grace.

  King was waiting outside the door. Frost ignored him, but the dog wagged his tail and touched Frost’s hand with his nose. It was a cloudy day but it had not started to rain yet. Frost went down the steps and headed west, hatless, in his wool poncho, dragging a large empty plastic bag . He had olive green rubber boots. He did not hurry but did not wait for Grace or Will, and did not turn to see if they were following.

  Grace had a rabbit skin poncho and hat and a wool kilt and black rubber boots with red soles. Will had his sweatpants and wool poncho and one black rubber boot and one olive, which was bigger than the black one and had a tear down the side. He and Grace walked behind Frost without talking, carrying their own empty bags.

  A wheeze of sawing came from Daniel Charlie’s workshop, and the tap of a hammer on metal.

  In the mud near the barns eight or ten men and three or four women were standing around a steer that had a rope around its neck, and a blindfold. There was a tall tripod of doubled two-by-fours, with a block and tackle. Among the crowd flowed a loud, formless and animated exchange of opinions. Except for Deas the field boss, the men were white haired or grey haired, but the women were younger. The one-armed woman, Salmon, was there but not her daughter. Wing was there. Old Brandon was there. Old Ryan. Old Justin. Old Joshua.

  Grace said to Will “They all think they’re needed to kill a cow.”

  “A steer” said Will.

  “To kill a steer. Gathering cattails is beneath them.”

  “I don’t think Grampa would want them around, anyway.” Suddenly Will stopped. He said “I should watch.”

  Grace also stopped. “Watch...? What...?”

  “I should watch them kill the steer.”

  For a few seconds Grace paled. She stuttered “Why... Why do you want... I don’t think...”

  “It will help me to be ready. For when the battle comes.”

  “Battle? Oh lord, Will.”

  Grace reached to pull him to her but he backed away a step. He said “I’ll catch up. I need to see the blood. I need to be ready.”

  Grace made a sound, a brief low moan, and turned toward Frost, but Frost was walking steadily away from them. Grace closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Finally she said evenly “Your Grampa needs you, Will. It would make him sad if you stayed behind. He wouldn’t want you to watch. I think you know that. Come along now.” She stepped forward and reached toward him again, but once more he stepped back.

  Grace looked again toward Frost. Seeing her do so Will also looked. Frost had stopped and turned. He was waiting. He had a hand near his face, palm outward, as if to shield his eyes from a bright light. But there was no light. There was just the business with the steer, and he seemed not to want to see it. Will shrugged unhappily, and they walked on.

  When they got to the bed of cattails, not far from Fallen Bridge, King did not want to go into it. Grace handed Will and Frost a pair of scissors each, and King watched anxiously as the three people headed in among the plants, each in a separate direction, and were lost among the pale, bent and disordered winter leaves. The plants were taller than Will. He watched his grandfather disappear, the white hair and beard resembling the fluff that adhered in stubborn uneven clumps to the old tails. Will’s feet sank a little in the soggy ground, and an inch of water oozed up around his rubbers. He listened to the dry scraping of leaves as Grace and Frost proceeded in opposite directions, deeper into the patch. He felt a drop of rain on his wrist.

  He studied the canes that surrounded him. There were several straight ones. He snipped the burst tail off one and let it fall. Then he bent down and cut the cane off near the base. He held it up to the dark sky and sighted along it. He put it in his bag. He cut the tail off another one. He heard the snick of Grace’s scissors, maybe fifty feet away. He said “They have to be straight.”

  Grace answered “Yes. I see that many of them are not.”

  A gust of wind roused the leaves of the cattail bed to a sudden hiss. Will said “We sho
uld work fast. It’s startin’ to rain. Right, Grampa?”

  There was no reply. He could hear neither Frost’s scissors nor the scrape of leaves that would mark his passage through the dry, spent plants. Will left the crooked canes standing and stepped forward to search out more straight ones. He squatted and sighted through the plants in the direction he thought his grandfather had taken. He moved his head left and right, but there was no sightline through the leaves. All he saw was more plants.

  He had no hat. Three, four drops of rain splashed on his head. He set to cutting more canes, working quickly as the rain increased. After a few minutes he said loudly “I know you’re worried about Langley, Grampa. But don’t worry, ’cause we know the terrain. Von Clausewitz says the terrain offers two advantages in warfare. The first is that it presents obstacles to the enemy’s approach.” Will stopped working. He stood still, listening.

  What he heard was Grace. “Will, not now. Not that.” Her scissors had also fallen silent. There was a steady whisper of rain.

  Will said “Grampa? Are you there?” He waited, then cut a few more canes, then stopped again. He said “I can help you figure out what to do. I know the whole book. You know what else about terrain? The second advantage is that obstacles in the terrain enable us to place our troops under cover. Like these cattails, for example. If we were troops...”