“No cell service,” he muttered.
“Really?” said Nicole. “I’ll go check mine.” She walked to the bedroom and emerged a moment later, peering down at her own phone. “Hmmm, mine’s out too.”
Cell service outages were common. The cell tower had gone up only a few years before, when the community was finally connected to the wider hydro grid. Even then it only happened because the construction contractors from the South wanted a good signal while they built the massive new hydro dam farther north on the bay. The tower had stayed up after they left, a new luxury for people who lived on the reserve. Many of them hadn’t yet developed any sort of serious dependence on the service. An outage didn’t evoke any real sense of frustration or panic.
“Whatcha doin’ today, Dad?”
His son’s voice brought Evan’s focus from phone service back to his family. He turned to face the kitchen. “N’gwis, my boy,” he said, “I got a lotta work to do. A moose — a moozoo — gave himself to us yesterday.”
“You got a moose?!”
“Yep. A big one. It took me a long time to get him out of the bush. That’s why I wasn’t home when you went to bed last night.”
“Cool!”
The boy was eager to join his father on his first hunt but that was still a few years away. Evan first went on an actual hunt with his own father when he was nine, after spending years learning about the land. He had shot his first buck that fall. They didn’t offer tobacco when they killed animals to eat back then — Evan only learned about that ceremony years earlier, when an elder took it upon herself to teach him and some of the other young people the old ways.
Maiingan shoved the last spoonful of cereal into his mouth. He dropped the spoon and cupped his small brown hands under the bowl, lifting it to slurp up the last of the milk. Nicole emerged from the bedroom in a pair of jeans and a grey hoodie, her hair gathered in a tight bun. She urged their son to put his bowl in the sink and get dressed for school while Evan cleared the rest of the table. He piled the dirty dishes on the counter, plugged the sink, and turned on the hot water.
As he squeezed the bottle of yellow dish soap into the water, he wondered how long the cellphones would be down. Shit, he thought, I was gonna ask Isaiah to come over and help with the rest of that moose. He stopped himself and smiled. The landline. It was still what most of the older generation used, and since the cell tower was unreliable, Evan and Nicole kept it around. Evan picked up the house phone, relieved that the familiar dial tone still hummed.
“Can I come hunting too, Daddy?” said Nangohns behind him.
“Eh n’daanis,” he replied. “Yes, you can, my girl. But not until you’re older.”
“Where’s the moozoo?”
“Moozoo gojing. It’s outside.”
“Can I see it?”
“Gaawiin, not yet, my sweetheart. He’s not ready.”
“Okay.”
He took her small hand in his and looked down into her wide brown eyes and smiled. Her pigtails stuck out like antennas on the old TVs. But the little girl’s questions often lingered in Evan’s mind long after she asked them, and he believed she held the wisdom of countless generations, despite her youth. She was an old soul. He wanted her to question everything. He wanted her to grow up to be strong and intelligent. He wanted her to be a leader.
The morning silence was eerie but soothing. Often, the TV would be on throughout the weekday morning routine, and again on Saturdays for cartoons. Evan hadn’t even thought about turning it on, and the kids didn’t seem to mind that they ate at the table rather than on the couch. I dunno what she said to them, he thought, but it worked. Maybe they could keep the TV off in the mornings.
Evan assumed that the satellite reception was still out. Or maybe Nicole just didn’t even bother to check. Either way, the kids always listened to her and he appreciated how she guided their children, patiently and with love and respect. He tried to think about how her parenting fit in to the teachings he was learning, but his mind was racing so he ran his fingers over his buzzed hair and let it go.
There had been no satellite TV in the community when Evan was little, just a CBC signal from a tower near the bay that the rabbit ears could pick up as long as there wasn’t a storm. But people did have VCRs, and the tapes kept him and his siblings entertained when they were inside. Mostly he remembered playing outside.
Nicole came back with a dressed Maiingan in tow. “Okay, I’m taking the boy to school.”
“We’ll be here.” Evan looked at their daughter, who was still at the table, and she flashed a bright smile. “Let’s go wave bye to your brother,” he said. He picked her up and they stood in the window to wave as Nicole and Maiingan got in the blue pickup and pulled out of the driveway.
Maiingan was one of only a dozen kids in his class. The community’s elementary school was small, with an enrolment of a little more than one hundred, but it was in a new building and the people on the reserve were happy that their kids could finally be educated in a decent facility. Nicole and Evan had gone to school in mouldy prefab makeshift classrooms that had finally, blessedly, crumbled.
There had been lots of infrastructure improvements on the reserve over the last few years, including their connection to the hydro grid. The old diesel generators that had run their lightbulbs and appliances for decades were still around, but they didn’t need them anymore. They remained for backup, and the band no longer had to constantly truck in fuel for them. The hydro lines had also opened up a permanent service road that ran some three hundred kilometres south and connected to the main highway. They relied less on the airstrip for supplies and travel and now had the freedom to drive out on their own, theoretically. The weather and lack of maintenance often played havoc with that fine thought, though.
Evan looked down at Nangohns. This place has changed a lot, he thought. It’ll be a lot better for you, my little star.
Once Nicole returned, Evan finished tidying the kids’ toys in the living room and poured himself another cup of coffee. He sipped slowly from the blue mug and looked out the kitchen window. Better get to work, he thought. “I’m going out to the shed,” he called. “Gotta finish up that moose.”
It was cold outside, and the scent of the withering leaves on the ground was potent. A fire burned somewhere nearby. Evan instinctively looked to the south for any signs of movement or life. Everything was still except for the sound of an engine in the distance, a four-wheeler, approaching from the heart of the village that lay to the north of his home. Soon the vehicle came into view and he recognized his friend Isaiah North in full rez fall fashion — neon vest over a camouflage jacket. Isaiah pulled into the driveway, parked beside the blue pickup, and turned off the engine. When he stood to dismount, his tall, lean frame towered over the truck’s roof. “What’s goin’ on, bud?”
“Not much, Izzy,” Evan replied. “Was just going out to the shed. Got a moozoo yesterday.”
“Good. Bull?”
“Yep.”
Isaiah took off his cap and ran his right hand through his short, thick hair as Evan walked down the porch stairs. Side by side, Evan was a head shorter than his friend.
“I figured you musta shot something,” Isaiah said. “I didn’t hear from you all day. I was gonna text you this morning, but I got no service.”
“Yeah, me neither,” said Evan, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check again. Still nothing. “I was gonna text you too, but figured you’d just come by anyways.”
“Can’t keep me away when you got a big ol’ bull nearby!” the friend proclaimed, stretching his arms wide.
“Alright then, you can help me finish him off. Maybe I’ll let you have the back strips.”
“Pffft, ever cheap!”
Evan chuckled and gave Isaiah a punch in the shoulder as he walked past him to the shed.
Three
The days were growi
ng shorter. But it had been a mostly sunny fall and the unusual run of blue skies had so far kept winter at bay. Deep into the afternoon, it was another vibrant day. Evan grabbed his sunglasses that lay beside his useless cellphone and perched them on top of his mesh fishing hat. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the television on the wall. It had been off for almost two days now. He thought of how much he had paid for both the phone and the TV on a trip to the city back in the spring, and he was annoyed that he currently could use neither.
“Think it’s the weather?” Evan had asked Isaiah while they worked on the moose.
“Doubt it. Probably just bad receivers. We can never have nice things on the rez!”
Evan smiled remembering the conversation. He turned to the kitchen and opened the fridge to grab two large bags of moose meat. Each clear bag contained a large shoulder cut, with the date scrawled on the outside in black marker. He went outside to his truck, opened the door, and threw the meat on the passenger seat. He hoisted himself in and started up his vehicle.
The drive to his parents’ place was short. He tuned in to the community radio station, Rez 98.1 on the FM dial. A bluesy song filled the cab. Well, at least we still got the radio, he thought. We may as well be going back in time. Rez 98 transmitted from a portable outside the band office, and it mostly broadcast generic, preprogrammed playlists interspersed with community announcements and weather updates. The live stuff depended on when Vinny, the resident radio personality, was in the office.
Gravel knocked into the truck’s wheel wells as Evan drove through the quiet rez. It was too cold for baseball or fishing but not cold enough for ice at the outdoor rink, so he figured that most of the kids were indoors, playing video games or watching DVDs. He passed the rink on the right, empty and dark under its grey sheet-metal roof. The rink was another recent addition. If that was here when I was younger, he thought, I mighta made something of myself in hockey.
But in truth, Evan had never really wanted to leave this place. The comfort and familiarity of his community and the pull of the land made him a proud rez lifer. After finishing high school, he’d had no desire to go on to post-secondary education, even to a community college in one of the nearer towns, let alone any of the small northern cities like Gibson or Everton Mills. Job opportunities on the rez were few but neither was the competition stiff, especially in maintenance and infrastructure. His father, Dan, worked for the roads department, so he started there. Evan had worked part-time at first and spent the rest of his time hunting and fishing.
Evan turned right onto the third road past the rink, then pulled into the fourth driveway on the left. He had checked that they were home before leaving, amused that he had resorted to the landline instead of the usual one-line text to his dad. He parked in front of the bungalow with red vinyl siding and a high basement — the same house he’d grown up in. He got out of his truck and walked around to the back, where he knew his father was tanning a moose hide.
“Careful bent over like that,” Evan said as he approached his father. “It ain’t good for your back. Plus one of them bulls might see his chance and get his revenge!” He laughed loudly.
Dan kept scraping the thick yellow hide tied to a rectangular stretcher. “Make yourself useful and grab that scraper down there,” he said. Evan saw another scraping tool on top of the large blue plastic bin that his father often used for soaking hides. He picked it up and took his place to Dan’s right.
They worked silently at first, as they often did. It usually wasn’t until a job was done that they spoke. Whether tanning a hide, cleaning a haul of fish from a net, or tackling repairs around their homes, they were business first and fun later. Evan believed that it had taught him about working hard and getting the job done.
Evan dug the fleshing device hard into the softening hide, scraping flesh and fat away from the skin. Dan had been at this since the evening before and was nearly finished. He didn’t really need Evan’s help, but moments like this were special; it was an intimacy they kept to themselves.
When the hide was completely cleaned, the two men stood back to look at their handiwork — future moccasins, gloves, and pouches. The thick brown hair on the hide still needed to be pulled, so the job wasn’t done yet, but it wouldn’t take much longer.
Dan turned to Evan. “Smoke break?”
“Yeah, good call.”
They each pulled a red rectangular box out of the left pocket of their hunting jackets that were identical except in colour. Almost simultaneously, they each removed a cigarette, lit it, and put the pack and a lighter back in the jacket. Evan inhaled deeply and tipped his head back, exhaling up into the cool November air. Dan sat down on one of the log stools close to the plastic hide containers.
Dan brought the cigarette to his heavy lips. His black moustache tickled the top of the smoke as he took a drag. He looked at the ground between his heavy boots and pushed the smoke out of his nose. Then he looked up at Evan. “So how much meat you got then?”
“Enough.” Evan paused. “I got another one yesterday.”
“Yeah, that’s what Izzy said. He was by here just about an hour ago.”
Evan should have known the moccasin telegraph would have been active. He wasn’t surprised that his father had already heard the news.
“I brought some for youse guys,” he said.
“Better bring it in to your mother then.”
They finished their smokes in silence, taking turns looking up from the ground to examine the land around them. Each had nothing to say, and that was fine. They said what they needed to when they needed to.
“’K, I’m gonna take that in to Mom then.”
“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll start a fire, then we’ll finish cleaning that hide.”
“Alright.”
When Evan walked into the house, the entire main floor smelled like the moose roast that was in the oven, a familiar and comforting aroma. His mother, Patricia, was sitting at the desk on the far side of the living room. She rapped the black computer mouse loudly on the desktop. “The goddamn internet isn’t working!” she announced without turning around. “Come here, Ev. Fix this for me!”
“Okay, just wait then,” her son replied. “Where do you want me to put these?” He held up the clear bags of moose meat.
She turned to look and smiled, her cheeks pushing into the bottom of her glasses. “Ever the good son! Just put that on the counter, and I’ll take them downstairs to the freezer later. I gotta rearrange the other one your dad just got.”
Evan set the meat down on the scarred white countertop in the kitchen. He could navigate this house with his eyes closed, and every step through each room was like muscle memory. The heavy oak dinner table anchored the house, the centre of so much family history. He went back into the living room to assist his mother, walking past the comfortable black leather couch, love seat, and armchair and wishing they had been there when he was a kid. They were all so soft, and they still smelled new.
He stood behind her as she slammed the black mouse again. “What the hell is wrong with this? I gotta check my email!” Evan smirked, knowing that his mom was hooked on online euchre tournaments. There wasn’t any money in it but there was international glory, and she liked the idea of playing her favourite game against people from all over the continent.
“How long has yours been out?” he asked.
“Just since yesterday afternoon. I was chatting with your sister online and then it crashed. Then I tried to text her and that didn’t work either.”
Evan raised his right eyebrow. “Your TV’s not working either, eh?”
“No, not since around the same time. I thought all these new dishes and towers and stuff were supposed to be better!”
“Well, I guess it’s not all totally reliable all the way up here,” he assured her and himself. “All this stuff doesn’t go out as much as it used to.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Now you have more time to make supper. Maybe we’ll actually eat on time for once!”
She elbowed him in the gut. “Oh, you shut up,” she huffed as she stood up to go to the kitchen.
The truth is, Evan thought, these things do work better than they used to. High speed internet access had been in the community for barely a year. It was provided by the band, but connected to servers in the South via satellite. Still, the fact that TV, phone, and internet were all down at once made Evan uneasy.
Metal pots and pans crashed together, and Evan realized he was staring blindly at the computer screen that read Can’t connect to server. He blinked hard and gave his head a little shake.
“So when are Nic and the kids coming?” Patricia asked from the kitchen.
Evan cleared his throat. “I dunno, I’ll go get them in time for supper, I guess. She said she was gonna get the kids to help her make pies when I left.”
“Mmmmmm. What kind?”
Evan smiled, picturing his children on chairs across the counter from his wife, watching intently as she opened a can of cherries. “I’m not telling. It’s gonna be a surprise.”
“Oooooh!” Pat placed a big steel pot of peeled potatoes in the sink. She turned on the tap to fill the pot and grabbed a salt shaker from the top of the stove, shaking salt into the water.
“I’m gonna head back outside,” he said.
“Okay then.”
Outside, Dan had begun to strip the hide of its fur. It was usually the easiest step in the process, and he appeared to be making good progress. The dead leaves on the ground rustled around Evan’s feet. “About time,” Dan said without looking up.
The son took his spot beside his father again. “What you thinking about doing with this one?”
Moon of the Crusted Snow Page 2
