Medicine River

by Thomas King

  We looked smart in those white shirts and blue wool pants, our hands on our mother’s shoulders. The photograph stayed on the wall until the day we moved back to Medicine River.

  * * *

  —

  “OKAY,” I SAID to Harlen, “we better get started. Let’s get everyone over there by the river. Put the elders in front. Let them sit in the chairs.”

  “You’re the boss, Will.”

  “Put the little kids in front on the sand. The bigger kids can stand around the grandparents, and we’ll put most of the adults at the back.”

  Harlen ran around like a confused sheep-dog trying to coax and lead and push everyone into place.

  “How’s that, Will?” said Harlen.

  The sun was beginning to drop. “That’s great,” I said. “Time to take some pictures.”

  “What about you, Will?” said Joyce.

  “That’s right,” said Elvis.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Should have you in the picture, too,” said Joyce.

  “Someone’s got to take the picture.”

  Through the lens, I could see Harlen bubbling out of the crowd. “Hey, Will. That’s right. You can be in the picture, too. You can use that button thing. You know, set the button and run on over.”

  “That’s okay, Harlen.”

  “Best you be in the picture, too,” said Lionel.

  As soon as Harlen explained, in detail, just what a time-delay device was, everyone insisted that I had to be in the picture, too. Floyd’s granny even got up and moved her chair over, so I’d have a place to sit.

  The first shots were easy. I set the timer, ran across the sand and sat down next to Floyd’s granny. But with a large group like that, you can’t take chances. Someone may have closed their eyes just as the picture was taken. Or one of the kids could have turned their back. Or someone might have gotten lost behind someone else.

  Then, too, the group refused to stay in place. After every picture, the kids wandered off among their parents and relatives and friends, and the adults floated back and forth, no one holding their positions. I had to keep moving the camera as the group swayed from one side to the other. Only the grandparents remained in place as the ocean of relations flowed around them.

  I took twenty-four pictures. And each time I had to set the camera, hit the shutter-delay button and run like hell. After the fourteenth or fifteenth picture, I tried to stay behind the camera, but Elvis wouldn’t hear of it.

  “Come on, Will. This one’s going to be the good one.”

  I was red-faced and aglow with sweat by the time I came to the end of the roll.

  The pictures turned out good. There were four or five where nearly everyone was facing the camera and smiling. Harlen was in the studio when the photos came off the dryer.

  “These are good, Will,” he said. “Joyce is going to be real pleased.”

  Harlen picked up another photo. “Hey, Will, where’d you get this? That’s James and you when you were younger. Your mother, too.”

  “Had an old photo lying around. It was in pretty bad shape. I fixed it up and made a new negative. Thought I’d send a copy to James.”

  “Real different,” said Harlen, and he held up a picture of Joyce’s family and the copy I had made of the portrait of Mom and James and me. “You and James look like someone sprayed you up and down with starch.”

  “That’s the way they used to take pictures.”

  “Nobody smiling, huh?”

  “I guess.”

  “Pictures of the family are good things to have.”

  “I guess.”

  “You know, Will, this is the first family portrait that Joyce Blue Horn has ever had. She told me that. She’ll be real happy. Probably get a lot of new business once word gets around about what a good photographer you are.”

  “Don’t know if I can run that fast again.”

  Harlen laughed. “Will, you’re a card. Floyd’s granny was impressed. Said you ran like the old-time men, fast, no noise.”

  “Floyd’s granny must be deaf.”

  “Said you reminded her of her boy.”

  I worked late that night, got the portraits packaged up and ready to mail. When I got home, I tacked the picture of Mom and James and me up on the kitchen wall. Right next to it, I stuck a picture of all of us down at the river.

  I was smiling in that picture, and you couldn’t see the sweat. Floyd’s granny was sitting in her lawn chair next to me looking right at the camera with the same flat expression that my mother had, as though she could see something farther on and out of sight.

  16

  Harlen told Louise he thought she was formidable. Harlen liked words like that, not because they were big or important sounding, but because people didn’t use them much, and there was the chance that they might get lost.

  “Everyone watches too much television,” Harlen said. “Good words are hard to find.”

  What Harlen meant was that Louise had corners which were hard to see around. Louise took it as a compliment.

  “She’s a strong woman, Will. Doris was like that.”

  “I like strong women.”

  “You know, Will, Doris could work all day and never get tired. Her father owned a farm up in Peace River. She could lift feed sacks, no trouble.”

  “Louise speaks her mind.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Louise knows what she wants.”

  “That’s right, too,” Harlen said. “You got to admire Louise, even if she is formidable. She owns her own business. She owns her own car. She has a beautiful daughter. And she’s done it all on her own.”

  “I own my own business, too.”

  “Sure you do, Will. Accountants just make more than photographers, that’s all.”

  “And I own my own car.”

  “You bet. Pick-up truck is a handy thing to have. Especially the older ones. You know, you don’t mind a few extra dents like you would with a new one. Course it’s not a good family car.”

  “Louise doesn’t own her own home.”

  “Neither do you, Will.”

  “That’s right. Neither do you.”

  “That’s right.”

  Monday evening, Louise called me. “Will,” she said, “what are you doing tonight?”

  The Raiders and the Redskins were playing at seven. Harlen was coming by at six-thirty with a large pizza from Tino’s.

  “Got a few things to get out of the way.”

  There was a pause, and then Louise said, “It’s Monday, right….I forgot, Will. Monday night football?”

  I was glad she couldn’t see me. “No…no…hey, I guess it is Monday. Forgot all about it. Who’s playing?”

  “You sure?”

  “Sure. Just have to get these things out of the way, and I’m free.”

  “I don’t want to bother you, really.”

  “No bother.”

  I could always get Harlen to videotape the game.

  “I’m thinking of buying a house, Will, and I wanted to talk to you about it, first. I could use your help.”

  “Sure.”

  “Maybe around nine, after I get South Wing down?”

  “Sure.”

  Harlen and the pizza arrived at a quarter to seven. I told him about Louise and the house.

  “Hate to see you miss out on a good pizza.”

  “I don’t have to go until nine.”

  “Going to miss the best part of the game.”

  “Raiders should beat them.”

  We ate the pizza and watched the game. The second half had just started. The Raiders were leading twenty-one to seven. I said something about the last play, when Harlen turned to me with his mouth all rolled up at the corners and his eyes full of bright stars.

  “Hey!” he said. Just like that. And he sat up straight and slapped his legs. “Louise wants you to live with her. That’s what she wants to talk about.”

  I shook my head. “You’re leaping to conclusions.”


  “No…no. Listen, Will. It all makes sense.”

  “Harlen, she just wants my advice on houses. Wants me to take a few pictures.”

  Harlen waved his hand around and shook his head. “When was the last time Louise asked anyone for advice?”

  “She asks me all the time.”

  “Sure,” said Harlen, “that’s right. When it comes to taking pictures or what to cook for dinner or what movie to see. Women like to do that. But the big things….Did she ask anyone about having South Wing or becoming an accountant?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “See? This is her way of asking you to live with her and South Wing.”

  “You’re leaping to conclusions.”

  “Come on,” said Harlen, and he stood up. “We got to get you ready.”

  “It’s just past eight.”

  “Just enough time. You got a clean shirt?”

  “What’s wrong with this one?”

  “Got to look your best. That blue shirt with the little white stripes. Is it clean?”

  “I don’t need a clean shirt.”

  “You get in the shower, Will, and I’ll find the shirt.”

  “Harlen, I’ve had a shower.”

  “You smell of pizza.”

  As I stood under the shower, I tried to remember exactly what Louise had said. I dried off and brushed my teeth. Harlen was just finishing up with the iron.

  “Here, Will. That red tie’s the one to wear. It’s on the chair.”

  “I suppose you want me to wear my sports jacket, too?”

  “Can’t hurt. I polished your shoes for you. They were real scuffed. You only have so many chances.”

  “Harlen, I don’t get this dressed up for work.”

  Harlen handed me my shirt. “Redskins scored a touchdown while you were in the shower, Will. Looks like a close game. I’ll stick around in case you have any questions. Save you some of the pizza, too.”

  Louise was wearing a pair of old cut-offs and a University of Lethbridge sweatshirt.

  “You been to a meeting or something?” she said.

  “Something like that.”

  “You look great, Will. I must look like hell.”

  “No, you look great, too.”

  Louise wanted to buy a house. Now that South Wing was here, she said, it didn’t seem right living in an apartment.

  “South Wing should have a yard to play in, and the apartment is just too small. I’m thinking of something on the south side. Maybe one of those nice old homes with all the trees. What do you think?”

  “Houses are nice,” I said. “They’re a lot of work, too. You know, taking care of the lawn and the garden, mowing the grass. Lots of things to buy for a house.”

  “I like doing those things.”

  “Big expense, a house.”

  “We need more room. You really look good, Will.”

  When Louise said we, she was talking about her and South Wing. I knew that. But I liked the sound of it, and I was glad I had worn the shirt and tie.

  * * *

  —

  ABOUT SIX MONTHS after she moved her things out of my apartment, Susan called. I almost didn’t recognize her voice at first.

  “It’s me, Will. Susan. How are you doing?”

  It took me a minute to recover, and then I remember saying something like “How are you?” or “Good to hear from you” or “Hey, I was just thinking about you.” Whatever it was, it was dumb, something to fill in the space, while I tried to find something clever.

  “I was calling to see if you wanted to come by for dinner.”

  “Dinner?”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “No, that would be great. You okay?”

  She said she couldn’t be better, that she had a good job and a house. She and Ralph were doing their own divorce, and so far as it was possible, they had remained friends. “I’m in Pickering. I can give you directions.”

  “I don’t have a car.”

  “I know. You can take the GO train and catch a cab.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “How about Saturday night?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Don’t bring anything.”

  I could hear the pain in her voice. She needed me. She had needed me before, and I was sure she needed me again. But by the time I put down the phone, I wasn’t at all sure I wanted Susan to need me.

  Life is strange like that. When she left without a word, I was hurt at first. Then I was angry. Then I got lonely. Now I was angry again, and for the rest of that evening, I was sorry I had been so easy. Worse still, she hadn’t given me her phone number. I tried calling information, but they didn’t have a listing for her, and I guessed she was using her maiden name, which I didn’t know.

  I was stuck, I told myself. Besides, we could talk, and I could tell her how I felt. I didn’t need to be needed the way Susan needed me, and the sooner I told her that, I told myself, the better I’d feel. There was no sense leading her on.

  * * *

  —

  WHAT LOUISE WANTED me to do was to take pictures of the houses that she liked. Outside pictures, inside pictures, so she could keep track of the homes and compare them later on.

  When I got back to my apartment, Harlen was watching a movie. The pizza box was empty.

  “How’d the game go?”

  “Great game, Will. Redskins beat them. Last-second field goal.”

  “Louise just wants me to go to the houses with her. Take some pictures. Give her advice.”

  Harlen smiled and got off the couch and shook my hand. “You’re a lucky man, Will.”

  The first house we went to on Saturday was a white two-storey with aluminum siding. There was a young fellow sitting at the kitchen table with a briefcase in front of him and a stack of what turned out to be something called “feature sheets.” I was carrying South Wing.

  “Hi, folks,” he said. And he stuck out his hand. “I’m Bruce Klappe. Looking for a home, huh?”

  Louise introduced herself, but before she could say much else, Bruce straightened his vest, smiled at me and said, “That’s a pretty little girl, Mr. Heavyman. Got one myself. How old is yours?”

  “He’s not Mr. Heavyman,” said Louise. “He’s a good friend.”

  “Ah,” said Bruce, “Mr. Heavyman couldn’t make it? Well, if you like the house, and I think you will, we can set up a convenient time for him to see it, too. Is he working?”

  “There isn’t a Mr. Heavyman.”

  Bruce looked at South Wing, and he looked at me. “Sure,” he said. “Lots of people are doing that these days.” And he handed Louise a feature sheet. “House has plenty of room for three.”

  We spent the rest of the day and the next couple of weeks talking with realtors and looking at houses. I took pictures and gave advice.

  “What did you think of that one, Will?”

  “Seemed a little large.”

  “That was a nice one, wasn’t it?”

  “Seemed a little small.”

  We must have looked at every house for sale on the south side, and by the time we were done looking, Louise was no closer to buying one than when we had started.

  “She’s waiting for you to pick one, Will,” Harlen told me. “You got to step in and be the man. You got to say, ‘This is the one for us.’ You got to be the man.”

  “She just hasn’t found one she likes.”

  “Just waiting for you to say the word, Will.”

  Louise, according to Harlen, really didn’t like living alone because she came from a large family. “That’s why she had South Wing. She has eight brothers and sisters. You know the house that Floyd lives in?”

  “The one on the lease road near the bridge?”

  “That’s it. That’s where Louise grew up.”

  “Kind of small for nine kids.”

  “See?” said Harlen. “Louise likes a lot of people around.”

  “Maybe she likes the space.”

  “S
he’s proud, Will. You see how she stands up straight. Granny Oldcrow says Louise is like the women who used to fight with the men. Real tough, those women. They could ride all day.”

  * * *

  —

  AFTER ALL, Susan had left everyone. She had left Ralph. She had left her children. She had left me. And now that it suited her, she wanted me back. During the rest of the week, I found myself finding unflattering analogies and ironies with which to describe Susan. Most of them dealt with Horton the Elephant, a story my mother liked because the idea of an elephant sitting on an egg made her laugh. The others had to do with the nuclear power plant in Pickering.

  I brought a bottle of wine with me, and as I sat on the train, I worked on exactly what I was going to say when she suggested that I stay overnight. I would say no, though I thought I might stay, if it got too late. I hadn’t checked to see when the last train left. I might have to stay. But I could sleep in another bed or on the floor. Susan had her life, and I had mine.

  It was a small house, and all the lights were on. Susan didn’t answer the bell. A young girl in blue jeans and a maple leaf T-shirt opened the door. “Hi,” she said, “I’m Meg. You must be Jerry.”

  “No,” I said, “I’m Will.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Of course. Come on in.”

  Behind her, gathered around a long table full of food, were about thirty people.

  * * *

  —

  LOUISE CALLED ME Tuesday afternoon. “Will,” she said, “I think I’ve found the house. I’ve got an appointment to see it at six o’clock. Can you come?”

  The house was on Seventh Avenue. Louise’s car was parked in front, and she was standing on the sidewalk talking to another woman. “Will,” she said, as I got out of my truck, “this is Elizabeth Konsonlas. She’s the realtor. What do you think?”

  “Looks okay,” I said to Louise.

  “Great truck for moving furniture in,” said Elizabeth. “I’ve got one just like it. Don’t have to worry about the little dings.”

  The house was nice. There was a big kitchen with oak-and-glass cabinets. The living room looked out over a backyard filled with lilac bushes. There was a fireplace at one end and a built-in bookcase with glass doors at the other. The house had four bedrooms and three baths. The third bath was downstairs in the basement, and it had been converted into a darkroom.