by Breakup(lit)
socked in and we couldn't fly him to a hospital in Anchorage. It's not
just the substance-abuse treatment we need."
"The community is a small one, for the supporting of an entire clinic,"
Uemetri observed.
"It isn't if you include everyone," Old Sam said, "Natives and whites."
Everyone was taken aback, especially Kate, since she'd been planning on
saying that herself.
"Pay for white care out of Native funds?" Billy said, shocked.
"Nope." Old Sam shook his head. "Charge everybody on a sliding scale, a
percentage based on their annual income. If they don't have any annual
income, they don't pay. If they have a little, they pay a little. If
they have a lot, they pay a lot. Harvey-" he grinned his desiccated grin
at Harvey, who didn't grin back "-and, say, Bernie Koslowski, now,
they'd pay a lot. Ben and Cindy, they'd pay a little."
He surveyed their startled expressions with tolerant contempt. "Else how
we going to do it? We all live here, all together, Native and white and
Negro or black or African American or whatever the hell Bobby Clark's
calling himself this year. We're neighbors." He added, his sarcasm
deliberately heavy-handed, "You all may be too young to remember the
ructions we went through over ANCSA, but I'm not. Lot of resentment
between the races because of it. Lot of it."
182 Billy opened his mouth and Old Sam raised his voice. "I don't want
to hear it, Billy. It don't matter a hoot that we deserved restitution
for getting our asses kicked around for three hundred years. We got
money and land because we had brown skin and the people we'd been living
next to for a century didn't. It's taken us twenty years and change to
smooth over the bad feelings. No point in stirring it up all over again
by starting a clinic-which idea by the way I like and will vote for-that
only serves us Natives. Dumb." He met Harvey's glare with another of his
patented nasty grins. "Dumb and divisive."
"Where'd you get the idea about payment, Uncle?" Demetri said. "I like it."
"Caught myself the clap the last time I was in town, over Fur Rondy in
February," Old Sam said, and winked at Auntie Joy, who for once was not
beaming. "Didn't want to stand in line at the Native hospital. Somebody
told me about Family Planning. I went down there and they took real good
care of me, and that's how they charged me. I was interested, so I
asked." He grinned. "Got an awful cute little nurse behind the counter
there, explained it all to me. Plan on visiting her again, next time I'm
in town."
Kate's lip quivered at the fascinated way the rest of them sat staring
at the wizened-up old coot. "Could the board maybe think about this for
a while?" she said, sternly controlling the quiver. "Maybe you could
meet next week and take a vote on whether to present it at the next
shareholders' meeting."
Old Sam hooted. "Good God, girl, don't give them time to think. Make
them vote, right here, tonight. If you don't, they'll talk it to death,
just like Congress, and the damn thing'll never get built. The
Association charter provides the board authorization for the creation of
something like this, so we don't have to put it before the shareholders,
which I for one don't think we should. I never noticed nobody in the
Park ever voting for something just because it might actually be good
for them."
After that comprehensive, scathing and unfortunately accurate
assessment, no one could think of a thing to add, or they were too
183 scared of Old Sam to try. Old Sam moved for a vote, Auntie Joy
seconded it, and the measure to fund a community health clinic out of
funds from the Chokosna logging project passed four to one, Harvey
voting against, which was only to be expected.
Everyone looked as dazed as Kate felt as the meeting broke up. Auntie
Vi, scribbling furiously in her notebook, said, "Who took over for Sarah
Kompkoff as head of the local chapter of the sobriety movement, does
anybody know?"
"Ethan Swensen," Auntie Joy said.
Surprised, Kate said, "Isn't he a little young?"
"He's twenty-two," Billy said. "He started drinking when he was nine.
He's been sober three years. Who better?"
He jerked his head, and Kate followed him across the room to the bar.
"What'll it be, Billy?" Bernie said.
"How about a beer?" Billy said.
"Coming right up. Kate, look what I've got." He reached beneath the
counter and pulled out a six-pack of Diet Seven-Up. "George brought it
in from Anchorage and dropped it off. Said he owed it to you."
"Bernie," Kate said, "I want you now."
"Kate," Bernie said, "I'm yours."
"You handled yourself pretty well over there," Billy said after Bernie
had served them and moved on to another customer.
"You sandbagged me," she said. "You prick."
His smile was merry and totally lacking in remorse. "Yes, I did. And you
handled it well."
"Thanks," Kate said, giving up for the moment any attempt to bring Billy
to recognition of his bad behavior. "I think."
"No. It needed saying. The clinic's a good idea. I've been thinking a
little along those lines myself. That's why I okayed subsidizing our
people's EMT training in Ahtna out of the discretionary fund. Yes, we
have one, your grandmother saw to that. I figured once the EMTs got back
and showed their stuff, the board would be more receptive to the idea of
a clinic." He saw Kate's look and smiled again, a movement that creased
his moon face in two and
184 made him look like a billiken. "I know, I know, it didn't sound like
I thought so." His eyes were lit with mischief. "Let you in on a little
secret, Kate. Sometimes I have to be against, to make everybody else
for, just to get the job done." She looked at him, surprised, and he
nodded, smile widening. "You helped the process along this evening, and
for that I thank you." His smile faded. "Come a time, I'll want more. We
all will."
"Come a time," she said promptly, "you'll whistle down the wind for it."
He didn't believe her, and smiled.
She didn't believe herself, and didn't.
He drained his beer and departed, leaving her with the uncomfortable
suspicion that Billy Mike was much more than the part- time clown she'd
always seen him as.
Of course, he was Emaa's handpicked choice to succeed her as chair. Kate
would do well to remember that.
185
Kate was still staring after him when Auntie Vi spread her notebook out
on the bar, finished off her notes, and dated and signed them with a
flourish. "Well. That was one of our more interesting board meetings.
You do know how to liven things up, Katya."
"It wasn't me, Auntie, it was Old Sam. He pretty much rolled right over
the whole bunch of them."
"He did, didn't he?" Auntie Vi grinned. "It was fun to watch."
Kate had to laugh. "That it was, Auntie."
"Ekaterina-" Auntie Vi hesitated, and glanced at her great- niece.
Kate smiled faintly. "It wasn't the way Emaa would have done it, no, but
she wouldn't have cared, s
o long as it got the results she wanted."
"Whatever works," Auntie Vi said, nodding. "Thank you, Katya."
186 "What for? Like I said, it was all Old Sam."
"No, Katya," Auntie Vi said firmly. "It was you. You set up the meeting
because I asked you to talk to Harvey. Thank you. Now say, You're welcome."
"You're welcome, Auntie," Kate said obediently.
Old Sam was back at his original table, yelling, "Free throws win ball
games!" as Michael Jordan bounced one off the rim. Kate looked across
the room at him, watching as Jordan went up after his own missed foul
shot and slammed the ball home for two. Old Sam pounded his approval on
the table, upsetting several drinks in the process. Who would have
thought that Old Sam, cantankerous old reprobate that he was, would step
forward into Emaa's place so aptly, so ably, so opportunely? A sense of
relief swept over Kate, and she turned back to Auntie Vi with a lighter
heart. "How have you been lately, Auntie? I didn't get a chance to visit
with you yesterday. I haven't seen you since-when?"
"Since you came in for starring at Russian Orthodox Christmas," Auntie
Vi said.
"That's right, January," Kate said. It had been a crisp, clear night,
and she had stood with her aunt at her aunt's front step to welcome and
pass out treats to the carolers as they went singing from door to door.
She'd ridden her snow machine in that afternoon, she remembered, which
naturally led her to wonder now if she was going to be able to patch the
gas tank on it. She hoped so. In spite of her new truck, the dwindling
wad of cash in the Darigold butter can wasn't going to go far if she had
to repair or replace all of her vehicles. So far the Earlybird
settlement was just talk. Maybe she could work out a trade for the Great
White Hunters' four-wheelers, both of which were still sitting in her
front yard. Kate had no wish to learn how to mush dogs this late in
life, and she'd never liked four-wheelers. It was a problem. She
frowned, and then, when she felt Auntie Vi looking at her, shrugged off
her woes. "You making good money off the feds, Auntie?"
187 "I made out okay," Auntie Vi said, which Kate took to mean she had
made out like a bandit.
Chopper Jim was down at the other end of the bar, talking to Demetri.
They'd both done time in Europe with the armed forces, and bored
everyone very much with Cold War stories whenever they got the chance.
Mark Stewart was sitting at a table against the wall, brooding over a
bottle of beer. He was brooding so well that both Jackie Webber and Tina
Moonin were trying to minister to his grief. He wasn't exactly beating
them off with a stick.
"Auntie, did you know they were going up to the mine?"
"Who?"
Kate nodded imperceptibly toward Stewart. "The woman who died, and her
husband. You said they were staying with you. Did you know they were
going up to the mine?"
"Of course. I packed a lunch for them."
"Did Mark Stewart have a rifle or a pistol with him?"
Auntie Vi pursed her lips, and shook her head. "I didn't see one."
"What did their luggage look like?"
"I know what a rifle case looks like, Katya," Auntie Vi said tartly.
"I know you do, Auntie. But sometimes people put rifles in suitcases or
duffel bags."
"Those ones had packs," Auntie Vi said firmly.
But you can break a rifle down, Kate thought. All it takes is a
screwdriver to reassemble. Half the time the pieces will even pass
through an airport security check.
"Why do you ask all these questions, Katya? He didn't have a rifle." She
thought, and added, "He had a fancy knife, though. Had a screwdriver on
it. He fixed the hinge on the door to their room." She grinned. "Good
thing, too. They make lot of noise, and they were booked for all week."
She saw Kate's expression. "What? What is it, Katya? Why you look like
that?"
Kate's hand closed over the Swiss Army knife she had absentmindedly put
in her pocket after Billy dropped it in the slush. The
188 one Cindy had found up at the mine in her mad chase after her errant
husband. She pulled it out and gave it to Auntie Vi. "Like this one?"
Auntie Vi took it, and after a few moments' fiddling, managed to open
out the Phillips screwdriver. "Yeah, just like this one." She handed the
knife back. "Why?"
"Did you warn them about the bear activity in the area?"
The old woman ruffled up. "Of course. Not my fault if they can't take a
hint. I'm not their mother."
Kate turned away and caught a sly look in Auntie Vi's eye. "What?"
Auntie Vi took a ladylike sip from the glass of red wine that had
replaced the mug of coffee with the council meeting's adjournment. "I
see that woman before. That woman who died."
"Carol Stewart?"
Auntie Vi nodded.
Bobby and Dinah came in and were surrounded. Over the hubbub their
entrance caused, Kate said, "Do you mean the Stewarts had been here
before? When?"
"One year ago. Last spring. But that one was not with this husband."
Auntie Vi's smile spread slowly across her face, her eyelids drooping so
that she looked like the Cheshire cat. "But she make even more noise
with him."
Kate stared at her, brows knit. "Wait a minute," she said slowly, "you
were saying something like this last night when all the shooting
started. Carol Stewart was in the Park last spring?"
"Yes."
"But not with Mark Stewart?"
"No."
"Auntie, I'm sorry, I have to get this straight. Carol Stewart stayed
with you last spring, with a man who wasn't her husband?"
"Not this one. Maybe she change in the middle of the year." The old
woman's eyes sparkled with mischief. Auntie Vi loved a good, nasty
story, especially if it concerned no one she was related
189 to, one reason she was a huge soap opera fan. She had had a
satellite dish installed just so she could watch The Young and the
Restless every day instead of waiting for the damn state to put it on
Ratnet. In her presatellite days, she'd once had to wait two weeks to
find out if Nicholas Newman had gone to jail for a murder he naturally
had not committed. She was resolved never to let that happen again.
An argument broke out at Bobby's table. "Kate!" he roared. "Shugak, get
your butt over here, they're ganging up on me!"
"Auntie," Kate said urgently, "who was it? Who was the man Carol Stewart
was with last spring?"
"Vi!" Auntie Joy called from the quilting bee. "We need help with this
stitch!"
Auntie Vi ripped her notes from the notebook, stuffed them into the hip
pocket of her jeans for later transcribing to the Association computer
and drained her glass. "I don't know, I don't care who they are or what
they're doing here as long as they got cash."
"Try, Auntie."
Auntie Joy called again, and Auntie Vi huffed out an impatient breath,
running a hand through her corkscrew curls. "I don't know. It was a fish
name, or something like that. Sardine?" She frowned. "No, that's not
ri
ght. I just don't remember, Katya."
"What did he look like?"
"It was a year ago, Katya. Skinny guy, I remember thinking he weigh less
