The Fortunate Brother

by Donna Morrissey

  Nothing from above. Kyle strained to hold on. If he fell, he’d be stiffer than Clar within three minutes in that ice bucket. “What’re you at, man? Let’s g-go. Find Ben.”

  “Who’s there?”

  “Just me. The dog.”

  “Up there. There’s somebody up there. Who’s up there?”

  “That’s probably Ben.”

  “Ben?”

  “Yeah. He’s looking for you. I told you. Wants to have a beer.”

  “Shhh.”

  “It’s just Ben,” whispered Kyle.

  Ben’s voice, soft and easy and a bit jokey, floated down from above. “What the fuck you doing down there? Look at him, a fucking bird. What’re you after smoking now?”

  “Ha ha. Benji boy.”

  “Get up here, you silly fuck.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “What’s so ha ha funny? Get the Jesus up here.”

  A mewl. Like that of the dog. He was crying.

  “Move over, bud. I’m coming down.”

  “Not going to jail, Benji.”

  “Jail. They’re planning parties for you, you silly nit. Aww, Christ, hold on, I can’t get down there. You gotta come up, buddy.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “Come on, b’y.”

  “He was hurting her.”

  “You stopped it. Self-defence. No jail, I promise you this time. No jail.”

  “Not going back, Benji.”

  “That’s what I just said, you silly fucker. What part you not getting? We just sign some papers, self-defence. You want me to yodel it to you?”

  “Ha ha.”

  “Come on, man. Come on up, it’s cold. Let’s go get a beer. Come on, let’s go get a beer.”

  “Katie? Is Katie there? I heard Katie.”

  “She’s here. You want her?”

  “Verny? It’s…it’s me.”

  “I’m scared, Katie.”

  “I’m not. I’m not scared. I’m staying with you this time. And the dog. We’ll take him too, if you want. We can keep him at the cabin till we fix things.”

  “There you go, bud,” said Ben. “You got yourself a dog. Come on, now. See my hand? Take it, buddy.”

  “Ha ha, Benji boy.”

  “Stop calling me fucking Benji, you sounds like Mother.”

  “Came out to see you, Benji.”

  “Well get up here, then. Let’s go get a beer.”

  “Not going back, Benji.”

  “No, boy, I told you. You’re not going to jail. We got it all covered, she’s good, man. Come on up, now. Take my hand.”

  Kyle was staring hard. He could see Trapp’s dark, hunched figure. He saw him move a bit to the right, away from Ben.

  “Come on, buddy. Take my hand. Been too long, I miss you, buddy.”

  Soft mewls. He was crying again.

  “Nothing’s going to happen. You done a good thing, man, you did a good thing.”

  “Ben?”

  “I’m right here, bud. See my hand? Take my hand.”

  “Not going to jail, Benji boy.”

  “Take my fucking hand, Trapp!”

  “Not going.”

  “Vernon!” It was Sylvanus. His voice deep, strong. “Come on up now, my son. Been enough suffering. Come on up. It’s all over now.”

  Kyle scarcely breathed, watching Trapp’s shoulders rise, lean forward. He wanted to yell out, couldn’t, held on to his father’s voice unfurling like a strong rope down the cliff. “Come on, my son. You hearing me, Vernon? I’m making my way down. My young fellow up there, he don’t want this. No rest for him till we’re all resting here. No more suffering. I’ll not take no more suffering over this. You see my hand? Take my hand, now.”

  The clouds scuttered; a blue light gleamed off black rock. Trapp stood with his head drawn back into his shoulders, his arms stretching out. Something moved to his left. He let out a sharp cry, a hand appearing out of the dark, reaching for him, reaching. “Take my hand, son. I can’t stretch any farther. Take my hand. Take my hand, now. He wants you to take my hand.” A cry from Trapp. A hurting cry and another, cut short. And he hung there, like a bird frozen in flight. The hand stretched farther, then farther, and Kyle sucked in his breath with fear that his father would tumble down the rock face. His fingers touched Trapp’s, and then locked themselves around his wrist. “You’re cold, my son. Let’s go, now. We’ve got a fire going. Come on, now.”

  The breath left Kyle. He watched as Trapp’s thin body, like a stickman shadow up there on the cliff, reached with his other hand onto his father’s. He climbed slowly, his legs cramped no doubt, as were Kyle’s, and frozen. Trapp’s legs vanished out of sight, Sylvanus’s voice fading, Ben’s taking over.

  “Christ almighty, skin and bones. What’re you eating, putty from the windows? Not skinny, is he—see the sin on his soul. Look, you’re shivering, you’re freezing, here b’y. Take my coat, take my coat, put it on.” Ben’s words faded, Kate’s sounded over them, none of them audible, fading with the wind.

  Kyle shivered uncontrollably. He turned, starting back around the cliff. His fingers too stiff to curl around the rock ledges. His feet frozen pods that kept tripping over cloven rock and sinking into the water. The dog had slipped into the ocean and was swimming alongside. They both reached around the other side of the cliff and Kyle saw the brown rental driving off from the wharf. He walked across the beach and climbed onto the wharf, his legs stiffer than two flagpoles. Sylvanus was standing near the house, watching the car vanishing up ahead.

  “Where they taking him?” asked Kyle.

  His father started. “Just about to come for you. To the hospital. They’ll phone the police from there.”

  “No need,” said Kyle. A police cruiser was coming down the road. He stood there with his father, waiting till it hauled up alongside and MacDuff painfully climbed out of the car, wiping his nose with a towel-sized handkerchief. Canning remained behind the wheel.

  “Time I gave this up,” said MacDuff, pocketing his handkerchief and tipping his hat to Kyle and Sylvanus. “We talked to your daughter,” he said to Sylvanus. “She said Vernon Trapp was here.”

  “He was,” said Sylvanus. “But he’s gone now. He’s at the hospital in Corner Brook. He’s a sick boy, but…got a feeling he’ll be all right.”

  “How did he get to the hospital?”

  “His mother took him.”

  “Mother?”

  “Kate Mackenzie,” said Kyle. “He’s in good form. He’ll be cooperating from now on.”

  MacDuff looked at Kyle. He looked at Sylvanus. He looked at the dog, sitting by the door as though guarding it. “Nice work,” he said, looking back at father and son again. “How long have they been gone?”

  Sylvanus looked up at the stars. Kyle shook his head.

  “Hard to say,” said Sylvanus. “They’ll phone you from the hospital. Sure thing.”

  MacDuff returned to the car, leaning in through the window and saying something to Canning, who immediately started talking into his radio phone.

  “Found you some dried squid,” said Kyle as MacDuff made his way back. “When things clear up, me and Verny will drop them off.”

  “Verny?”

  “Alias Vernon Trapp.”

  “He’s going to get off, right?” asked Sylvanus. “It was self-defence, that’s pretty clear.”

  “I can’t answer that, sir. I just sent a car to the hospital. There’ll be an assessment by his doctors. See whether he can stand trial.” MacDuff turned to Kyle. “Where did you find the knife?”

  “Verny left it where he knew I’d find it.”

  “Why did you cement it in?”

  Kyle looked at his father, shrugged. “Never know the mind of a squid.”

  “Hey?”

  Sylvanus blew out a weighty breath. “Get to bed,” he snarked at Kyle. “Else you’ll be squirting like one. Will he need a lawyer?” he asked MacDuff.

  “He killed a man, he’ll need a lawyer. We’ll let the courts decide if it
was self-defence. We’ll be going now.” He turned back to his car, then paused. “How’s Mrs. Now?”

  “She’d be offering you tea if she knew you were here.”

  “Well, we won’t put her through that. Some other time, perhaps, sir.”

  “Some other time, sir.”

  MacDuff tipped his hat again.

  “A second,” said Kyle. “The glove thing. Why were you wanting to know if we wore mitts that night? What the fuck was that all about?”

  “Ah.” MacDuff went over to the front of the house and bent, peering closely at the clapboard. Then he moved to the door. “It’s gone now,” he said. “The rain took it. But there were blots of blood on the clapboard, and then on the framing, here by the doorknob. No prints. Like someone had fallen, caught themselves with a mitted or gloved hand. I figured it out eventually.” He looked at the dog, flopped down on all fours by the gump. “He must have had Mr. Gillard’s blood on his paws. He must have leaped at the house at some point during that night, got some blood on it. Only thing I can figure.”

  Kyle looked at his hands, remembered the dream he’d had that night of the killing. About a dolphin and a dog barking, its nails scampering over his hand. Clar’s blood. He hadn’t drooled on his hand, it was Clar’s blood.

  “Did you know who done it?” he asked MacDuff.

  “I knew it was squirrelled somewhere amongst you. Truth always comes out—just got to probe a bit, be a little patient. Good evening, then.” He lowered himself slowly into his car, then looked up at Sylvanus. “I’m thinking of buying a cabin in on Faulkner’s Flat, not far from Rushy Pond. What’s the fishing like?”

  “I knows a few spots.”

  “Roger that.” MacDuff drew his legs in and hauled the door shut. Canning pulled the car around and Kyle stood there with his father, watching the cruiser drive off. Sylvie swung open the door.

  “Somebody just called for you, Ky.” She peered after the police car. “Is everything fixed up?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine. Who called?”

  “A girl. Jewels? Whoa.” Kyle was brushing past her. “She’s not there now, I told her to call back.”

  “What the hell you tell her that for?”

  “I could’ve said nothing, I suppose. Hung up on her.”

  “When did she call?”

  “About ten minutes ago. She’s at the bar.”

  The bar. He was inside the house now, looking at the clock. Ten past eight. He went into the washroom and skimmed off his wet clothes and scalded himself beneath the shower. He wrapped a towel around himself and went to his room, water streaming down his face from his soggy head. Bonnie was in there, hauling the blankets off his bed.

  “What the fuck?”

  “You’re on the couch tonight,” she said, stripping off his sheets. “And the rest of the week, most likely.”

  Jaysus. “Mind if I get some clothes?”

  “As long as you changes in the washroom.”

  Jaysus. He bent, fumbling through his bottom drawer.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hay’s for horses.” He stopped fumbling and looked at her. “Sorry.”

  She nodded, studied the sheets in her hands. “Something I want to say. If you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.”

  “Why I kept going back. I know you wants to know that.”

  “No. Hey, that’s fine.”

  “I thought if I loved him enough, it might catch hold of him. That he’d grow a heart. That’s what I always thought.”

  “Right. Fine, then.”

  “Like the Tin Man. Remember him?” she said to his blank look. “From Oz.”

  “Right. You still thinking that?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t matter. Just thought I’d tell you.”

  “Hey, why not? Lion Man here, he’s trying to grow himself some courage.”

  She smiled, small even teeth, first time he’d seen them. Nice smile, softened her face. He stood there, looking at her smile. She took it as though he were waiting for more from her. “I got tired, always giving,” she said with a shrug. “Started giving to myself. That’s why he tried to kill me, your mother says. Aside from his dog, I was the only thing loyal to him. Guess even he needed somebody.” A shadow flickered across her face, the ghost of Clar Gillard. She chased it away with another smile that brightened her eyes and he saw her triumph. Whatever battles she’d fought with Clar Gillard, she’d defeated him before the knife found its mark.

  He started feeling awkward standing there, his clothes bundled before him, and backed out the door. “Question,” he said, pausing. “Why’re you so taken with my mother?”

  She was billowing a clean sheet over the mattress. “She don’t see me as Jack Verge’s daughter. Grab that end, will you?”

  He stepped back to the bed, pulled the corner end of the sheet over the mattress, and backed out of the room for the second time. “Stay to the inside,” he said, pointing to the bed. “Killer spring on the outside, here.”

  He went back to the washroom, dressed, and hurried down the hallway. Sylvie was talking with their mother in her room. He snuck past the door, not wanting any more delays, and booted it outside. Eight-thirty, eight-thirty, it was still early, she’d still be at the bar. He rounded the corner, wondering where his father was, and near tripped over him. Hove off by the side of the house, feet propped up on the gump, ruffling the ears of the dog splayed out beside him. His father was smiling. He was gazing up and smiling at the cloudy night. He looked like an old sailor who’d weathered a great storm and was now safely anchored to a pier of his own making.

  “Turn on the light or something, old man. Near bloody tripped over you.”

  “Think now, I’m scared of the dark like you?”

  “I could’ve been a bear for all you know.”

  “That’s just it now, you’re supposed to smell the bear before he smells you.”

  “That’s just it now, and suppose your nose is plugged. You have a cheery evening now.”

  “Where you going?”

  “Fishing.”

  —

  He started up through the shortcut, pushing aside limbs and branches. Trail needed trimming. He took up whistling as he passed the old sawmill. It was quiet. The wind showered through the trees and something creaked from behind him. Jaysus. A shiver rode down his spine. He flailed the rest of his way up the path and out onto Bottom Hill. Widen that fucking path, tomorrow. The wind had picked up, clearing a star-pricked sky. Hampden windows lit yellow through the dark. The moon’s broadening smile rose above the hills and glimmered amongst stars that were mostly dead and yet whose lights still shone through the eternal sky. He showed his fist to the proud evening star. “I’m taking her fishing,” he yelled. “Screw you, buddy, barring me in the haunted house!” And then he near tripped, face aghast—it winked at him. Swear to Jesus, the star winked at him…