The Sky Fisherman

by Craig Lesley

  "I still remember when you walked off the stage," Jake said.

  She nodded. "That night I couldn't keep my temper. Later, when word got back to my mother and aunt, they scolded me and claimed I brought them shame." She sipped her drink. "Anyway, I'm getting sidetracked. Right now I've got another proposal to talk over."

  Jake pretended to study his watch. "The consultant is in for the next hour and the back room is clear. Gonna cost you plenty though."

  "Like what?"

  "Lunch at the lodge. Fry bread and Indian chili."

  Jake got a paper towel and wiped the pastry crumbs off a couple of the back-room chairs, but she sat at the high-backed work stool by the bench. Above her, Miss November on the Snap-On Tool calendar smiled at the wrench she was holding.

  Jake tried handing Juniper a cup of coffee, but she shook her head. "I'll stick to my soda."

  "So what's the deal?" he asked.

  "It's pretty simple. They want me to manage a little gallery at the lodge. Sell Indian art to the tourists. I can set my own hours, leave time for my painting. Theoretically."

  "Sounds perfect," Jake said.

  She smiled. "It's not quite that easy. Living out there's pretty demanding. If you don't have family—an immediate family, I mean—they expect you to help out with all the ceremonies and dressings. You've got to cook, clean up, organize. I just don't think I could handle it all."

  "Why not?" Jake teased. "You'd get first crack at all the food—eat the salmon cheeks and angel food cake. And you'd look good wearing a pom-pom cook's hat."

  "Be serious. What do you really think?" she asked. "Running an art gallery at the lodge might not be so bad."

  "Good opportunity," Jake said. "I wouldn't let it pass."

  She shifted on the stool. "So many people never make it away from here. You know that relocation joke, about how they can shoot a man onto the moon but the scientists can't figure out how to get him back. 'Just send an Indian astronaut,' they say. 'He'll wander back all by himself.'"

  Jake smiled. "You made it away. Now you're choosing to come back. Nothing wrong with that."

  "I know." She sipped her soda. "But I just can't picture it permanently somehow. In Santa Fe or Albuquerque, I can concentrate on my work. No other demands."

  Jake spread his hands. "Here you have a sense of community. And they love you in Central."

  "That's good. But I have community there, too. I was planning a big art project in Arizona, down the Havasupai Canyon. It's magical. The water is absolutely blue-green, and rare moonflowers blossom in the shady spots. The Indians have found unusual petroglyphs and dinosaur tracks in the side canyons."

  "Nothing's stopping you. You can still go—"

  She shook her head. "A project like that could take over a year."

  Jake seemed perplexed. "I can tell it's complicated."

  "On the other hand, I love and respect the people here, and I've got so many good memories." She paused, smiling. "Yesterday I drove by that little Shaker church on the back side of the reservation. When I was a kid, my mother used to attend all the churches—Shaker, Catholic, Presbyterian—mostly to socialize. But she was shy and never talked much—just went to see what was going on, listen to gossip. Some mornings I'd be tired and try to sleep under the pew where no one could step on me. But once those Shakers got to ringing the bells and dancing, they kicked up so much dust I had to move or choke.

  "The church was filled with crosses and candles. I remember smelling the burning candles, and Mom wearing an old shawl to keep the dripping wax from wrecking up her Sunday-best clothes.

  "When people had troubles they moved to the center of the church while the Indian healers took the candles from the crosses. The bells kept ringing and they warmed their hands in the candles' flames, then touched the sick and troubled—patted them and stroked them, laid on the hands. You could feel the warmth from their hands just pass right through to you. After one of those healings, you'd feel so peaceful.

  "After they were healed, the people circled the church like in the Washat—all four directions. They went under the big crosses on the east side and turned a circle, raising a hand to the Maker."

  She smiled. "The healing was the best part, but I liked the cupcakes after the service, too. They were pretty heavy and had a sweet, sticky frosting. After a trip to the Shaker church, both my stomach and my mind felt good."

  I stayed quiet, imagining the church, the candles, and the healing.

  "Sounds to me like you should stick around here," Jake said.

  "Like I said, I love the people here. Present company excluded." She winked at me. "I don't want your uncle getting a swelled head. This place is like a magnet. Keeps pulling at me. Still, you can get fooled. Right now, everyone is so nice, but I know if I moved back here they'd start taking me for granted. And I wouldn't have a moment's peace."

  "It got to be like that for me, sort of," Jake said. "I was with the volunteer ambulance, the fire department, and the city council. When some people started drafting me for mayor, that was too much. I couldn't handle my own business."

  "Fishing?" She kept a straight face.

  He held out his arm, indicating the store. "This modest place that pays the rent."

  She laughed. "You don't run it. Culver does. Everyone says he's twice as smart as you. They have trouble believing you're related."

  I reddened a little.

  "I hate to admit it," she said, "but in the old days I used to be pretty mean. Remember how Mavis Born-With-A-Tooth and I used to terrorize Bernadette, Billyum's cousin? She was a couple years younger, kept following us around like a lovesick puppy. Mavis and I were always cooking up trouble for her."

  "Now she's a nurse," Jake said. "Works for Indian health."

  Juniper nodded. "I pray nothing goes wrong with me. She'd love jabbing me with a dull needle after our stunts."

  "Everybody horses around when they're younger," Jake said. "She's probably forgot."

  Juniper shook her head. "We almost killed her one time. You know that steep section of the Kooskia Grade that has the one old crooked pine tree? When I was driving around the rez one day, I saw that tree and got to thinking about the time when Mavis and I found the old baby carriage at the dump. Two of the wheels were wobbly and it had something like tar spilled over it, but that sucker still rolled.

  "We got to wondering how fast it would go down the grade—sort of like the soapbox derby. And we decided it would roll faster with more weight. We got Bernadette all gussied up after talking her into playing Baby for a Day, and we stopped at the store and bought her strawberry pop and Twinkies, whatever she wanted. Then we pushed that carriage out toward Kooskia. Took almost an hour.

  "Bernadette was sucking on the bottle we filled with pop and making all kinds of goo-goo noises when we started pushing her up that grade. Man it was steep. Mavis and I both had to push. At the top, Bernadette got a little worried, but we told her everything was okay. Suddenly we turned that rickety thing around and let it roll downhill. Bernadette was riding backwards, facing us, and her eyes grew wild with terror. She started hollering and crying.

  "Mavis looked at me and her eyes were wide. 'I think those soapbox thingees are supposed to have brakes,' she said, and we both started chasing downhill after Bernadette. She was flying by then, and when that carriage hit potholes her braids would fly up on her head. She was yelling 'Mama! Mama!' and she'd be rolling yet, if it wasn't for that tree.

  "Smack!" Juniper slapped her open palms together. "The carriage hit that tree, skidded off to one side, then tipped over. Bernadette came rolling out in her fancy party dress. She thumped against a rock and just lay there, real quiet. We tiptoed up, thinking maybe she was too scared to cry out anymore, but she was knocked cold. Her eyeballs had rolled up so all you could see was white. 'I'll bet she's faking,' Mavis said. 'Check her ears for blood. That's a bad sign.'

  '"I don't think she's even breathing,' I said. I looked in her ears. Dirt but no blood. Some ants were crawli
ng on her face and she still wasn't moving. Both of us were afraid to actually touch her. The way we'd been so mean to her, a night ghost might grab us, carry us away with her spirit.

  '"Let's call Cecil Funmaker,' Mavis said. He had that old rattletrap Dodge station wagon he called an ambulance. Sometimes when he wasn't too pie-eyed to drive, he'd run somebody with a broken arm or the DT's into Central.

  "We both kept staring at Bernadette. 'She's dead for sure,' Mavis said. 'I wonder if I can have her bike.' Then she started crying around, and I was sniffling, too. Right after, we saw this big old snot bubble come out of Bernadette's nose. What a relief!

  '"She's breathing,' Mavis shouted. 'All this time she's been faking, holding her breath to fool us!' She was about to give Bernadette a swift kick, but I stopped her. Good thing, too, because she had a broken arm. Just a hairline fracture. Both knees and one side of her face were skinned up good. A big lump rose right up on her forehead.

  "We wanted to put her back in the carriage and wheel her home, but it was busted, so we had to walk and sort of support her. She kept holding that arm funny. We got her some more pop at the store and begged her to keep quiet, but as soon as her mother saw that purple egg on her forehead and the crooked way she carried that arm, she dragged her off to the hospital in Central. The moment she got back, Bernadette's mom called ours and we got spanked big time. I couldn't sit for a week and got grounded for a month. The only place I was allowed to go was over to Bernadette's, and I was forced to read to her every afternoon."

  Jake laughed. "Maybe that incident caused her to become a nurse. A real life changer."

  Juniper frowned. "That old baby carriage stayed right by the tree for ten years. Each year it got more faded and shabby. Mice ran off with parts of it to build nests. Everytime we drove by, my mother would fold her arms and scowl."

  "I'll bet Bernadette is just waiting for her chance to get even," Jake said. "Go in with a splinter and she'll put you in a coma."

  "Don't think I don't worry about it. On the rez, people got long memories."

  When they had finished laughing, Juniper added, "I'll bet Billyum remembers that accident. He had to read to her all summer, too. Little House on the Prairie. I still hate those books."

  She shifted the stool so she was facing Jake. "You know, when Billyum and I were talking earlier, he said something kind of odd."

  "What about?" Jake asked.

  "He said maybe Kalim knew those two guys that burned up. The way he said it was funny."

  Jake didn't answer for a moment. I thought he might tell her what Sniffy had said, but he didn't.

  "It's a small town," Jake said. "Everybody runs into everybody else. He might know them from the Alibi or the Phoenix. Or even the mill when Kalim brought in logs."

  "I don't know." She paused. "Billyum had something more on his mind. I'm sure of it. He's so transparent, to me at least. I can read him like a book."

  "Not the Bible," Jake said.

  "No," she agreed. "That's not the book."

  After Juniper was gone, I told Jake that it seemed funny how Sniffy had talked about those guys and now they were dead.

  "Like Sniffy said, good riddance!"

  "What if they had something to do with Kalim's death?" I said. "Do you think that's what Billyum had on his mind but couldn't tell her?"

  "You know, I'll sure be glad when school starts and you can chase girls. That way you'll spend less energy on your goofy ideas." Jake took my arm. "Sniffy was firing blind that night. Even the old glue sniffer had enough sense to change the story."

  "It's still a funny coincidence."

  "What coincidence?" Jake cocked an eyebrow. "You don't believe the elk kidnapped them?"

  I shrugged, knowing Jake was trying to change the subject.

  "Maybe that elk wasn't smoking a cigar," Jake said. "Although smoking will spark the flames of hell quick enough to burn away salvation." Changing the cadence of his voice so he sounded like a revival preacher, he began pacing, stopping occasionally to throw his arms in the air. "Young sinner, you may call it a mere co-in-ci-dence." He raised his hands toward the sky. "I say di-vine Pro-vi-dence. Shout hallelujah. Holy Harold knows all, sees all. He sees how Providence struck down the wicked in their own iniquity—Sodom and Gomorrah, Ananias and Sapphira, Meeks and Chilcoat. Di-vine Providence."

  He took a deep breath. "God saw the sinners poaching in His garden, and He was displeased, and struck them down." Jake slammed his fist into his open palm. "Sent them down to Big Smoky without passing Go or collecting two hundred dollars." He pointed his finger at me. "Struck them down with tongues of flame. And you, too, can be struck down if you don't obey the Commandments. Forget about adultery. That's kind of fun sometimes. But above all else, you must obey the Eleventh Commandment."

  I held out my hands, pretending to ward off the evil. "I plan to. What is it?"

  "Obeyeth your uncle." Jake continued, "When he saith, 'Sweep!' you sweepeth. When he saith Wheel the bikes,' you wheeleth. When he saith package the worms—"'

  "But I always obey," I protested. "And for little reward."

  "You're storing up treasures in heaven," he said. "And remember, you didn't sell all the picnic tables."

  I laughed. "All right, you got me."

  "Don't worry about taking up a collection at the end of this service. I'll deduct your donation straight from your wages."

  I had enjoyed my uncle's antics, but they bothered me as well. It seemed as if I couldn't get him to be serious and answer my questions.

  Later that night though, I laughed when telling Mom about Jake's imitation of Harold. She said it was sad but probably true he had acted just like that. "Your uncle's side of the family," she emphasized.

  26

  AS WE WRESTLED with the stuffed deer on the icy roof, passing cars honked. A few people stopped to offer suggestions. The back-room boys had all kinds of wild ideas to improve the situation, but none worked too well in the subfreezing temperature with a stiff wind driving sleet.

  "Why couldn't you just do a window decoration like the other merchants?" I asked. "That window artist was around offering to do a holiday scene pretty cheap."

  "It's not the same thing as a deer on the roof," Jake said. "This is a sporting goods store, not a wimpy dry cleaners or bank."

  "No other merchant is dragging stuff onto the roof."

  "Didn't you see the saddle shop? They rigged up a stuffed Shetland pony and outfitted it with red boots and a cowboy hat. Sneaky bastards are trying to steal my thunder."

  "At least the pony doesn't have bullet holes," I said. Before it became a Christmas roof decoration, game wardens used Jake's stuffed deer as an open-field decoy to trap city dudes who stopped to spotlight and shoot it. Good for ten or twelve arrests each season, the deer took serious abuse. Some dudes even took time to reload when the deer didn't fall during the first volley.

  Jake shook his head. "Don't go thinking negatory thoughts, nephew. This deer is a tradition. Kids love it. From a distance they can't see the bullet holes or raggedy rump. And I usually win a prize for merchant display."

  I knew Jake was just blowing wind. Earlier he'd said that no one judged the merchant displays except a couple of tipsy old Realtors whose noses shone brighter than Rudolph's.

  The roof was fairly flat, but it had taken me over an hour to shovel off the snow, given the accumulation, the wind, and the treacherous footing. I was wearing one of the Sasquatch coats. Before Thanksgiving, Jake had given me my Christmas present early because he thought some of my schoolmates might want one, and the fake fur had become so matted down with the sleet, I resembled an outlandish, oversize rodent.

  Gab had done a practiced double take when he saw me working alone on the roof. "That's the ugliest goddamn elf I ever saw," he shouted up above the wind. "Santa's really scraping the bottom of the barrel."

  I tried shoveling a load of snow on his head, but he ducked inside too fast.

  While I cleared the roof, Jake had stayed insid
e keeping warm and patching a couple of the deer holes with catgut. My feet were freezing and my hands had turned numb.

  Homer climbed the ladder to offer hot coffee and warm cake doughnuts. "Some job," he said, indicating the piles of snow I had pushed off the roof.

  "Jake said this would take about an hour," I said. "After two, I'm leaving for sure."

  "Good luck." Homer shook his head. "Last year when it was sunny and warm, it took three hours. Stringing the guy wires is no picnic. And I've never seen this much snow in mid-November."

  "This is tough work," I said. "I can see why people in Minnesota have heart attacks." After I took off the parka hood, my head steamed more than Homer's coffee. Once the roof was clear, I went inside to get Jake. The coat was soaked and slick.

  "Goddamn, I never saw a rat that big," Sniffy said. "Must've crawled out an open sewer somewhere."

  "That's no rat. It's a nutria," Gab said.

  "Same difference," Sniffy said. "They're cousins or something. People eat them in the Philippines."

  "And they taste just like chicken," Gab said. "Everything tastes like chicken."

  "Are you about ready to help?" I asked Jake. "You were supposed to come up sooner and clear the roof."

  "Packaged up some worms," he said, "in case we get a rush." They all laughed, since fishing season had been over for a couple months.

  "That's some coat, all right." Gab laughed. "I didn't think those coats could get uglier, but they look worse wet than dry."

  "Your basketball team should wear them," Sniffy said. "Scare the opposition to death. Only way you're ever going to win."

  "It might slow the players down," Gab said.

  "They can't move any slower and still be breathing." Sniffy slapped his knee.

  I didn't say anything because I'd shot only three for thirteen in the last game. Two of our starters had moved away with their parents, who had worked at the mill but were following job prospects to Arizona.