by Craig Lesley
The teakettle began whistling and she poured two cups of hot water. Taking a pint bottle of Monarch rum out of the cupboard, she added some to each cup. "Just a splash. I don't think it'll stunt your growth, this one time. After all, a goose calls for a celebration. The girls at work are going to be so jealous when I tell them we had wild goose." She was beaming.
"It's some goose, all right," I said.
"It's a marvelous goose. And you brought it home. Culver, you could talk yourself up a little more. Sometimes you're as quiet as an oyster."
She set a teacup in front of me and sat. "Well, at least you spoke a whole sentence. I guess your tongue's defrosted." She sipped her tea, then touched the flowers. "These are pretty. I like the fragrance. So, how was the hunt? You better start talking."
I drank some of the tea, feeling the rum settle in my belly. I took another drink. "Mom, Jake wasn't in the boat when Dad drowned."
She brushed back her hair with her fingertips. "What's this about a boat? You were goose hunting." Her brow furrowed as her rush of enthusiasm faded.
"Mom, they argued. Jake wasn't in the boat."
Her mouth became a thin line. "Surely Jake had better sense than to take out a boat in this horrible weather. There's ice in the river. He told me you were going to Gab's place. Isn't that way above the river out in the wheat fields somewhere?"
"I'm not talking about today. Please listen. When Dad drowned, Jake wasn't in the boat."
"That accident was years ago." Her eyes clouded. "What are you talking about?"
I leaned forward. "They had a big fight. Dad knocked Jake down and took off through the rapids by himself."
She gripped the teacup, letting go when it became too hot. "Why are you bringing this up? Tomorrow's Thanksgiving and Franklin's coming over."
"I want to know what happened. That's all."
"Your ... father ... drowned." She emphasized each word. "Those men had absolutely no business on the river that spring. I told them." She paused. "You were just a child."
"Mom, what was the argument about?"
She picked up the flowers and studied them. "I wonder how she dries them. The colors remain so vivid."
"Mom?"
She dropped the flowers. "Why don't you ask Jake? He's the one stirring up trouble."
I shook my head. "It wasn't Jake. Billyum told me."
"He's as bad as the rest of them," she said. "Just because he's Indian makes no difference."
"It was about you, wasn't it? They fought over you." I don't know how I knew, but I did.
Her eyes flashed. "I wasn't even there." Abruptly, she seized the flowers and stood. "Why would you even imagine such a thing? I knew Jake was a terrible influence, but who expected anything like this wild story? If you were younger, I'd wash out your mouth with soap."
Her eyes teared, but she didn't cry. I stood up, too, and we stared at each other across the table. I felt terrible but wouldn't lower my gaze.
"I'm not wallowing in the past," she said hoarsely. "What's done is done. I'm working for our future."
"If there's more to it, maybe we should get the truth out, Mom. Clear the air."
"I'm certainly not going to discuss this unpleasant matter any more tonight. I was upset all day long, worrying about you. Now, to tell you the truth, I've had an even bigger shock." She moved toward her bedroom, gripping the flower wreath like a life preserver.
I remained sitting a few minutes, then threw open the back door and trudged out into the snow in my stockinged feet. Over and over again, I cursed as loud as I could, until the cold air stung my lungs and I couldn't regain my wind. Exhausted, I might have frozen to death, a numbed statue, if a police car hadn't stopped in front of our house.
A young cop came around back and shone his flashlight in my face. "You live here, kid?"
I nodded.
"One of the neighbors called in a complaint. You got anyone inside?" He shone the light on my robe and sock-clad feet.
"My mother," I said after a few moments. "She might be asleep." I could hear the police car engine running. A bulletin came over the radio.
"Well, you better pack it in and close the door. Pipes might freeze."
"We got 'em wrapped," I said.
He shone the light on my feet again. "All your plumbing might freeze. This cold weather's a bitch." He paused. "You going anyplace for Thanksgiving?"
I shook my head. "We're cooking a goose."
"Well, it's not New Year's, so try to hold it down."
I went inside, closing the door softly. As the cop drove away, I could hear the tick-tick-tick of his tire chains. Part of me wanted to climb into the warmth of that car and go someplace where I wouldn't have to think about anything for a while.
My teeth chattered a long time, even though I took a hot-water bottle to bed and wore wool socks and long underwear. When I awakened toward dawn, I wasn't cold because my mother had gotten in bed with me. Pressed against my back, she had flung one arm across my chest, holding tight. For a few pleasant moments, before recall struck, I thought I was a small child again. Turning to hold her, I smelled the cold in her hair and I awakened.
"I was freezing," she said. "The whole house was terribly cold."
I remembered leaving the door open and realized I had no idea how long I had remained outside. "The police came last night."
She shifted toward the edge of the bed. "Of course they did. I called them. You were making a horrible racket."
After getting up, she studied her reflection in the speckled mirror above my pine dresser. "I'm not stopping traffic this morning," she said. "Good thing it's hours before Franklin comes." She looked my way. "You're not exactly Prince Charming either. Give me five minutes and then stir yourself." She hesitated. "I've decided to tell you what I remember, but you've got to get up. I'm preparing a big dinner and we'd better whip this house into shape."
The goose lay on the cutting board. My mother whacked off the head with a heavy butcher's knife, then chopped the wings just below the elbows. After dropping the pieces in the garbage can, she made a face. "Who wants to look at those eyes."
Shivering, I sat at the kitchen table, glad the oven was on preheat, the room warm. She rubbed the insides of the goose with lemon juice and salt. Taking a sharp paring knife, she pricked the skin on the breast and thighs in several places. "This allows the excess fat to run out," she explained. "Although maybe the shot holes already do that."
She rinsed her hands, then wiped them on the towel and sat opposite me. "Ready?" she asked. When I nodded, she said, "Here goes. It seems like a movie, not like anything that really happened."
I nodded. The past twenty-four hours felt like that.
"Your father was a wonderful man—considerate and sweet. There wasn't a mean bone in his body." She fussed with the shoulder straps on her apron. "But he worried so. Fretted and stewed. Blew things out of proportion." She paused. "I've never said an unkind thing about him. I've always held him up as a role model, but you wanted to know."
I nodded. "What kinds of things did he blow out of proportion?"
"The store, his father's illness, you—how to support the family." She counted each item on her fingers. "We were doing okay. Sometimes his worry ruined our good times. I remember the year after you were born, we went to the beach. It was a fabulous day. The sun was so warm, no wind, and we fed the seagulls stale bread. One took a piece from your tiny hand. Later you laughed and laughed as we held you in the waves." Her eyes shone, remembering. "But even then, as I watched your father in a quiet moment, he seemed troubled. When I asked, he only said, 'I wish the good times could last.'" She slapped both hands against her thighs. "Well, that's exactly how he could be."
She stood and returned to the goose, filling the cavity with chopped onions, apples, and celery. "Franklin doesn't like carrots in the stuffing." After placing the extra dressing into a bowl, she continued. "Your father's moods made things difficult at times. He gave me the sense things were so ... transient. You
see, it wasn't fair. I had you, I was young. It should have been the happiest time of my life."
I didn't know how to respond.
"Even when your grandfather died, although God knows it was a blessing, Dave mooned around for months. Jake just said, 'No clock keeps ticking forever. The old man had a pretty fair run.'"
She skewered the goose's legs and placed it on a roasting pan, breast side down. Measuring a cup of white wine, she took a couple sips, then poured half the rest on the goose. "Jake was always too confident. One time when your father was really blue, I went to see Jake." She refilled the measuring cup and had some more wine. "You know what I mean."
I didn't answer.
"Maybe it lasted three months. Of course it was a mistake, but I can't change it. We broke off right before that trip to the Barn Hole. God, but I felt wretched about everything. I never went fishing with them again." Turning to face me, she said, "I'm so terribly sorry it ever came up. The important thing as I see it is not to dwell on the past."
"But they fought about it, don't you see? Dad went into the rapids alone and drowned."
A veil seemed to hide her eyes. "I regret that. Don't think it hasn't been tough without him. But I'm not taking the responsibility. He and Jake had no business on the river that spring, especially your father. He had a child, a family..." She dropped her hands into her lap. "Well, I'm sure Jake goaded him into it." She drew a breath. "I just can't believe Jake lied about the accident all these years."
"He was keeping you out of it, trying to make you feel better."
Her laugh was harsh. "That sounds so noble. Don't forget, he was keeping himself out of it. When it comes to Jake, you're still wearing blinders. It was all self-interest."
I stood, moving to the back door and staring out its small window at the garbage can mounded with snow. Overwhelmed and confused, I had wanted to hear the truth, but believed I had made things worse now. The cruelest notion was that once I had dreamed Jake and my mother would get together. Learning they already had was a bitter pill.
29
PIECES OF BURNED GOOSE lay scattered across Jake's backyard along with a blackened roasting pan and some burned carrots and onions. A cat had dragged part of the goose over by the woodpile and was chewing on a wing. Blackbirds picked at some fat scraps in the pan and scattered across the yard. Jake's rig was out front but he wasn't answering the door. I took the spare key off the tree limb and unlocked the back door.
Inside, the kitchen smelled like burned goose; dishes cluttered the table and sink. From beyond the kitchen came another smell—the rich odor of smoking tobacco.
Hunting and fishing gear were spread all across the front room. Jake had taken apart several reels and rifles for cleaning. But now he was sitting in the big armchair looking at photograph albums. A bottle of Seagram's Seven Crown whiskey and a tumbler filled with ice cubes were on a TV tray beside the couch. The tumbler featured a leaping deer.
"Did you help yourself to some goose, nephew?" His grin was a little crooked.
"What happened? It's a disaster out back. I thought you were taking that goose to Juniper's."
He shrugged. "The oven went kaput. Or maybe the recipe was lousy. Naw, I just fell asleep. Woke up to a houseful of smoke and pitched the whole mess out back."
"What about Juniper?"
"We ate at the lodge. Orange pheasant in a clay pot. Delicious but damn slow service. No one wants to work Thanksgiving. How about you? The holiday go okay?"
"We got through it," I said. "Franklin was all right. They're off shopping now. The day after Thanksgiving all the Christmas sales start." Jake hadn't opened the sporting goods store and I wanted to find out why. "You know, Franklin's real decent to Mom."
"Well, she deserves it." He lifted his tumbler. "Bully for him."
"If you want to know the truth, she and I talked about a lot of things before he came over."
Jake squinted. "What kind of things?"
"She told me what happened, you know, between you and her."
"Well, bully for her, too." Jake poured a little more of the Seagram's into the tumbler. "She's always had pluck. I'll give her that." He nodded toward the kitchen. "You want a drink?"
"Not exactly." But after a minute, I went into the kitchen and got a tumbler full of ice and a Pepsi, then returned to the front room. "I just want to know why," I said after sitting down. "How could you do such a thing to your own brother?"
Jake frowned at his glass. "That's the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, isn't it? Answer it right and you come out of the isolation booth. Don't think I haven't asked myself that one a lot over the years. I think I've got it, more or less."
"Shoot. I'm listening."
He leaned forward. "I wanted Juniper in those days, but things couldn't work right between us. Times were different, between whites and Indians, I mean. She decided to head for Albuquerque, get involved in the art game down there. Maybe she wanted some distance, too." He set the glass on the table and clasped his hands. "Things went bust, like I say, and to tell the truth, I guess I got jealous. Dave had your mother. He had you. Still, he went around like a dark cloud spoiling a picnic."
Jake spread his hands. "So after Juniper left, I felt pretty lousy, mean-spirited, got to feeling sorry for myself. One day when Dave was being a real pissant, I saw this look in your mother's eyes. And I took advantage." He paused. "Maybe it went on a couple months. That's the whole sordid story, fella. The rest you know."
"No, I don't. How did he figure it out?"
Jake's voice seemed far away. "I always thought she told him."
I shook my head. "She didn't want to hurt him."
Jake shrugged. "Maybe he guessed."
Taking an ice cube into my mouth, I held it until the numbness spread. I felt as cold as my father lying on the river bottom. "Anyway, Juniper's back now. But my dad's not coming back."
"No, he isn't." Jake spoke quietly. "And she's heading south right after Christmas."
I was surprised but didn't say anything.
"Something about the Havasupais. People of the blue-green water. Petroglyphs, moonflowers. Waterfalls and deep pools. She plans to paint the whole shebang. But painting's not the only reason. There's a division between us again."
"What's that?"
"She's upset about this business with Kalim. Claims I'm holding something back. Billyum, too. She doesn't trust anybody." He laughed and it was bitter. "Hell, I'd do about anything for that woman. But you can't spill out everything that's in your guts. Nobody can take it."
"Do you blame her for not trusting you?" My words struck a blow and it felt good.
He took a drink and I heard his teeth break ice. "No."
"Meeks and Chilcoat aren't coming back either," I said.
He eyed me. "No," he said, "I don't believe they are."
"The way Grady keeps nosing around, I wonder if you know anything about that."
"Not really. I know one advantage of living in a small town is that wise guys have lots of opportunities to kill themselves. Driving drunk. Shooting each other over women. Hunting when they're liquored up. One thing I've got to admit, those boys chose unusual circumstances." He took a picture from the book in front of him. "Strange accidents happen. Come look at this."
I didn't move. I felt as cold as I had during summer in the icehouse, sitting on large blocks of ice until my spine numbed. "I don't feel sorry for you," I said. "All your life, you've done exactly what you wanted." I leaned forward.
"Maybe you're mad, got your dander up," he said. "Think you want to punch somebody?"
I straightened a little. "Last night I did. Today, I don't care. Maybe tomorrow I'll feel like slugging something."
"Hang a punching bag in the back of the store. Work out."
"I'm not going to be around the store much anymore." Flat gray ice was in my voice. "I thought with Christmas coming up, you better schedule Jed for more hours."
"I can do that," Jake said. "Suit yourself."
Le
aning back, still holding the picture, he closed his eyes, and his deep breathing indicated he had dozed. I sat, drinking my Pepsi. I couldn't tell why I was hanging around. I knew things would never be the same between us, but I couldn't bring myself to leave yet. Riley was right, I decided. I was too soft.
"Stop!" Jake's body flinched and his eyes flew open. "Thought I smelled smoke!" After a minute he settled down. "Hell, I did smell smoke. Burned goose and Prince Albert."
"Did you start smoking the pipe?" I asked. It lay beside the chair in the ashtray.
"I'll have a pipe or two during the holidays," Jake said. "The old man always smoked Prince Albert. He'd sit in the chair, just like I'm doing, and read the Gazette, making sure all his work came out okay.
"After hunting season, Dave and I spread our gear across the living room for cleaning and inspection. The old man didn't inspect too carefully since he didn't want to leave the chair, but he was pretty good at giving orders. 'Clean this. Oil that. Keep your equipment in top shape boys. Take care of it and it'll take care of you.'
"Mom gave us two days to mess up the front room. After that we packed away our gear. Even though it was before Christmas, the old man usually had a present to add to our supplies. Oversized goose decoys one year since we could still hunt geese until late January. Hand warmers. Thermal socks. The front room smelled of banana oil, Huberd's shoe grease, silicone, Gun-Blu for the barrel knicks. And the old man's pipe tobacco. Whenever I smell that tobacco, I still think about those good times."
He flipped through one of the photo albums. "So I lit the pipe to get rid of that awful burned-goose smell. I tried opening the doors for an hour, but it was too damn cold."
I closed my eyes a moment and tried to think of my father, Jake, and the old man checking over the equipment. But all I could see was my uncle and father fighting on the shore, then my father going through the rapids by himself. "I think I better head out," I said.
