Trickster Drift

by Eden Robinson

  “Hel-lo,” Mave sing-songed as she walked in. “Someone forgot to close the door— Oh, my God.”

  She dropped her bag and put her hands to her heart.

  “Mave?” Jared said.

  She was still for so long he thought she was having a heart attack. Jared put his plate down and shoved his hands in his pockets. “They were just lying there,” he said.

  Mave came over, wrapped her arms around him and rocked them both. “It’s exactly the way I pictured it. Exactly. It’s like you read my mind.”

  “Okay. Glad you like it,” he said. The hug went on and on until he finally said, “I’m really uncomfortable right now.”

  Mave was giving him quick, light pecks all over his face when all the guys came back. They chorused, “Aw.”

  She stepped back, holding on to his hand, while she wiped her nose with the back of her other one. “Isn’t he sweet?”

  “Vancouver is a high-risk earthquake zone,” Hank said. “We need to brace the bookcases.”

  “Yes,” Pat said, “because when the big one hits, we’ll all be concerned about Aunt Mave’s bookcases.”

  “They could fall on her,” Hank said.

  “Hank, we’ll be busy drowning in the Pacific.”

  But Hank went back to his place for his stud finder and a stepladder. Mave retrieved her good knives and carved the roast, while the Starr brothers rummaged through the fridge for drinks, shoving each other. Mave reached over them and closed the fridge door. Kota went for seconds, hopping up to sit on the counter, holding his plate close to his mouth and shovelling the food in. Hank returned, and Jared offered to do the measurements for the braces, but both Mave and Hank ignored him. Hank set up his stepladder and began pencilling in stud locations while Mave dusted and cheerfully ordered and reordered her piles of books. The ghost emerged from the wall. He walked over to the TV and sighed. He looked longingly at the recliner. Jared loosened the drill chuck and was going to put in a bit when Hank stepped in front of him and put his hand out.

  “That’s okay,” Jared said. “I got it.”

  “You were standing there staring at nothing,” Hank said. “I think you’re done.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Oh, Jelly Bean, give him the drill,” Mave said.

  “But—”

  “Go eat,” Hank said, taking the drill from him.

  “Mmm,” Pat mumbled through a full mouth. “You’re going to make someone a damn fine househusband, Jelly B.”

  “Up yours,” Jared said.

  “Chew with your mouth closed, Patrick,” Hank said.

  “You aren’t the boss of me,” Pat said.

  Hank lowered his head and gave Pat a flared-nostril squint, his enraged-bull-about-to-charge look. The brothers subsided until Hank turned back to the bookshelves. Then they rolled their eyes in unison. Kota grinned.

  “Inconsiderate Neanderthals,” the ghost said, popping like a grumpy soap bubble.

  After they’d demolished the pot roast, the guys hinted loudly that they’d like dessert, but Mave only had leftover ice cream cake from Princess’s birthday party. Hank braced the bookcases, lined up the shelves and then forced the other guys to drag the recyclables to his car. After they did that, the guys retreated to Hank’s place without Hank. Soon gaming sounds were coming through the living room wall.

  Hank and Mave didn’t seem bothered by the noise. They decided that, rather than simply going alphabetical or Dewey Decimal, they’d use a sliding scale of book usage based on Mave’s height: the middle shelves would be reserved for her most current research and favourite authors; the lower shelves for resource material, which tended to be heavier and oversized; and, finally, the upper shelves could house light reading. Each shelf would then be alphabetical, by author’s last name. It sounded complicated. Jared suggested that they put everything onto the shelves and deal with it later. Hank and Mavis both paused to consider him, then exchanged a look.

  As they sorted through the piles of books, they had a weird shorthand Jared couldn’t break:

  “So?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Better.”

  Mave wrapped Jared in another hug and told him to go to bed. Please. Jared sat down, annoyed, and was trying to form enough words to tell her off when he realized he was face down in the couch. He felt Mave tuck a blanket around his legs. Or at least he assumed it was Mave; Hank didn’t seem like the blanket-tucking type.

  Jared drifted, comfortable but too wired to fall completely asleep. The stacks of books on the floor slowly migrated to the bookshelves, and after a gap in time Mave vacuumed some expensive-looking rugs that had been hidden beneath the stacks.

  When she was done, Mave nudged Jared awake. She put a throw pillow under his head and then perched on the arm of the couch. Hank brought Mave a glass of red wine. Their conversation turned to politics and what they thought of the recent fracture in the Assembly of First Nations and who they thought had the best chance of bringing the organization back together. Jared thought about going to bed, but he was too tired to move.

  “All your base are belong to us!” Sponge roared the victory chant of Zero Wing, a throwback to the ancient nineties, followed by boos from his brother and Kota.

  “Shut it down!” Hank yelled.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” they chorused.

  “Idiots,” Hank said, getting up. “I should get Heckle and Jeckle to put their junk food away or they’ll be covered in flies by morning. Night, Aunt Mave.”

  “Night, Henry-kins.”

  Hank stomped down the hallway and out the door. Mave gave Jared’s shoulder a shake.

  “Hey, Jelly Bean,” Mave said.

  “Hmm,” he said.

  “Thank you for putting my bookcases together.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Sweet dreams.”

  He heard her rummaging around the bathroom and then he heard a bang. His eyes opened. A part of the floor slithered. The apartment lights were off and he couldn’t hear his aunt anymore. He sat up, groggily wondering how long he’d been asleep. The sky had a faint pearl-grey shimmer where it met the mountains, but it was still summer, so that could mean it was late or early. In the corner of the room, in the darkness, he felt something watching him.

  That’s paranoia, he told himself.

  He lifted his feet off the floor, feeling silly doing it but doing it anyway, tucking his legs under him on the couch.

  Maybe I’m dreaming, he thought.

  As his eyes adjusted, he thought he could make out a figure crouching in the corner, a slightly darker shadow that shifted, studying him the way he was studying it.

  A bang at the front window drew his attention. His eyes slid off what they saw. On the other side of the pane, a face, a crazy-ass bodiless face with twisted lips and boggled, excited eyes, flew loopy dips and zipped up and sideways like a hummingbird. Jared decided that he was stuck in a weird dream, even as the head banged itself against the window some more.

  Jared stood, and the head paused, hovering, and then dropped sharply out of sight. He walked to the window and looked down, expecting to see it splattered on the concrete deck below. The head peered up at him, shyly rising like a balloon until they were eye to eye. It was the size of anyone’s head, a normal adult, but its features were warped into a grimace on one side and a goofy smile on the other. It had dark-red skin and green lips. If it had wings, they were moving too fast for him to see.

  “Hey,” Jared said.

  The head bobbled back and forth, like it was waving “hi” back.

  So. This is what it felt like to go insane. Surprisingly comfortable. Other than feeling like he was being watched. The head plunged and banged at the bottom corner of the window, like it wanted to get in.

  From the corner of his eye, Jared saw the shadow of a man crawl into the wall. His mouth went dry. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck went stiff and his heart hammered in his chest.

  I can hear you,
a familiar voice said inside his head.

  His biological father, Wee’git, the Trickster, who hadn’t spoken to him since the incident at the cave with the otters. Sure, that time Wee’git had saved his life. But before that, he’d also discovered, Wee’git had been a witness to every shitty moment in Jared’s life and had not lifted so much as a feather to help. Jared swallowed. Stay out of my head.

  Listen, you giant headache—you’re somewhere in East Van. You’re frightened and you’re broadcasting feedback screams on all frequencies. Way to call attention to yourself. See if I save your ungrateful ass again when something dangerous comes to eat you.

  Jared retreated to his bedroom and turned the lights on. He sat on the bed, breathing deeply and slowly. The flying head peeked in, pressing its lips against the glass and blowing out its cheeks. The floating heads painted on the walls started tumbling in the painted fog, rolling themselves up and down, flying through the painted city on the floor and billowing fog across the ceiling. Jared burst into laughter, part hysterical, part surprised. He lay down, watching the heads float like mutant goldfish. When the one outside the window dropped out of sight, the painted heads snapped back into place, frozen and quiet. The solar system revolved around the light fixture, creaking rustily.

  I am so cleansing this apartment, Jared thought. Even the dust mites are going to choke on smudge smoke.

  17

  Thankfully, the heat wave broke as rain came down in buckets all night and into the morning, making Mave’s offer to scooter him to campus null and void. Jared SkyTrained, then caught the 130 bus to BCIT. He hung on to a pole as the bus rounded a corner. He kept an eye on traffic through the window at the back of the bus, but no silver Lexus trailed them. At the next stop, a black jaguar slid up the steps and brushed Jared’s leg as it passed by. The jaguar wore a collar of hammered gold coins that matched its golden eyes. It took a space by the back doors and looked up at the advertisements. No one seemed especially disturbed by the jungle cat, and Jared had decided to ignore the supernatural creatures that ignored him. Pick your battles. Live and let live.

  After he arrived on campus, he found his building and sat in the back of the classroom. He set up his laptop, got his textbook ready, and rummaged through his pack for his notepad and pen. While he was waiting, he wrote Granny Nita. He’d meant to do it earlier:

  Dear Granny Nita,

  Hi from Vancouver. Hope you’re okay and your case is going well. I’m sitting in my first class as I write this. Things didn’t work out with my friend, so I’m staying with Mave until I find my own place. Wee’git’s in Van somewhere. Any tips?

  Bye, Jared.

  He scrolled through his phone.

  God has a really twisted sense of humour, Crashpad texted along with a selfie of himself with a girl in French braids and a sweater vest from his home-school study group. They smiled, making their fingers into peace signs.

  Hey, Sonny, his mom had texted him earlier. Richiez having family drama. Thinking of a road trip.

  While Jared was texting his mom and Crashpad back, fellow students filed into the class and sat in clumps avoiding the front row of seats. Jared was not about to tell his mom and Crashpad about the ghostapalooza at Mave’s place. Crashpad would think he was nuts and his mom would grind on about how she’d warned him he’d need to learn protection spells.

  A Native guy sat down in the seat one over. He wore an oversized baseball cap and put his feet up on the chair in front of him. He had long, wavy hair and a T-shirt with a picture of a beaded breastplate. “Are you nish? Anishnabe?”

  “Excuse me?” Jared said.

  “Are you a skin?”

  “What?”

  “Pfft,” the guy said. “Don’t even know what you are, man.”

  “He’s asking if you’re First Nations,” a bleached-blond chick said from the seat in front of Long Hair, not looking up from her cell. She was chubby and had ink from her wrists to her neck and across her chest. Tattooed angel wings sprouted from her shoulder blades.

  “Oh,” Jared said. “Heiltsuk.”

  “I don’t know that one,” the guy said.

  “Island in BC, doorknob,” the chubby blonde explained. “I’m Tahltan,” she said to Jared. “Evan here is from Winnipeg.”

  “North Eeeeeend.”

  “Please,” Tahltan said. “Your dad’s a chiropractor. You’re about as ’hood as me.”

  “Jared,” Jared said.

  “Evan.”

  “Rayne,” Tahltan said. “Not the fucking weather; not the fucking queen. R-a-y-n-e.”

  “Okay,” Jared said.

  “Don’t mind her,” Evan said. “She on the rag.”

  “By your fucked-up attitude, you’re always on the rag,” Rayne said.

  “Pfft.”

  “Well, hi,” Jared said.

  “This is bullshit,” Rayne said. “I got a B-plus and I still have to retake this shitty course.”

  “I scraped by with a C,” Jared admitted.

  “First-timer,” Evan said. “Biology virgin.”

  “Ev, you’re gross.”

  “Heh, heh,” Evan said.

  “I take it you guys know each other,” Jared said.

  “Not on purpose,” Rayne said.

  Struan Moore wandered into class in a blazer and jeans, putting his briefcase on the large desk at the front of the room. He’d tamed his hair by cutting it very short. He printed his name on the dry-erase board, scanned the class and gave Jared a wave. Rayne turned to study him. Evan put his feet down.

  “Welcome,” Struan said. “I’m your professor, Struan Moore. Call me Struan. Professor Moore is my mother.”

  No one laughed.

  “Tough crowd,” Struan said. “Let’s get started, shall we? This is your syllabus. Jared, can you help me pass these around, please?”

  Rayne and Evan side-eyed him as he walked down to the front and took the stack of papers from Struan, who gave him a wide, happy smile. Jared shrugged and said hey. Evan made a kissy face when he handed him a syllabus.

  “Suck-up,” Rayne muttered.

  Awesome, Jared thought.

  Instead of roll call, Struan asked if they could all introduce themselves. Jared mumbled his name and nation and figured he was done.

  “And his aunt is Mavis Moody!” Struan added. “The poet! She wrote Landscape Porn. Has anyone read it? Anyone? Well, it’s life-changing. It’s amazing. You have to read it. I could sit here all day and talk about it, but I’ll let Jared fill you in if you want to know more.”

  Jared felt himself turning violently red.

  At the break, Struan came up the aisle and sat on Jared’s desk. “Hey, buddy. How are you?”

  “Good,” Jared said.

  “How’s your aunt?”

  “She’s good.”

  “Did she mention me?”

  “Dude,” Jared said, “I’m, this is, um…”

  “I’m being that guy, aren’t I?”

  “You know…I mean…no.”

  “She said she had a great time, but she hasn’t returned any of my calls. Or texts. Or e-mails. Sorry, sorry. I’m not trying to put you in the middle.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Well.”

  “I’m going to hit the head,” Jared said.

  “You do that,” Struan said.

  In the bathroom, Jared leaned against the counter, googled the course lists on his phone to check if there were any other biology sections open. He put his name on a wait-list. He sighed, checked the time and then went back to class. Struan kept trying to make eye contact through the lecture. Jared buried his head in his laptop.

  Struan waited for him at the end of the class, rocking on his heels as the other students filed out. Jared packed everything into his backpack slowly, deliberately. He glanced up. Struan smiled a tight smile.

  “See you next week,” Struan said.

  “Later,” Jared said.

  Rayne and Evan were smoking at the bus stop. They stoppe
d talking to watch Jared approach. He could feel the dirty looks sticking to him. Fortunately, they caught a different bus. He hunched into his hoodie. He’d expected the good weather to hold and hadn’t brought a decent rain jacket. First things first, he thought. Let’s hop off the crazy train.

  * * *

  —

  He bought loose-leaf tobacco from a place on Oak Street and then took a bus out to the University of British Columbia. He guessed the parks around there wouldn’t be as busy as downtown Stanley Park, so he’d have some privacy. He followed the map on his phone app to one that promised it had old cedars.

  Jared was going to hit up the first random tree he came across. He found himself on a trail. Rain dripped through the treetops. An occasional jogger brushed past him. Birds moved in the underbrush. He hitched his backpack farther up his shoulder. The trail was so wet it squished under his feet.

  His hoodie was soon soaked, and he was chilled but not freezing. He wasn’t drawn to any tree in particular. He didn’t hear voices. No finger poked through the clouds and guided him.

  Some dudes in rain jackets passed him, carrying a couple of cases each of beer. Jared turned onto a path with signs that pointed to Wreck Beach. Near some stairs that went down endlessly, an old, old red cedar shimmered. The dudes had passed the tree without reacting, so he knew he was the only one who could see it, and he had never seen anything like it.

  The tree didn’t speak to him, though, and he was grateful for that. The weirdness level was high enough with the cedar being there and not there. As magically ignorant as he was, he knew that this was where he had to get his branches. He let his backpack slide off his arm. He brought the tobacco out and laid it down, introducing himself and making an offering. Normally, he would have felt silly explaining his ghost problems to a tree, but here, with this tree, he knew it was the thing to do, and so he did. When he’d finished, he went home and again he smudged, this time with the help of the ancient cedar.

  * * *

  —

  Mave made grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for dinner. They ate at the dining table, ignoring each other.