Legends of the North Cascades

by Jonathan Evison

  “But it’s not. It’s their story. I don’t even hardly understand what half of it means. I don’t know where it comes from.”

  “The same with the Green Guy,” said Hannah B. “I’m the only one who sees him. My brother makes fun of me for it, so I don’t even try to explain him to anyone anymore.”

  “Maybe I could see him,” said Bella. “I could come to your house.”

  “My dad doesn’t really let me have friends over,” said Hannah B.

  “I get it,” said Bella. “I don’t really wanna have friends over to my house.”

  When Bella first came to live with Auntie Kris and Uncle Travers, she was excited to be near Cousin Bonnie, but somehow their relationship wasn’t the same as it used to be. Cousin Bonnie went to third grade at the Seven Acres School, which was private, and must have cost a lot of money, because Bella overheard Uncle Travers complaining about it to Auntie Kris.

  “That’s two car payments,” he said.

  “Really, Travers?” she said. “Is that how you quantify your daughter’s education? My God, who are you anymore?”

  “Well, it’s not exactly fair to Bella.”

  “Bella’s not your daughter,” she said.

  Bella barely saw Bonnie at breakfast, since Bella had to leave early for the bus. Then she didn’t see Bonnie again until right before dinner, because most days Bonnie had violin lessons or ballet lessons or a playdate. The weekends were when she spent the most time with her cousin, who, unlike Hannah B, didn’t care much about stories. Bonnie wasn’t very abstract. She liked things she could touch. She liked activities. Bonnie liked to arrange her hair in different ways, and line up all her shoes, and ask Bella which ones she liked best.

  “Those ones, I guess,” Bella said.

  “Ew,” said Bonnie. “Nana bought me those. They look like something a waitress at Dale’s would wear. Why would you pick those?”

  “I dunno,” said Bella. “Because you could walk far in them, I guess.”

  “That’s not a very good reason,” Bonnie said.

  All in all, life at Auntie Kris and Uncle Travers’ was pretty good. But Bella missed the cats, and she especially missed her dad, the way she had his undivided attention at dinner, and at night by the fire. The way he patiently explained things, and rarely got annoyed with her questions, like Auntie Kris and Uncle Travers and even Nana sometimes did.

  In bed, the night Miss Martine emailed Uncle Travers and Auntie Kris about Bella’s frequent daydreaming in class, she heard Uncle Travers and Auntie Kris talking across the hall in their bedroom.

  “Well, what if he doesn’t come back down?” said Auntie Kris. “We can’t keep her forever. What about your mom?”

  “Kris, you need to be patient with this. This is my niece we’re talking about. We’re in a position to help, and that’s what we’re going to do, for as long as it takes. We agreed on that from the beginning.”

  “Well, I hope he comes down soon. I think it’s hard on Bonnie.”

  “On Bonnie? How the heck is it hard on Bonnie? She gets a companion out of the deal.”

  “If you haven’t noticed, they don’t have much in common, Trav.”

  “They’re cousins,” he said. “What else do they need in common—they’re family.”

  “You read the email,” said Auntie Kris. “Bella’s teacher says she disassociates. There’s some kind of deficit. She doesn’t have many friends, Trav. So why does Bonnie have to be her only friend? That’s an unfair burden to put on an eight-year-old, don’t you think?”

  “Bonnie can handle it,” said Uncle Travers. “It builds character.”

  S’tka

  For two days and three nights, S’tka ministered to U’ku’let, cleansing his wounds, icing the ugly gash on his head, feeding him what food and water he could hold down. Despite the cold, his body was burning up. He was easily confused, and hardly spoke at all when not addressed. It was like M’ka’ta’s son, Tay, who was kicked by a bison calf and was never the same. Too feeble to hunt, too stupid to launder hides, Tay could not even be trusted to mind the children. If this should be the fate of her husband, they’d both be better off dead. S’tka could little afford two children without a helper.

  Yes, a second child was growing inside of her. She knew it from the second it happened, and she was as powerless now as she was then to stop it.

  Upon the fourth day of his convalescence, U’ku’let was finally holding down his food, and beginning to speak a bit more. His thoughts remained jumbled and confused, and he complained of a crushing headache. Still, there was much reason to hope: he was clearly more alert to his surroundings than he had been three days ago. And suddenly he was an emotional creature, sometimes crying for no discernible reason.

  On the fifth day, S’tka trusted an improving U’ku’let to hold the baby, and the connection seemed to do wonders for his health.

  “N’ka, my son, someday a great hunter,” he said, gently pinching a cheek. “Isn’t that right, eh? Isn’t that right?”

  Coaxing a smile out of the infant, U’ku’let smiled in turn, though the very act seemed to cause him pain.

  “I pity the band of marauders that would ever cross N’ka, the great hunter, N’ka the great chief, eh? Isn’t that right, boy? The great N’ka would strike them down with the sound of his voice.”

  By the fifth night, things had almost returned to normal except for the intermittent headaches. The wound was beginning to grow new skin at the ragged edges, the old skin beginning to flake off. The center of the wound remained pink and inflamed, but no longer stunk.

  Laying atop their few remaining furs at night, the baby sound asleep beside them, S’tka snuggled in close to U’ku’let for warmth, resting her head in the crook of his arm, and looking up at his face in the darkness.

  The shadows hid his harelip and strengthened his chin somehow. And even if the shadows weren’t enhancing the effect, S’tka saw him as handsome and courageous, loyal and capable. How did it happen that they ended up together? How could she not have seen this union coming? How could she have never felt the force of U’ku’let’s intention? How could she have been surprised by his defense, his willingness to be cast out with her? Had she never filched that damn femur bone, fate might never have forced U’ku’let’s hand, and she would not be lying beside him right now.

  “You belong to me,” she whispered. “I’m glad you are okay.”

  “Aye,” he said.

  “I’m sorry they hurt you.”

  “Bah. Next time I’ll be prepared,” he said.

  “Let’s hope there is no next time.”

  “Next time, we’ll be prepared.”

  She clutched his arm tighter. “Goodnight,” she said.

  “Goodnight.”

  In the pale glow of the coals, S’tka watched him sleep, relieved that he was on the mend, but worried still about a future. What if he was not the man he was previously? She’d yet to see him walk. What if his spirit was broken along with his head? What if the marauders did come back? Or another band of savages happened along their path? Suddenly, at less than full strength, they were so vulnerable. How were they to protect N’ka until such time as he became the great hunter his father predicted?

  U’ku’let snored fitfully now. S’tka continued to grasp his arm tight against her chest.

  In the morning, when S’tka awakened, U’ku’let was cold beside her, his brown eyes wide open as if death had come as a surprise. His final repose was a toothsome rictus that made him look like a half-wit.

  “Ahhheeeeeeeooooo,” she groaned.

  The baby awakened now, demanding nourishment. So desperate and onerous were his little cries that S’tka was forced to nurse him there beside her dead husband, his terrible grinning countenance staring right at her from beyond the veil.

  U’ku’let

  In his dream, U’ku’let lopes through a field of mountain grass, grass green to the waist, and free of ice; grass un-trampled, grass warmed by the sun. The ground is
unimaginably soft beneath his feet, softer than the shaggiest hide. He feels his heart pulsing in his naked feet, as though up through the soil from the center of the world. He feels it beating double-time in his toes.

  This is what it means to have your feet on the ground.

  There is no ice in U’ku’let’s dream, no ice anywhere. No snow, no blistering wind, no dank caves swirling with smoke and dust, no baying beasts crouching in wait, and licking their chops beyond the shadows. There are no shadows, no constant hectoring from the unforeseen. The world of U’ku’let’s dream is a world of light.

  Before him he sees N’ka, his son, the great hunter, skin bronzed in the sunlight, joyously leading the charge of men.

  What charge, U’ku’let does not know. He only knows that they will follow N’ka to the ends of the earth.

  In his dream, U’ku’let finally sees the grand design of the Great Provider, and he laughs and laughs and laughs as he bounds through the high grass. Along with the flora and the fauna, the mountains and the ice, the Great Provider gave him an idea, beautiful, malleable, and ultimately indestructible: the idea of belief.

  Castoffs

  Judy could hear the clatter of Travers’ diesel engine halfway down Cascade Lane. Standing at the kitchen window, she watched the big black pickup pull up the drive. Travers hopped out, leaving the motor running.

  Never any time to visit, either one of her boys. Never mind that Dave was at large in the wilderness, dead for all Judy knew. Travers was less than two miles away, but there was always a contractor to meet, a parcel of land to appraise. Thank God for her granddaughters.

  Judy watched Bella clamber down out of the cab with her sad little backpack full of colored markers and books, and hopefully a sweatshirt.

  “Where’s Bonnie?” said Judy, greeting them at the door.

  “Playdate,” said Uncle Travers. “Then she’s got a recital in the afternoon.”

  “Well, then,” Judy said to Bella, with a pat on the head. “We’ll have our own playdate.”

  “Okay, then,” said Uncle Travers, mussing Bella’s hair. “I’ll see you tonight, sweetie.”

  “Bye,” said Bella.

  “I like your shoes,” said Judy, as Travers hopped in his truck.

  “You got them for Bonnie,” said Bella. “They’re a little too big, but I like them anyways. They build character.”

  The poor thing, Judy thought. Look at her, living off Bonnie’s castoffs. And so plain-looking next to Bonnie, with that staticky hair, and those thin lips, and sad eyes. But Bonnie didn’t have half of Bella’s personality. How could she? Everything came easy for Bonnie. Bonnie’s whole path was laid out for her. You could hardly blame the girl for taking certain things for granted; Kris and Travers had practically taught her to expect the world. Meanwhile, motherless Bella scraped and scrambled up the crumbling hillside of a life she never asked to climb, never complaining, never demanding, never expectant. Judy knew it was wrong to play favorites with her granddaughters, but she couldn’t help but favor Bella, her little underdog.

  “Would you like to go to the farmers’ market?”

  “I’d rather stay here,” said Bella. “We could play Life.”

  Judy did her best to suppress a sigh. Whoever said life was short never played the board game; the ceaseless doling out of money, and all those cards, and bonus spins, and those elusive little pink and blue pegs, forever finding their way onto the floor to frustrate her vacuum cleaner.

  “Okay, honey, we can play Life,” said Judy.

  “We don’t have to,” said Bella. “We could just do nothing.”

  “Honey, we’ll play Life; that sounds like a great idea.”

  “It’s kind of long, actually,” said Bella. “We can do whatever you want, Nana.”

  Always submitting, the dear girl. Never wanting to inconvenience anyone. It was heartbreaking to watch a child bear the brunt of life’s disappointments, when she could control so few of them.

  “Whatever you want, sweetheart,” said Judy. “You get to choose today. Nana is game for anything.”

  “Anything?”

  “Within reason, darling. Nana has limited resources.”

  “Can we hike up and see Daddy?”

  It’s like somebody kicked Judy right in the heart.

  “No, honey, we can’t do that,” she said.

  “Please?” said Bella.

  Judy bent down and wrapped Bella in a hug. The child squeezed her so tight that it just about took Judy’s breath away, as she felt the girl’s desperate little sobs muffled against her chest.

  And damned if Judy didn’t start crying, too.

  Untethered

  Not a single day went by that Dave didn’t contemplate returning to town, if only to visit Bella for a few precious hours. Hardly an hour passed that he didn’t think of her. Really, why didn’t he go get her and bring her back? Was this really his plan unconsciously all along? Twice he started down the trail to get her back, once proceeding as far as the foot of the canyon, only to turn back. He couldn’t stay in town, and he couldn’t bring Bella back, so he stayed on the mountain. Probably better for her in the long run that way.

  Dave kept himself busy to fight off the loneliness, and ward off his demons. As usual, there was plenty to keep him busy. The Chinook were plentiful, and the last of the wild berries were still ripe. Soon there would be venison in the little smokehouse. Thus he had no need of provisions. And though he felt the call of the outside world at times, though he sometimes yearned for connection, for company, if only silent, for another human presence, he continued to exist in isolation.

  God, how he missed Bella’s tireless curiosity, how he longed for the melody of her sweet little voice, and for her living warmth and curiosity. If only to field her endless litany of ice age questions around the fire, to correct her grammar, or to hear her read anything aloud to him. And selfishly, too, Dave yearned for the focus and purpose Bella had once provided him.

  Without Bella, Dave came untethered from the world. Often in his isolation, his mind wandered, usually into the past. Knee-deep in the river, dancing his fishing fly reflexively on the surface of the water, Dave thought of his wedding day, the fullest and happiest day of his life by a wide margin, a single afternoon that seemed to undo all the damage he suffered his first tour in Iraq. What a day, what hope! What a glorious and fulfilling future that day portended.

  Travers, his mom, Barlow, Coach Prentice, nearly all his old teammates and boosters, practically all of Vigilante Falls was there at the Valley Foursquare Church to hear Dave and Nadene’s vows. It was like all the people in their lives were witnesses, like Nadene and Dave were making their vows not just to each other, but to the whole community. And it felt, too, like in hearing those vows, the community was acknowledging their commitment to Nadene and Dave, vowing to help them, and protect them, and support them in sickness and in health. On their wedding day, it was like the community was absorbing Dave and Nadene, and their hopes, and dreams, and fears all became part of the fabric of the community.

  We’re so excited for you, they said.

  You were made for each other, they told them.

  When can we expect those little ones (wink wink)?

  Now, when you get ready for some life insurance . . .

  When you’re ready to buy a house . . .

  If you’re ever looking for work . . .

  Afterward, at the Sons of Norway Hall, Dave must have hugged a hundred people, and each one of them felt like an ally in his marriage, a resource and a partner. Theirs was a union that was built to last, like this town was built to last, like America was built to last. Dave had never felt more certain of anything in his life. So how could such a community ever fail them? How could Nadene and Dave fail each other? How were the resources not enough to save them?

  There were occasions now when Dave talked to Nadene, and Bella, and Coach Prentice as though they were standing right there beside him in the current, or across the fire. It was a comfor
t just to hear his own voice. Sometimes he walked loudly through the brush, scattering birds, or belted out a few verses of something—the Doors, or Pearl Jam, or an old church hymn—in a booming, off-key tenor, just to hear a human sound amidst the great, indifferent expanse of the wilderness.

  S’tka

  And what have you in store for me now, oh, Great Provider? What fresh misery could you possibly concoct for me that I haven’t already endured? You gave me life when I never asked for it. Here, in this place, this frozen wasteland teeming with perils. You made me a woman, consigning me to a thankless life of service and drudgery. You starved me half to death with my baby inside of me, and then had me excommunicated from my people. You had me raped and brutalized, then took my husband from me right before my eyes.

  Will you take my child next? My limbs? My eyesight?

  Is this a sign, Great Provider, that you want me to leave this place? Is that what you’re trying to tell me by leaving me here, bereft of hope or security, by abandoning me with no help to eke out an existence? If that is so, then I will disobey your will, Great Provider. I will not leave this place. For this is the place I shall put my husband, and the father of my child, in the ground.

  I shall no longer solicit your help, Great Provider. I shall pray to nobody or nothing. I shall depend only on myself.

  The site S’tka chose for U’ku’let’s burial was a half-mile east of the cave, on a little shelf atop the ridge, overlooking the broad, grass valley of the giants, who had been traveling this corridor for all time, feeding on wheat grass and buttercups, scratching their wooly shoulders on the great pillars, wearing their stone surfaces shiny and smooth. This valley was perhaps the one worthwhile place the Great Provider had ever bequeathed her people. Never again would S’tka leave it.

  It took two days to dig U’ku’let’s grave in the frozen earth. And for two days his lifeless form lay pale and rigid for his infant son to gaze upon, eyes gaping, as he leered from some unfathomable place beyond this world. When S’tka had fought through the worst of the ice with a jagged stone, she dug with her bare fingers until they were ragged and blistered and frozen.