“In nature there are
neither rewards nor punishments—there are consequences.”
—Robert Green Ingersoll
Chapter 9: The Price
“Nobody is stronger,
nobody is weaker than someone who came back. There is nothing you can do to
such a person because whatever you could do is less than what has already
been done to him. He has already paid the price.” —Elie Wiesel
The smell of fish frying was what he first noticed. He couldn't be dead if
there were fish frying. He tried to open his eyes, but they were too heavy
and he fell back into his dreams.
One day he heard thumping
nearby and the sound of a child laughing. He must have made some sound,
because the thumping stopped and the child went away. As time wore on, more
and more details filtered through. The smell of astringent or rubbing
alcohol. The feel of cloth on his face. He swallowed something bitter once
and nearly choked on it. He was still coughing but not as badly as before.
He tried to remember what there was of before but that too faded into the
grayness that was his dreams.
Once he thought he felt a
hand touch his chest and a deep voice murmur his name. He thought he might
have smiled.
When he finally came to, he
was lying in a narrow bed, in a cabin that was dark. The wind howled outside
and he could hear the rush of snow against the windows. He tried to be
alarmed—here in this unfamiliar place—but it took too much effort to think.
He rested there while his eyes adjusted to the near black. The night grayed
the finer details but he could make out a man sitting in a rocking chair at
the foot of the bed. He sat motionless, almost like a mannequin, watching
him. It was Fraser, his eyes glittering in the dark. Frightened, Ray looked
away and fought the weariness that threatened to pull him back down. It was
so quiet in the room; the only signs of life were the wind and the snow. He
started to tremble; his breathing sped up as a sudden thought flashed across
his mind. Maybe he was dead and this was Fraser's ghost. He squinted, trying
to find light where there was none, wondering if his eyes were playing
tricks. But then Fraser's arm moved, and Ray realized that if he were dead
it would be he who was the ghost. Not the other way around.
Experimentally, he tried to
speak, only to hear a long hiss. Startled, he looked around for the source
of the sound. When he looked back Fraser was standing silently beside the
bed. His fingers rested loosely on the bedcovers, and Ray remembered the
touch of a hand. He tried to speak again and now Fraser crouched next to
him, giving him a sip of water. He drank clumsily, spilling, and tried
again: “Wherrrr—?” and then stopped, horrified at the creaking sound he
made.
“It'll be fine, Ray. You're
fine.” Fraser's voice was low and husky. Ray nodded slightly, feeling
comforted by the sound.
“We got you in time. You had
a pretty bad fall and cracked a few more ribs, but nothing was punctured.
You developed pneumonia but we've treated that. But you must rest.” He gave
Ray another sip of water and then replaced the cup on the nightstand. Ray
peered around the room, trying to make out more detail in the dark; he could
see quilts and dried flowers.
“I'm fine,” he agreed, the
words coming out clear but thready. His throat was sore and grainy but
knowing he could still speak was a relief. He turned his head, seeing Fraser
a bit more clearly. His face was a pale slash in the dark, with two dark
glistening eyes and a steady mouth. His hair was tousled, as if he'd just
awoken from a deep sleep. Crouching next to the bed, he looked like someone
who had been waiting a long time and would be willing to wait even longer.
Ray closed his eyes, a
sudden prayer welling automatically to his lips. He was alive, he wasn't
dreaming, and neither one of them was a ghost. He felt his chest tremble as
the reality gripped him. “Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with
thee...”
When he opened his eyes
Fraser was still there, still waiting. “Fraser...” he started, and then
didn't know what to say. Fraser nodded and settled back on his haunches. He
gazed at Ray with an odd mixture of weariness and peace, as if he had
brought some great treasure safely out of danger.
“There was so much—” Ray
started and then fell silent again. What could he say? That there was so
much he understood now? That there'd been no hope and that he had been
waiting to die? That in the end he'd believed Fraser wouldn't come back for
him and that it had been okay? Looking at Fraser, he didn't know if he could
say any of these things. Ever.
He listened to the wind hiss
around the cabin and the silence between them, feeling the old panic seep
back into his world. His clarity was fleeing and he struggled for composure.
Then he heard it—the sound of his breathing, his chest rising and falling in
perfect unison with Fraser's. The rhythm calmed him, centering him on the
dark, silent figure next to him. He reached out and gripped Fraser's hand.
“I learned, I learned
something. There were these ravens...I talked to them.” Ray's voice must
have been weak, because Fraser leaned closer. “I guess you'll think I was
going a little nuts. No,” he said, looking for the first time in a long time
straight into Fraser's eyes, “no, no, I wasn't, and you know it. They said,
they told me...” Ray's voice faded, with images still so sharp in his mind
that the edges pained him and seemed to cut the meaning of all his words
away. Fraser's mask of calm concern was slipping; his hand gripped Ray's
harder, careless and desperate with something he too was mute about. “I
wish, I just wish you'd told me, Benny. You know, right? You're so good with
words, with stories. You should have told me.” There was no accusation, only
weariness and sorrow in his voice.
He waited for Fraser to
judge him, and in the quiet that followed he feared he had said too much.
But the dark was like a confessional, freeing them both. “Ah, Ray, I
couldn't,” he finally heard Fraser say. “Some people, they're born here and
live here all their lives and die here, and they never know. And some
people, they learn and then they, they can't deal with it. Some use drugs
and alcohol and violence to deal with it, but most people just close their
eyes and pull the curtain and turn on the lights and forget. And some leave
here, they just, just stop...” Fraser's voice was breaking, and something
too like fear crept into his eyes.
“Hey, it's okay, Benny. Ssh,
it's okay. I'm not leaving. I want to live.”
He felt Fraser shudder, then
pull his hand back. He resisted the impulse to tighten his grip. Fraser
would stay or go at his own pace. That was something he had also learned.
Fraser stepped back from the
bed, leaving an empty space behind. He walked slowly, silently, to the
rocking chair and resumed his watchful position at the foot of the bed. And
as Ray listened for the snow, he fell asleep to the sound of Fraser
breathing.
“Mr. Vecchio. My mom wants
to know when you're going to wake up?” Jason hung in the doorway, kicking
his stocking feet as he swung on the roll bar. The woolen sweater Ilene had
knitted herself; Ray recognized the pattern as the same as that on the quilt
on his bed. Jason's hair had grown long again and it fell softly into his
eyes. He was clearly bored.
Sighing, Ray pushed himself
up and gestured for the boy to come in. Smiling, he ran to the bed and then
slid across the wooden floor. It was hard being only ten. And cooped up in a
teeny cabin for months with nothing to do.
It had been two weeks since
he had woken in the dark with Fraser by his side. Ilene watched him by day,
and when she was out, Jason ran and fetched for their “boarder.” It gave the
boy something to do. As for Ilene, she seemed to take pride in nursing him.
“Well, there, has my rug rat
told you what's for breakfast?” Ilene called out from the kitchen. Jason and
Ray exchanged wide grins and then Jason put his hands to his lips. Ray
nodded and then said, “Sorry, Ilene. No, he hasn't. What's for breakfast?”
“It's liver cake and spinach
frosting,” she shouted, with Jason chiming in perfectly on cue. The little
boy collapsed in giggles and slid through the door across the floor into the
kitchen.
Ray shook his head. It was
the morning ritual; Jason would “wake” him, his mother would ask the
breakfast question, and the two of them would come up with an idiotic
response. Kid humor.
Ilene carried the tray into
the room, her blue eyes grinning. She wore a long white smock over her
sweater and two layers of pants. Her blond hair gleamed in the white light,
a perfect match for Jason's tow head. The snow outside turned the windows
into hazy white panes directing and reflecting the sunlight. The cabin was
warm and cozy.
The tray held two small
brown pieces of bread and something green heaped on top of them. It was rye
bread and watercress—what Ilene called “egg salad watercress” sandwiches,
only without the eggs. They had run out of butter and other toppings for
their bread, but some greens could be found even in this weather.
“Thanks, Ilene. Have you
already eaten?” he asked politely, gesturing to the chair.
She sat down. They spent
many hours chatting whenever they were snowbound. “Yes, thank you. I'll fix
something later in the day. I'm trying a new bean casserole.”
“Mmmhm, beans.” Ray bit into
the sandwich. It tasted cool and peppery and was quite good. “What did you
do with them the last time? They tasted like something Indian.”
“Secret spices,” Jason
shouted from the kitchen.
“More like good cooking,”
Ray replied, directing his comment to Ilene. She shook her head at him.
“Really, Ray. Now I know
you're getting healthy; you're shoveling it in.”
Taking another bite, Ray
kept talking. “Well, my mother taught me one thing: never criticize a cook
in her own kitchen. No, actually, she taught me two things: one, never
criticize a cook in her own kitchen, and two, always tell the cook her food
tastes great. Actually, my mother taught me three things: one—”
“Your mother should have
taught you not to talk with your mouth full. That's how the cook knows she's
not appreciated. If they talk, they aren't eating it.” She brushed her hair
out of her face with one hand. Her face had a few more lines than he
remembered and was much thinner. Before she had looked housewifely, edging
comfortably into sedentary plumpness. Now her face and wrists showed their
bones and her skin had a sallow sheen. Ray swallowed his last bite, acutely
conscious of how stretched their resources were. His stomach growled,
angrily demanding more.
“Thanks again. It was good,”
he said solemnly and handed the tray back to her. Their eyes met and she
nodded back. In taking him in, she had to work harder. He suspected Fraser
was helping offset his upkeep.
Thinking of Fraser, he
looked out the window. He hadn't stayed the night, having been called away
to help with some emergency at Ron's house. Catching his glance, Ilene rose
and turned to the kitchen. “You can stop looking for him. He stopped by
earlier this morning and said he'd be here for dinner. Hope you can amuse
yourself until then.”
“Actually, I was thinking of
going out today. It looks fairly mild and I can—” Her fierce expression
stopped him. “Well, it's just that Jason has been cooped up and I thought it
would be good for...” He tried for confused and innocent but withered under
her skepticism. “Well, at least I can help clean up inside the cabin.”
“I had been thinking of you
walking Jason through his math lesson. What else did you have in mind?” Her
eyebrows rose in challenge. Looking around the painfully neat cabin, Ray
winced.
“I can do the dishes. That's
the third thing my mother taught me. Those who don't cook, wash.”
She laughed then and waved
her hand at him. “It's a deal. I hate washing and I can use the weather
break to visit with Rita. Just be sure to stand slowly, don't bend, and have
Jason lift the buckets of water. After his math lesson.”
“Yes, ma'am,” he and Jason
chimed, although Jason sounded a little less enthusiastic now that math was
involved in the equation.
After she left, the math was
“lessoned,” and the dishes were washed, he and Jason sat at the kitchen
table. Jason pulled out his drawing notebook and began doodling. Ray sat
stiffly in the chair, his ribs still healing. Pure white light filled the
room, and he looked around the cabin. Hand-knitted throw rugs, sweaters,
mittens, socks were neatly arranged over every exposed surface. Ilene had
found her niche: cooking and knitting. A book lay open on her sofa: Basic
Weaving and Spinning. By next year, she'd have mastered both skills. The
normalcy of it all was overwhelming. He still felt disconnected at times,
lost and without purpose. He wondered whether he'd ever feel normal again.
“Mr. Vecchio—” Jason tapped
his hand, interrupting him.
“Ray. It's okay to call me
Ray.”
“Sure, okay. Does this look
right?” Jason held out a pencil drawing. It was quite startling: two ravens
perched on a rock, one peering curiously at the viewer, the other looking
off to the side, flapping its wings. Ray felt a chill across his back.
“What made you draw this?”
he asked, holding the drawing uncomfortably between his fingers.
“You kept talking about
ravens when you were—you know, when you were—deler—deler—”
“Delirious,” Ray supplied
and slid the picture across the table. “Have you ever seen a raven?”
“Yes, sure, lots of times.
Anyway, I thought it'd be neat if I could get them right. Did I?”
Looking at the boy, his eyes
open and curious, Ray shoved his misgivings away. “Sure, you did fine,” he
answered casually. He tried not to think of the other things he might have
said while he was dreaming.
“I've got lots of other
pictures, do you wanna see them?” Jason reached for the drawing book, but
Ray shook his head.
“How'd you like to sneak out
instead? Just for a brief walk down to the path and back.”
Jason frowned, uncertain.
“Of course, I'll need your
help to go slow,” Ray continued. “And to lace my boots for me. Are we on?”
Still hesitating, Jason
thought for a moment and then said, “And you'll need me not to tell my mom?”
“No.” Ray laughed. “I
wouldn't even ask Fraser to lie to your mom.” Jason's face lightened. He was
a good kid, conscientious and smart. He'd grow up to be a good man.
“Okay. I'll get something
warm for you to wear.”
He heard a trunk lid rattle
open. Jason appeared, trailing a long brown coat. It smelled of mothballs
and he held it reverently. Ray knew it was his father's and accepted it
solemnly. Jason held his hand all the way to the path and back to the cabin.
He slept the rest of the
afternoon and rose a few hours later to build up the stove. He put on
Ilene's casserole to reheat, shook his head at its pitiful smallness, and
set the table for four. Ilene smiled appreciatively when she brushed into
the cabin, blustery and cold. Fraser held the door open for her and kicked
his boots off on the sill. Diefenbaker sailed in and started to shake his
coat.
“Dief,” Fraser reminded and
the wolf slunk outside, shook himself thoroughly, and then trotted in
quickly, tongue lolling.
“Smells wonderful,” Fraser
said, helping Ilene with her coat. Fraser's own long coat was wet around the
hem. Snow had frosted his bare head, and as it melted it trickled in small
rivulets down into his polo neck.
“You always say that,
Fraser!” She flushed a bit, although with her complexion it was hard to
tell. Fraser smiled back, and then neatly hung up both of their coats on the
back wall. His shoulder was still a bit stiff and he favored it as he lifted
the heavy coats up and over the hooks.
“Not unless he means it,”
Ray answered from the back of the kitchen, ladling the beans into bowls.
Fraser stepped around the normal cabin clutter casually, gracefully crossing
the small room until he filled the entryway into the kitchen. His nearness
brushed up against Ray, leaving him flushed with warmth that lingered long
after Fraser walked past him to open the cupboard. “You sit, Ilene, and
rest. Ray and I will handle it from here.”
She sat listening to Jason
tell her about the day while the two men maneuvered around each other in the
small kitchen. They never seemed to get in each other's way. Jason whispered
something in her ear and she bent, frowning.
“Is this right, Ray? You
left the cabin?” Ray shot a glance at Fraser and then returned to his
ladling.
“We dressed warm, went slow,
and only walked down to the path.” Fraser was watching him carefully,
looking for signs of distress, but he knew there were none to be found. “I
am fine. Really, mom.”
Ilene sighed and looked
around her cabin. “I guess it must be hard, cooped up in here. But promise
me you'll wait until I am around for anything more vigorous.”
“He will,” Fraser answered
firmly for him. Ray raised his eyebrows and kept ladling.
They sat down and Fraser
said grace. After a few moments of silence, Ray asked after the latest news.
“There's a lot happening, or
rather a lot has happened,” Fraser answered after some thought. “You know
there's a food shortage.” Ilene shot him a surprised glance. Up to this
point, their evening meal conversations had been filled with gossip and
daily activities. Sensing Fraser's shift in direction, Ray simply nodded.
“So Istas and I need to
decide tomorrow if we need to adjust the rationing.”
Ray slowed, the food
sticking in his throat. “How much?” he asked.
“It depends on the weather
patterns. Even after the ice breaks it'll be a month before we can fish.
Months after that before the first crops come in.” He looked exhausted, his
skin thin and lined with worry.
“So spring is our next
vulnerable period,” Ray mused. “The weather may be better, but by then
we'll...” He stopped and looked down at Jason. “We'll have to deal with the
mud.'
Jason scowled. He hated mud,
probably because he tracked so much of it into the cabin and had to clean it
up. He rolled his feet against Diefenbaker, who was dozing under the table.
Ilene looked grateful that they had shifted the topic slightly in front of
Jason, but the news of more rationing made her look nervously at her kitchen
stores.
Fraser finished his bowl and
leaned back. “Thank you, Ilene. It tasted better than usual. What did you
use? Cardamom?”
“Cumin, and don't be giving
away my secrets, Fraser.” She gestured at Ray, who was eating his meal more
slowly.
“If you still have some
seeds left we can try planting it this spring. It likes hot weather but if
we position it on the south wall of the cabin it may get enough sun.”
Ray scraped the bottom of
the bowl. He recognized Fraser's forced lightness. “You know, Fraser,” he
continued, “since the weather is the big variable, why not factor it in? You
know, like a random variable thingie in the math equation.”
Fraser considered the idea
thoughtfully. “You mean like the X variable.”
“Yeah, Jason and I were
doing algebra today. If two trains leave at the same time at a rate of fifty
miles per hour, how far until they meet. Somewhere between X and Y is the
range of where they could meet, plus or minus—”
“Factors for wind, grading,
and other variables.” Fraser supplied.
“Right. It's not foolproof,
but it'll give you—” He paused and looked down at Jason, who was following
this intently. “—maximum coverage for the maximum...units.”
Fraser nodded. “I'll think
about it, Ray. It's the...maximum number of units I am worrying about.”
“Yeah, I know it's not easy”
was all Ray could find to say, but it seemed to be enough. Some of the
tension faded from Fraser's face and he relaxed in his chair slightly. How
long Ray stared at Fraser he did not know, only that his eyes suddenly shook
and the conversation shifted to weather patterns and Ilene's knitting.
After Fraser left, Ray sat
up thinking. Fraser could do reams of math in his head. He knew how to
ration and calculate caloric intake, and certainly he didn't need Ray to
explain basic algebra. It was something else that Fraser needed from him.
Listening to Ilene's rhythmic breathing from the other bedroom, Ray had the
beginnings of understanding. He blew out the last candle and made his way
slowly into his room in the dark. It could wait until tomorrow.
Ray kept Fraser's word and
took only short trips under Ilene's supervision. Ilene tolerated his
impatience for only another week and then set him to carding wool when his
constant complaints of boredom grew tiresome. He liked the simple,
repetitive task of combing and recombing the wool. Once it was gone, they'd
have to find a substitute—there were no sheep or goats or cotton. Ilene was
studying hemp; they might be able to grow it in the short summer and it had
many uses.
He was finally “released”
and spent the first above‑zero day walking around the town center. It
bustled with activity—the weather breaks were too few and they still had to
haul in firewood, clear snow, and check the traps. Most people nodded in
greeting as if he hadn't been gone for months. It wasn't until he reached
the civic center that he realized what was different. People were making eye
contact. They were busy, preoccupied, but they no longer gazed past him as
though he were a ghost. He stopped short on the center's steps before
reaching the door. Sweeping the immediate area, he decided to test his
theory on the next random person who walked by.
He didn't have to wait long;
Evan Snyder scrunched past, his dour face hardly improved by the beard he'd
taken to growing. It made him look like a badger with beady eyes squinting
suspiciously at the world. Claiming the porch railing, Ray raised his hand
in greeting. “Hi, Evan.” Evan looked up, barely breaking stride, and
grunted. His hunched shoulders turned the corner and he was quickly out of
sight.
At least some things
haven't changed, he thought with relief, and entered the building. It
was cluttered with books and paper piles on the tables. Makah and Ron Shinn
were studying a set of blueprints while Brian sat, his leg propped up on a
stool.
In the other corner Elu and
Larry stared at survey maps of the area. Ray wandered over to their table
and nodded in greeting.
“Hi, Ray. You're up now.”
Elu grabbed a large book and used it to flatten the map she was rolling out.
She looked tired and, like the rest of them, much thinner.
“Yes, finally. Hello,
Larry!” Larry was steadying the other end of the roll of paper and waved one
hand in greeting without looking up. “Sorry, Ray, can you give me a hand
here?” he asked as the overlarge paper started to slide off the table.
“Sure,” he said, reaching
and pulling the map back into position. “What are you working on?”
“Cropland,” Larry answered.
“We only have garden plots in the immediate area. We're looking for land
within easy reach of the river that's already been cleared and only one
day's walk from here.” He traced a spot on the map with steady, sure hands.
“We have to plant as much as we can—the season is too short here.”
That made sense—the tribes
who had lived here had succeeded because their numbers were small. But they
were heavily dependent on hunting and fishing. It would take years for the
fish to return. And caribou migration patterns had changed significantly
since the pipeline was built.
“But what about irrigation?
Don't we need—” Ray asked and then stopped. “So that's what they're doing,”
he observed, nodding in Brian's direction.
“Right, in the summer months
we can use the river to flood the irrigation channels. But we need a steady
supply of electricity to keep the water pumped into the cabins and the
septic system.” Larry rubbed his stubbled face. Ray studied him carefully;
no sign of alcohol, no slurred words. Standing side by side with Elu, he
hardly looked like the angry drunk who had threatened him a few months ago.
Ray smiled wryly and realized he was hardly the same man either.
“...so we'll go back for the
boiler again in the spring,” Larry was continuing, and Ray pulled himself
back to the land surveys. “But by then Elu and I will have a pretty good
idea how much land we can plant immediately. We can plant multiple rounds of
quick-growing crops later, when we have more land cleared.”
“We're thinking of planting
spinach and cowpeas early—the biggest bang for our buck early on.” Elu waved
the list she was making. “Tomatoes will be one of the things we'll have to
wait until June to plant. Seedlings we'll start indoors earlier, and then
transfer them under plastic, which will heat the soil.”
Ray's mouth watered at the
thought of tomato sauce. “But we don't have a greenhouse. How are we going
to start the seedlings?”
Elu smiled and held up a
finger. “Larry and I figured that one out already. We all have kitchen
windowsills? Lots of light, close to the stoves? We each can start one
hundred seedlings and then thin them as we go.”
“So are we going for what's
easy to grow or what's—you know—balanced, vitamin‑wise?” His mother had been
big on daily vitamins—she had once seen children with rickets when she was
growing up and wanted all of her children to be strong and healthy.
Larry looked thoughtful.
“We're focusing on speed and survivability. We know we want diversity and
they have to breed true—you know, give seeds that we can use next year. But
we haven't gotten to figuring the nutrition part yet.”
“I've added it to the list
already, Larry.” Elu pointed to her notebook. It was filled with numbers and
row after row of lines. Ray would have felt sorry for Larry but he was
clearly energized and focused on his work.
The door opened and, without
turning, Ray knew Fraser had walked in. Larry stood a bit taller and Elu
began searching for something among the pile of papers. Diefenbaker rose
from next to the stove and walked over, his tail waving. As he watched the
groups begin to converge on Fraser, he realized why Fraser was looking so
tired every night. So many questions, decisions, problems to solve. And
tempers to soothe, he noticed wryly, as Brian threw down his blueprint in
disgust and wagged his finger at Ron.
“Look, who is the engineer?
You or me? Oh, I am, aren't I?”
Fraser stepped forward and
nodded at them both.
Ron looked embarrassed but
stood his ground. “I know you're the engineer, Brian. But I think if we rig
it that way, you'll end up blowing the whole thing sky high.”
Fraser leaned over the
blueprint, and then turned it around. “Oh,” he said mildly, and then went
silent.
They looked at him and then
back at each other, waiting for Fraser to continue. He angled his head and
then turned the blueprint around again. And then again.
Brian slowly started to
laugh. “Okay, I take your point, Fraser. It doesn't matter which way we
attach the pipe; it's the direction of the pressure that matters.”
“And that,” Ron interrupted,
“depends on the type of boiler we end up using.” The two men had the grace
to look sheepish.
“I expect you're right,”
Fraser said, dropping the blueprint. “Glad to have you both here to help us
with this project.” He smiled, a graceful flash, and nodded politely to them
both. As he walked away, it seemed to Ray that Fraser was smiling a bit
more. Fraser put on his hat and shut the door behind him, leaving Ray to
hope the smiling was not one of the things he'd been imagining.
That evening, they went over
the agricultural plans in detail. It all seemed so fascinating: how much
acreage they could farm, how much labor was needed, how to balance their
nutritional needs, and how to store the food. For the first time, Ray
understood why men—young men—were so important in farming communities.
Without tractors or heavy farm equipment, every pair of strong adult arms
was needed. After Jason went to bed, they used a few more candles to go over
Elu's and Larry's recommendations. Ray didn't add much to the plan—but it
seemed to help to listen. And learn.
He was still bored, and
finally broached the topic one evening. “Fraser,” he said, after putting the
last of the dishes away. “I may not be back full strength, but there's got
to be more than this that I can do.” He gestured around Ilene's cabin.
Ilene raised her eyebrows at
this. “No offense, I hope, Ilene,” he added hurriedly. Ilene shook her head
and smiled.
“As much as I like having—”
She paused and corrected herself. “—we enjoy having you around, I
understand. I think he's right, Fraser.”
Fraser sat quietly at the
table, holding his cup in his hands, staring at the tablecloth. He looked up
and Ray caught a glimpse of something like gratitude in his eyes, before he
blinked it away. “What do you have in mind, Ray?” Fraser asked.
His question startled Ray,
although he had given it some thought. It reminded him so much of their
Chicago days, when they'd discuss
cases and crimes. Looking down at his shoes, he felt a lump in his throat.
He hadn't remembered how much he missed those conversations.
Glancing up, he saw that
Fraser had noticed his confusion, and tried not to feel miserable about it.
“Well, I know a lot about engines, cars, etc. We're covering electricity
with the boiler project and we're working on food production. But if we're
ever going to be sustainable we need to find a way to get farm equipment to
move. And cars and other machinery.”
“But, Ray,” Ilene chimed in
from her knitting. “We have no gasoline.”
“But there are
alternatives—ethanol, corn-based substitutes,” Fraser said, his eyes never
leaving Ray's face. The gaze seemed intense, intimate. It pulled at him, as
though some magnetic core within Fraser's being exerted a powerful draw on
his eyes and brain and heart.
“Yeah,” he found himself
saying. “And there's gotta be books on the subject. I can start the research
alone and then bring you my findings?” Somehow it was important to leave
Fraser a way out, a way to back down gracefully.
But Fraser refused the
opening. “No, Ray,” he said firmly. “It's a good idea. I'll talk to Nodin
and see if he has time to spare. The traps are hardly full this time of year
and he was asking for something else to do.”
A bit dazed, Ray nodded and
sat down across from Fraser. The candlelight changed Fraser's face from
moment to moment, flickering across his cheeks and forehead. Only his eyes
remained constant, lit by some private thought. They sat there in silence
until it was time to leave. And in the dark, waiting for sleep to claim him,
Ray wondered if he would ever see Fraser truly happy again.
His routine changed after
that. His days were spent in the civic center, poring over books and manuals
with Nodin. Although Nodin hadn't finished high school, he had a good
mechanical sense and seemed to enjoy the thought of developing a fuel
source. He wanted to work on a heating source too, but they both agreed to
focus on available raw materials and work from there.
He finally encountered
Istas, too. The man walked past, nodding politely on his way to the tanning
station. Istas hadn't changed either. Later, he came into the center, where
he worked alone, quietly repairing shoes. Ray felt relieved to see he held
no animosity toward him.
Ray grew tired quickly and
often would rest at the center before heading back to Ilene's cabin. The
families would take turns supplying a small lunch for the crew working at
the center. Rita Manchester came in one mild day with a pot of beans and the
center took a communal break to eat. Ray found himself sandwiched between
Rita and Elu, politely listening to them chat about recipes.
“So, Ray,” Rita asked,
taking a sip of water. “Has Ilene introduced you to her Dead Fish
Casserole?” Rita had been a very plump housewife before the plague hit, but
now her skin hung loose on her face. Her thin brown hair had started to fall
out, leaving small patches near the back.
“Don't tease him, Rita,” Elu
smiled. “She's just jealous. Ilene's come up with a pretty good set of
recipes. Not much you can do with fish.”
Ray kept eating from his
small bowl, knowing better to comment on any woman's cooking.
“That's not true, Elu.” Rita
laughed good‑naturedly. “Am not jealous. It's just that if she makes the
Dead Fish Casserole, it's official.” Both women chuckled in unison. Ray had
no idea what they were talking about, but his confusion didn't bother him as
it had before.
“Well, at least that's an
improvement on how they used to do it.” Naomi's voice floated over from
where she was sitting sewing. “Hang a string of dried fish on the girl's
doorstep. If her family took it into the lodge, you had your answer. If they
fed it to the dogs, then you had the other answer.”
Ray coughed and ducked his
head. It was hard, living in such a small community. Everyone saw everything
and everyone had an opinion on the everything they saw. It was a lot like
his old neighborhood. He was saved by Nodin, who walked over and asked him
about using softwood as an ethanol source.
His evenings were split
among Jason, Ilene, and Fraser. At the end of each meal, the adults would
chat and then Fraser would rise, take Diefenbaker with him, say good night,
and return home to his cabin. Ilene would tuck Jason into bed and then Ilene
and Ray would spend a few minutes talking quietly. It was usually small
things—her lesson plan for Jason, repairs she wanted to make to the cabin,
idle chatter. Ray often felt she wanted to talk about other things—her
husband, her life before the plague—but a silent barrier hung between them,
a reticence that Ray wasn't sure was there but didn't want to test.
He finally gave up worrying
about it and focused on his project and helping Ilene and Jason out. He was
deeply grateful to her for taking him in, but knew better to mention it.
“What are you smiling at?”
Ilene asked, interrupting his thoughts. She was sharpening her cutting and
boning knives, a tiresome task that she would only do in full daylight when
she could see clearly. Now, with twilight falling, she was hurrying to
finish it before Fraser arrived for dinner.
“Mom, when can I use the
table again?” Jason whined. He wasn't allowed at the table while the knives
were sharpened. Ray shook his head warningly at the boy and he slouched back
onto the sofa.
“Hm, oh, I am sorry, Ilene.
I was just thinking of something Larry said yesterday.” Now that Larry was
no longer drinking, he'd actually shaped up to be a pretty funny guy. And a
very hard worker.
“Well, don't let me put a
damper on it,” she replied primly, giving the knife a good scrape.
“Damper?” Ray asked,
puzzled, watching the white light glint off the steel rod she was using.
“A damper on your smiling.
It's good for you. Suits you,” she said, looking up, her own face lighting
up with a grin.
Ray flushed and flipped a
few more pages of the cookbook he had been idly reading. Her eyes rested on
him a bit longer than normal and he found himself liking it. “So where did
you get all these knives?” he asked, pointing at the neat rows covering the
table.
She deftly put down the
vegetable knife she was holding and picked up a smaller paring knife.
“They're not all mine. I'm doing them for Elu and Steph. Elu will be fixing
Jason's shoes. And Steph promised to install a new pipe outlet outside the
house this summer.”
Ray nodded. Bartering
services made sense. “I thought Susan was our pipe expert?” he asked. He
tried not to think of Steph often. She hadn't been at the civic center these
last few weeks.
“She is. But she and Susan
decided we'd need more than just one expert. So she's been over at Susan's
house all month—actually Susan's shed—learning how to weld. Can't do it in
the center 'cause it's too messy.”
“Ah” was all that Ray could
find to say.
A quiet knock and Fraser
entered the cabin. He saw the knives on the table and turned to leave.
“Sorry if I am too early. I can always come back later.”
“No.” Ray and Ilene both
spoke at the same time and smiled at each other. “It's okay, Fraser,” Ilene
continued. “It'll only take a moment for Ray and me to put the knives away
and serve dinner. Have a seat.”
Fraser stood a moment,
awkwardly, shrugged off his coat, and sat down in the rocking chair. Jason
sat up and began prattling but Fraser seemed preoccupied and spent some time
staring down at the throw rug. His eyes kept lifting to watch Ilene and Ray
chatting as they sorted the knives. He watched them all through the clearing
and setting of the table, tracking them as they criss-crossed the room,
chattering easily with each other. Eventually, Jason grew tired of trying to
tell him about his day and sank back into the sofa with a bored sigh. That
seemed to rouse Fraser and he spent the next fifteen minutes listening to an
excited rendition of the story Jason had just read about a frog‑jumping
contest.
Dinner was relatively
normal, with the conversation light and easy. The meal was equally light;
their rations had been cut again and the food barely stilled the constant
ache that filled their bellies each day. They drank water to compensate.
When Ray rose to start clearing dishes, Ilene shoved her chair back to join
him. Fraser jumped to his feet, grabbed Ray's arm, and spun him around by
the shoulders until they both faced the kitchen.
“Please don't trouble
yourself, Ilene. Ray and I will handle the dishes tonight.” Ray felt himself
propelled across the wood floor by Fraser's smooth handling. It felt good,
familiar, like a well-worn path they had walked together many times. Ilene
watched them, puzzled, for a few minutes and then settled on the sofa for a
brief nap. Jason was soon tucked up against her under an afghan.
Once inside the kitchen,
Fraser released him, filled the sink, and moved aside to allow Ray access.
Ray washed, while Fraser dried and stored the dishes and pots. When the time
came to stow the casserole dish, Fraser reached around Ray, shifting him to
the side to reach under the sink. His other hand steadied itself on Ray's
hip as he knelt. Ray stirred under the touch, feeling peaceful in the last
warm evening light. His heart began to open tentatively to something he had
not felt for years.
Fraser loosed him
reluctantly, then moved away. Listening to the soft bustle behind him, Ray
thought he heard Fraser say something and looked over his shoulder. Fraser
faced away from him, stowing the silverware. He looked relaxed: his blue
shirtsleeves rolled up past his forearms, his slippered feet straightening
Ilene's multi-colored throw rugs as he puzzled over the knife tray.
Gazing at Fraser, Ray
wandered, beyond time, beyond memory. Then he felt Fraser's hand gently
brushing against his skin and he dropped back into time. The water was cold
and he turned unwillingly back to washing. The night was dark and he could
see the snow falling. The brief weather break was over and the storm had
returned.
“Mom, why can't I go to the
center too? It's boring here.”
“Because we're using the
center to work. And don't worry—when the cold weather ends we'll have lots
of uses for you. This may be the only time you have to study, so get back to
it.”
The storm had lasted two
days. It was clearing, but still very cold. Jason was supposed to be
studying, but he fussed and shoved his book away. Ray wished he could do the
same. There were no helpful distillation tips in Ilene's cookbooks. For the
first time, he realized what an incredible asset libraries were. And how
much harder their lives were going to be without their wealth of knowledge.
Besides, the recipes were reminding him how hungry he was.
“Jason, you know Fraser
studied a lot when he was your age. And he's found a lot of uses for what he
knows.”
“Oh, like what? I don't need
to know this stuff—” He picked up the book on basic chemistry he had been
reading.
“Well, for example, here I
am looking through your Mom's cookbooks, right? Because I'm trying to distil
ethanol from stuff we can grow here—potatoes, maybe. If we have ethanol, we
can operate the heavy machinery and not have to work so hard. But until I
understand the basics of cooking—or chemistry—how am I going to know how
distillation works?”
Jason crossed his arms,
stubbornly refusing to budge. Ilene glanced at him snappily. “Well, what's
the point?” the boy argued. “The machines are going to break down and we
won't be able to replace them.”
Ray sighed. The kid was
sharp and he could see Ilene starting to get upset. The last time she and
Jason fought it had taken a week for them to start talking to each other.
Cabin fever was no joke when you had nowhere to hide for months. “You're
right, Jason. The machinery won't last forever. But while it does, we can
build up our food reserves and maybe even find some better alternatives.
It's kinda like running uphill—you gotta get momentum before you can make it
to the top.”
Jason angled his head,
considering the idea somberly. It was hard to know what a ten-year-old child
could understand. But he would have to understand if he was going to survive
in this new world. “So,” he said slowly. “You're studying chemistry too?”
“Yep, that's what's
distillation is. A chemical process.”
“So maybe you can help me
with my homework,” he said brightly, holding out the book.
“Jason,” his mom shouted,
but Ray laughed. “It's all right, Ilene. I need a break from these dangerous
recipes. They're making me hungry. Let's take a look.”
“Is it okay, mom?” Jason
asked, suddenly realizing his mom had not stopped glaring at him and he'd
better fix that fast.
“It is. And if you finish
the whole chapter you can go over to Steph's and help Victor and Ussak with
the candle‑making. We're running low again, and Steph said she was going to
give them the afternoon off to melt candle stumps into more candles.”
“It's a deal,” Jason
chirped, brightening at the thought of visiting his friends. Next year
they'd work on getting a schoolhouse. But for now the children had to make
do with the weekly visits weather permitted.
“I'll walk him over, Ilene,”
Ray found himself volunteering, somewhat to his surprise. He hadn't seen
Steph since he'd returned. And he didn't think he should put it off much
longer. He had finally stopped dreaming about Danny, but still felt his loss
every day. In his old neighborhood, when someone died everyone gathered
around to eat and tell stories and grieve together. Things must be done
differently out here and it had been easier just to let it slide while he
was recovering. This afternoon he felt he'd run out of excuses.
Jason ran and jumped most of
the way, scampering back to Ray, who made his way steadily across the snow.
Halfway there, Diefenbaker joined them, and they spent a few minutes chasing
each other around in circles before Ray hauled them on to Steph's cabin.
As they approached the
cabin, Ray slowed down. It looked just like it had last month—he didn't know
why he thought it would've changed. And yet it did feel different. As they
climbed the steps he noticed little things—Danny's shoes were missing. His
abandoned cigarette bucket was filled with gravel to toss on icy patches.
He'd kept it out there for the day they'd resume trading for tobacco again.
Jason opened the door
without knocking and charged in. Ray entered more cautiously.
“Hi, Steph,” Jason yelled.
“Where's Ussak and Victor?”
Steph was seated at the
kitchen table, holding two pipe lengths and a measuring tape. The
ever‑present pot of stew bubbled on the stove. Ray took a deep breath and
nodded hello.
“Oh,” was all she said, and
then she pointed Jason to the back shed. “I've got them set up back there.
Try not to be too messy and follow Ussak's directions. I don't want you guys
to get burned.”
“Okay!” Jason shouted,
disappearing into the back before the word even left his mouth.
Ray stood there awkwardly,
trying to find something to say. He really wasn't certain what he was doing
here—or what was expected of him.
“How long did Ilene say
Jason could stay?” Steph asked quietly. She was still sitting at the table,
but had put down the measuring tape.
“Um, until dark.” The room
smelled piney and he saw fresh-cut boughs over the bedroom door. “Jason was
complaining about studying, so I think it'll be a good break for both of
them.” He fell into their conversational style easily.
“Hm. We really need a
schoolhouse next year. Something to keep them out of our hair for a few
hours.”
Ray nodded, and his mind
went blank. Danny had been a good friend. He'd taken him in when things went
bad, laughed with him, planned with him. He had put up with Ray's black
moods. And he had died horribly. The pressure built inside him, and his
chest, which had been mostly pain‑free, started to ache again. He inhaled
sharply and remembered that he'd told many families they'd lost loved ones.
You just got through it.
“Steph, I wanted to tell you
about Danny.” The words hung heavily in the air; he almost winced at their
leaden tone.
“Fraser told me already,
Ray.” This time he did wince. Of course, she had already had ample time to
learn the facts from Fraser by now. And that's all he could ever give
her—the facts. He couldn't tell her about the gurgling sound Danny had made
after the truck crashed. Or the grisly sight of white bones, or the red
blood spattered over Fraser's hands.
“Right, I am sorry. If there
is anything I can do...”
“Thanks, Ray. Danny would've
appreciated that. We'll be fine.” She picked up the metal pipe and rotated
it. She was gauging strength or grade or something like that—Ray had seen
Susan do the same before starting on a pipe‑refitting project.
Watching her thin, strong
fingers grip the metal confidently, he realized she'd be fine. Not perfect,
or even happy for a long time. But she was focusing on what she needed to
focus on in order for her and her family to survive.
Relieved, he picked up his
cap. “I'll head over to the center and then stop by for Jason just before
dusk?”
“Okay, and I'll send a few
candles back with Jason. As payment for his work.”
They exchanged a few more
pleasantries and Ray stepped outside and into his boots. Diefenbaker stood
up eagerly and barked.
“No, sorry, Jason can't
play. He'll be there for a while.” Whining, Diefenbaker sank back down into
the snow. The winter sun barely peeked through the gray clouds but its
impact on the snow still made him squint. Rubbing his eyes, he felt them
tear and brushed the moisture away. “Come on, Dief,” he said, and to his
surprise Dief stood obediently and followed him across the snow.