The Mercy Journals Page 15

  So, Dad, Griffin spoke with a sarcasm lit by rage, were you ever going to tell me my sister was dead?

  Leo looked at him through his hair. He took another bite.

  I touched Griffin’s arm. What?

  Griffin stared at Leo, but addressed me. Parker knew my sister Anne from summer camp. She saw her in Victoria just before she came up here. Anne was looking for our mother, who disappeared a year after our sister died. Amanda died in Seattle in ‘42. Anne told Parker that that was the last time she saw her father. At the burial. Griffin enunciated each of the following words clearly: Piece of shit.

  Leo continued to eat. Griffin reached across the table and grabbed Leo’s forearm to stop the motion of fork to mouth. I’ve lost my daughters? Blood matters? Nothing matters to you.

  You, Leo answered finally with contempt, don’t know anything about me.

  She was my sister! Griffin screamed at him. My sister! Griffin stood, pushing the table into Leo and me.

  Leo looked at his fork, like he didn’t know what to do with it, then threw it at the sink and stood.

  She was my daughter! My daughter! You call me a piece of shit? You little fucker?

  Griffin glared at Leo, but then sadness seemed to fill him and he left the room, followed by Parker. Leo got another fork and finished his food, then went to his room.

  Today we worked on creating a primitive irrigation system for the field. There are only about three weeks during the summer when irrigation will be necessary, but they’re important in the growing cycle. Some of our plants are turning brown. I feel weak and hot this morning and I have the beginnings of a mother of a headache. Leo and Griffin aren’t speaking. Leo is monosyllabic with me.

  Seeing Parker and Griffin together irritates me. They’re discreet but it feels like they’re making a show, even of their discretion. I almost understand why Leo keeps making a play. I yearn for Ruby and my alchemy with her. I don’t want to die without making love with her again. I’m going to get this situation sorted and I’m going to paddle back after the baby is born and find her. I’ll take Leo with me and we’ll leave Griffin and Parker the harvest.

  Griffin came to relieve me of shepherd duty and sat down beside me, saying that Leo had headed out with a daypack.

  What makes Leo such a dick and you not?

  Good question.

  I mean, you come from the same family.

  I looked across the field at the goats chewing grass. Actually, we didn’t. I grew up in a family with parents who loved me. I’m not sure Leo did.

  Because he was a dick.

  I laughed and looked up at dark clouds scudding across the sky. Chicken and egg, I said.

  An eagle turned, coming by for another look at the goats.

  What was Leo like? As a stepdad.

  I was always glad he wasn’t my real father. Griffin picked up a conifer cone and started to pull off the scales. He said all those stupid things like, “While I’m still paying for the roof over your head.” I didn’t give a shit, but Mom did. I guess he was paying for the roof over her head too. I used to provoke him. He was an easy target. Griffin made a neat pile of cone scales at his feet. I moved out to spare Mom more grief. He was making her choose between him and me.

  We looked at the goats. The new kid, whose birth we celebrated a week ago just after the other one was killed, butted its mother’s udder, then tugged hard on a teat.

  Griffin took a big breath in, covered his eyes, and pinched his temples. I really hoped they’d be here, he said. This is the only place we all knew. He tossed the shredded cone into the field. Do you think he knows anything about my mother?

  I thought about all of the deaths—they were like mushrooms in the forest. I didn’t answer. Eventually I said, Amanda is lucky to be remembered by you.

  Do you think Leo’s dangerous? he asked.

  Aren’t we all, I thought. I answered, I don’t know. I should get back though.

  I entered the house through the basement door instead of the back porch where I usually come in. I heard a creak and a scuffle from above, as though someone were dragging a dog a short distance or they were losing their balance and regaining it with a quick movement of the feet. I closed the door carefully and listened. The floorboard creaked again.

  I crept upstairs, bringing my fake foot down slowly, quietly. I emerged into the kitchen, smelled a soup cooking. I looked around the corner down into the hallway.

  I could see my brother from the back, his pants at his ankles, one hand squeezing her breast, the other tugging her track pants down, and Parker’s face turned sideways, eyes shut, arms protectively around her belly.

  My brother heard me and turned, his erection sticking out sideways like an absurd thing, like Pinocchio’s nose, the blue of his eyes dark with blood, a beast interrupted in the midst of a kill. He yanked his pants up, enraged by the indignity, and went up the stairs clutching them. Parker turned into the wall and pressed against it. I went up after my brother and threw open his door. He was doing up his belt. I lunged at him and threw him down, grabbed his hair, and smashed his head on the floor several times. He didn’t resist. His eyes rolled in his head. I stopped. How do you think this can end? I screamed. His eyes gradually came back to focus, looking at me. There is no good way for this to end, I cried. We have to leave. We’re leaving tomorrow.

  He continued to lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling. Finally he said, I’m not leaving.

  This morning I woke up with vertigo. Exhausted. Edged by memories of men taking the women aside at the border, the women shrinking in on themselves as they walked and the men inflating themselves, trying to give themselves the right. I was surrounded by a sense of doom.

  Parker made cheese from the goat’s milk yesterday and this evening she brought it out. She and Griffin made a small loaf of bread too.

  The fat of the land, Leo said as he took a second piece. To think this is made of grass and water and a goat’s digestive system. Parker, I’m impressed. As though he were lord of this fiefdom, and the food were an offering for him.

  No one looked at him. Griffin showed only the usual contempt. Parker hasn’t told him.

  Eventually, ridiculously, I said, I haven’t tasted anything this good for years either. Parker, how did you make it? Leo and I could start a business back in the canton. Start something new. Lay down a foundation. Look for our children. No time like the present. Leo, let’s head back in the next couple of days. Griffin—sorry buddy, but I need to see Ruby. I think you can handle the baby’s delivery. I know you can. And two less mouths to feed would be a bonus.

  Leo stopped eating. He placed his hands on the table beside his plate. Took a big breath in.

  Might as well cut my wrists right now. He looked at me. Remember before I came here? Really, give me a knife. He stood, picked up his plate, and took it upstairs with him.

  We sat in silence for a while, Parker holding her belly. Why doesn’t he just leave? Parker demanded. Griffin looked at her.

  He found a will, I started.

  He must have been listening at the top of the stairs. He came back down and threw his plate on the table.

  This place is mine. You can ignore your birthright if you want, Allen, but I’m not going to. The rest of you can leave. My parents built this place. It’s mine by blood.

  If there’s conflict between us, I started.

  Conflict? he sneered. Is there conflict between us?

  No one spoke. The crud of being human. A waste of goat cheese and bread.

  When Griffin left with the goats today I made tea for Parker and myself. I wanted to talk to her. Leo had gone out before any of us got up.

  If the three of us go to the city, I said, it’s a six-day paddle. We find a place to live. Griffin and I can find work. We can keep the baby hidden.

  She took a deep breath and looked at me. This baby is coming any day. She looked out the window. He’s the one who should leave. Private property doesn’t mean anything any more. There’s no inherit
ance. There’s no blood. She looked back at me. There’s the three of us and there’s him. He should leave.

  He’s not going to leave, I said.

  You get the gun, point it at him, and tell him to leave. She blew on her tea. She had changed. She wasn’t afraid anymore.

  No matter how I tried to imagine that scene, the gun always went off. I looked away from her and stared out the window. My mind was racing, trying to stay ahead of the memories that were starting to whisper and gnaw at the edges of my mind, like nervous mice taking fast little bites. My hands started to shake. My eyes sank in their sockets.

  He’s my brother.

  She looked directly at me. There’s nothing as uncompromising as a woman thinking about the well-being of her child. Almost sociopathic. She comprehended all the implications of what she was saying and, for her, the final math was clear.

  Say that worked, I said, trying to get my hands to stop trembling by pressing them hard against the table. You don’t think he’d come back? You don’t think he’d want revenge?

  She sipped her tea. She didn’t say any more.

  We ate dinner in silence that evening. Leo finished first and put his plate in the sink. He turned to leave and Griffin said, Are you going to wash that?

  Leo stopped, looking straight ahead.

  Because I’m not. And there’s no way Parker should. Uncle Allen—you?

  I said nothing.

  Leo picked his plate up as though to wash it, turned, and frisbeed it at Griffin’s face. Griffin moved sideways. The plate clipped his left temple, put a dent in the drywall behind him, and smashed onto the floor.

  As good as washed, Leo said and stepped toward the door.

  Griffin’s chair hit the floor as he lunged across the room and tackled Leo. Leo fell against the counter, catching a bowl with his shoulder, which smashed on the floor just before he fell with Griffin on top of him. Griffin was not a fighter, but he was enraged. He got Leo by the throat and squeezed. Leo managed to grab a large piece of the broken bowl and slashed Griffin’s forearm, then torqued his body and threw Griffin off. Leo sprang to his feet and launched a kick at Griffin’s head, which snapped back. Parker screamed.

  I roared something, got Leo in a headlock, and shoved him toward the door. He put his arms out and grabbed the doorjamb. Grinding the words out through clenched teeth he said, I’ve tried to get along with you people. I managed to dislodge one of his hands from the doorjamb and shoved him through. Fuck off Allen, he said, twisting out of my grip, I’ve had enough of this anyway. He went upstairs.

  Griffin was confused and groggy, his arm bleeding heavily. Parker grabbed a clean towel and pressed it to stop the bleeding, while I tore up a pillowcase, butterflied the cut with tape, and bound it tight.

  Parker leaned against the table suddenly, waiting out a contraction. I helped them up to their room and told Griffin to barricade the door and yell if he needed me. Before I left I said, We always used to fight over who did the dishes, but this one definitely takes the prize.

  I woke up dreaming about Mom. She was kneading her hands like the agitator of a washing machine. She looked up at me with a blank expression. We never wanted this, she said.

  This.

  I’m freezing.

  I can barely breathe. Everything feels old and dark, claustrophobic and old-school biblical. I yearn for something new, something fresh.

  It’s cloudy outside, but the clouds are high and white and there’s a light breeze I wouldn’t classify as wind. Sleep has left me exhausted. I feel like time has emptied its bucket on me. I don’t feel any of the usual relief waking up, no thank God it was only a dream.

  The sheets are damp from sweat. My head is pounding and my neck is stiff and I feel like I might puke.

  I let the goats out of the shed. My turn for shepherd duty. I haven’t told anyone how sick I’m feeling. I took a walking stick with me because I felt so weak and headed for the field past the old highway. Leo headed out first thing in the morning again with a daypack. Nonetheless I hate to leave Parker and Griffin.

  I reached the old highway and needed a rest. I lay down in the middle of the road and looked up at the sky, listening to the off-key tinkling of the bells we made for the goats out of tin cans, wire, and stones. I was filled with wonder at the strange world I was in. White fluffy seeds floated everywhere, like warm snow, but even lighter, softer and airier. The goats stared at the fluff for a while, then put their heads back down to eat. A new kind of tree must have migrated north. I got up and continued to the field.

  It was a sea of yellow weed flowers, opening in the light. I stood and gazed at the beauty until one of the goats lowered its head—and there she was, on the south edge, stone still except for her head turning slowly toward me. Even at that distance—thirty metres—the intentness of her gaze raised the hair on my arms. She didn’t move. Nor did I.

  All the problems at the cabin faded away. The sun broke through the clouds. She threw her head back, yawned, and vanished. The white seed pods twirled. In a hundred years some of them will be trees and she and I part of the earth that feeds them. That’s how she goes, and nobody knows, nobody knows, how cold my toes, my toes are growing.

  I felt dizzier then and vomited, begrudging the waste of food. I sat under a tree and leaned against its trunk. It also had white petals floating down to the earth, shaken free with each breeze. I must’ve dozed because the next thing I heard was Griffin’s whistle. The sun was at its zenith behind the clouds.

  I struggled to stand up, worried about the cougar—irrationally, because all the goats were fine. Griffin ambled up the hillside, nose still swollen, black eye turning yellow, looking happy.

  These are amazing, he gestured up at the floating seeds.

  Where’s Parker? I asked anxiously. Another wave of dizziness hit me and I put my hand back to steady myself. A bulb of sap grabbed stickily at my palm.

  Resting. Don’t worry, she’s barricaded in. He came back briefly but went out again. You were late. We were getting worried.

  The cougar’s here, I said. I saw her, only her, no cubs. Then I fell asleep. The goats are all here, right? Maybe she did kill that goat. Don’t tell Leo. He’s hunting her. He’s obsessed with that thing.

  Griffin gave me a quizzical look. You don’t look good, Uncle Allen.

  Griffin herded the goats back to the shed, and I went to bed. He came in to check on me, and I pulled him close and whispered, We need to get the pistol tonight. We have to act before I lose all my strength. I can’t assume I’ll get better.

  I slept for the rest of the afternoon and into the night, feeling the cougar with me, following my thoughts. I was deep in a disaster dream trying to protect her when Griffin put his hand on my leg. I oriented myself, got dressed, slipped my knife in the holder, and we tiptoed upstairs. The wind was blowing hard enough to give us sound cover. I was shivering. I put my hand on Leo’s doorknob.

  I knew I was crossing a line, that if Leo woke it would be a fight brothers should never have, but he had already crossed so many lines. I didn’t worry about being able to handle him, even being sick. He was a thrasher and I’d be in too close before he could get the pistol pointed let alone loaded.

  I turned the knob and pushed.

  The door opened a few centimetres and clunked into something. He’d pushed the dresser against the door. Clearly Leo didn’t feel safe either. I felt like the hunter.

  Wha’? Leo’s voice called, half-asleep. Who’s that?

  I don’t like lying.

  I heard the cougar, I said. Out near the shed.

  Shit. Hang on.

  Leo moved the dresser. He was buttoning up his shirt. The pistol was shoved into the waist of his pants. I just took it and asked, Does it have a cartridge? Like we were in the same unit and we were going out to face the enemy.

  In my pocket. He put his hand in his pocket to feel it.

  In the kitchen I said, we should load it here, and held out my hand sideways, pretending to bend over a
nd pick something up so we wouldn’t be eye to eye.

  Yeah, we should. Give me the gun and I’ll do it.

  I had the gun. I didn’t need the cartridge.

  Actually, Leo, I’m keeping it.

  Leo looked from me to Griffin, who had moved close, hand on knife hilt. As he understood the betrayal, rage spread through him.

  This is fucking war, he yelled and stormed back upstairs.

  I put the pistol down my underwear. Griffin offered to take it, but I don’t want Leo going after him. I collapsed back into bed.

  You must kill him. If you don’t, he’ll kill you. Then we’ll be here alone with him. Your brother is not a good man.

  I woke, shivering and covered in sweat. The light hurts, I can’t move my head. I dragged my covers into the living room where there’s less light and collapsed on the couch. Our father watched from the end of the living room, then ducked back into the kitchen.

  They brought me more blankets.

  It was late afternoon and the sun was elongating the shadows of the tops of the conifers over the grass. Wild daisies, buttercups, clover, and dandelions were open in the heat. Ruby, naked, walked up to me and took my clothes off and spread them on the grass to make a blanket, then pulled me down beside her. She didn’t speak a word. The bees were visiting the wildflowers around our head, as well as little orangey-brown moths, and above, blue and green dragonflies dipped and cleaned up mosquitoes.

  She touched the wounds from the cougar attack and pressed her lips on them. I swooned with happiness and desire and joy. Nothing else mattered and everything else mattered. I heard the rush of wings over my head as a flock of small birds swooped and rollercoastered over the tree tops. A raven clicked from the edge of the clearing. Ruby’s eyes were filled with light as she looked at me with a love unlike any I’d ever received. We were going to rollercoaster like those birds to wild and beautiful places.

  I woke to silence. White seeds floating in the house. Someone must have left the door open. Something entered the kitchen. I groped for the 9mm, but it wasn’t there anymore. The cougar jumped up onto the kitchen counter. She was hungry now. If I called out for help she might attack. I stared at her.