This River Awakens

by Steven Erikson

  I’m going to jail. The rest of my life. I’ll lose everything – but not enough, not nearly enough. He had to make a phone call. They’d all come, car after car slewing down the track, crowding his driveway. And Bill would be there, on his face a helpless, confused look. He’d study Fisk’s face. He’d ask, Why, Hodgson? After all you’ve been through, why bring it back now? Like this, why like this? And Fisk would shrug, eyes on the field of mud, eyes like broken windows and the mud swirling as it pulled his soul out, sucked it down into the dark. He’d gag, but only momentarily, as the mouse pushed its way clear of his throat, claws biting as it clambered over his swollen tongue, the fur damp and bitter-sweet. Flying out as he coughed, landing at a run, straight for the field, because that’s where mice lived. Why, Hodgson? Stupid question. We let it all go, Bill. I saw faith skewered by a bayonet, pinned writhing on the dusty ground. I saw it, and felt nothing. What was left? Ashes. You don’t know how Dorry became my shadow, because mine had disappeared. You don’t know how she held me at night. You don’t know how much I wanted kids of my own, so I could tell my story, so I could relieve the … the pressure. Just once, that’s all it would have taken, and I could’ve walked tall, upright for ever afterwards.

  You don’t get it, Bill. You never did, you and your buddies down at that crypt you call the hall. We pissed our pants back then, struggling through the salty water up on to the beaches, coming face to face – for the first time – with what people could do to each other. I didn’t want their blood. They didn’t want mine. What the hell were we doing? You sit there night after night swapping tales, pretending what you did back then was worthwhile. A fucking cause. Freedom – oh, how Rat’s laughing right now, but Rat’s mistaken. Deeply mistaken. Freed into madness, don’t you see? They proclaimed a war, and gave us the rules that freed us to become insane. The more insane you were, the more medals you got. I got a chestful, Bill. And once you’ve been there, there’s no going back. Not for real, because you know what a fool you were, falling for war, falling for all the excuses they gave you to go mad.

  I didn’t want their blood, but I took it. They didn’t want mine, but they took it. We were good little boys, because our dads gathered at the Legion and played on. They didn’t explain how it’d been the first time – they didn’t want to be lessened in their sons’ eyes. What a joke.

  It was an accident, Bill. That’s all. This time, I wasn’t given permission. This time, I didn’t have any rules backing me. And I’ll tell you something, Bill. Something I’ve learned, just now. God’s up there and He sees no difference. Every cross they stuck in the ground above those faceless bodies in those flowering fields, it’s like a stake in His heart, a piercing of His soul. He never meant it that way, Bill.

  So look at my face, sir, and see what death has cost me. I’m what God looks at in the mirror, too numb to even cry. And you and the boys can mutter and shake your heads, but inside each of you I’ll be there, cold and spinning like an unmelting chunk of ice in the river, caught in the currents for ever. Crusted and dirty, I’m your terror of knowing. Sorry, but that’s how it is. That’s how it will be for the rest of your lives.

  He pictured himself, sitting in a cell, as the seasons went around, and around. Others would be set free in the night. Others would die. Guards would change, retire. But he would remain, unending, rocking back and forth in his chair, the blood swishing back and forth in time, there in his head, numbing his cheeks, numbing everything, until only his eyes felt alive. He’d be grinning at all the ghosts. ‘It’s all right,’ he’d tell them. ‘I’m going to live for ever.’

  When the first of the police cars came down the road, Fisk waited for them beside the maypole, the boy in his arms.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I

  Joanne studied the faces arrayed before her, the students cross-legged on the carpet. Too young for this. ‘I have a very sad announcement to make,’ she said slowly. She paused, her hands folded in front of her, standing with the desk’s edge pressing against the back of her thighs. The news had come that morning, a call from the police. A tragic accident. An old man charged with manslaughter. There was no bringing the boy back, but she sensed in this many levels of justice, ending with, of course, God’s own.

  They had decided that there’d be no assembly, that each teacher would deal with his or her own class. Joanne knew that it was the students seated in front of her who would be the most affected.

  ‘Roland Fraser died yesterday.’ She looked at Owen, saw him go very still, the blood draining from his face. ‘A tragic accident. And I share your sense of loss, and your pain. I think it’s important to talk about it, to get your feelings out, to share in your grief. As you can imagine, each teacher is talking with their own class – this is something everyone in this school must deal with. Of course, this class is special, because it was Roland’s. I know that he had very close friends among you, and it’s important that those others of you – who perhaps didn’t know Roland as well as they did – that you come together now, and offer support.’

  ‘How did he die?’ Owen asked bluntly.

  Joanne moved to the stool and sat down. ‘Well, that’s one of the things that needs to be talked about.’ She glanced at Jennifer, who for once looked shaken. ‘It seems Roland was involved in … some activities … yesterday. No one can understand his reasons for doing what he did, but he’d chosen a path that was hurtful, and, I guess, mean. He went to a mink farm and freed the animals. The man who owned the farm caught him.’ She scanned the faces again, and was surprised to find Owen’s attention not on her, but on Lynk, who sat with his arms wrapped around his bent legs, his eyes dull, clearly in shock. ‘Evidently, Roland had a heart condition, and it’s believed to have contributed to his death. I realise how terrible this sounds, but we should all think about this. We should think about choosing the wrong paths in life. You have so many choices ahead of you, after all. And together, we can direct those choices, into positive, helpful directions.’ She looked down at her hands. ‘As Roland’s teacher, I feel now that I failed him, in some way.’ She looked up again, at Jennifer, Barb, Owen and Lynk, each in turn. ‘Just as I’m sure some of you feel. Well, it’s all right, it’s perfectly understandable. But it’s important to realise that we’re not perfect, that sometimes we miss the signs—’

  ‘What signs?’ Owen asked.

  ‘Owen, I don’t see the value in your constantly interrupting me—’

  ‘There weren’t any signs.’

  ‘Owen, please—’

  He turned to Lynk. ‘Why did he go to Fisk’s, Lynk?’

  Lynk seemed to shrink inside himself.

  ‘Because he told Roland,’ Jennifer said. ‘He told me he told Roland. That’s what you meant yesterday, wasn’t it? You let the mink go. Didn’t you?’

  ‘Listen!’ Joanne said, raising her voice. ‘I expect you to control—’

  ‘He was going to explain things,’ Owen said, now on his feet. ‘That’s what he’d do—’

  ‘Miss Rhide!’ Lynk called shrilly. ‘Get him away! Tell him to stop – can’t blame me, it’s not my fault! Send him to the office!’ He scrambled to his feet and edged closer to Joanne, his eyes wide as he stared at Owen. ‘You screwed everything up! It’s not my fault – it’s yours. I forgot about … about what my dad heard, about his sick heart – and he never said, did he? How were we supposed to guess?’

  Joanne rose. ‘Everyone, please!’ Other classes were looking their way. Mr Lyle took a few steps in their direction. I can control this. I don’t know what’s happening, but I can control this. ‘Quiet down, right now!’

  Though she shouted, neither Owen nor Lynk seemed to hear. They simply kept staring at each other, in a way that sent a chill through her. She saw Jennifer watching, too, holding herself silent and motionless as if tethered down.

  ‘You fucked everything up,’ Lynk said.

  There were gasps. Joanne stepped towards him. ‘Lynk Bescher! What’s … what’s—’

&
nbsp; ‘It’s not my fault! You’re lying, Owen! You’re just one big fuck-in’ liar! There’s nothing there!’

  ‘For God’s sakes!’ Joanne shouted. ‘Be quiet!’

  She saw George Lyle moving quickly towards the office, his pale face filled with alarm. ‘It’s all right,’ she called to him, knowing how shrill she sounded and hating it. To her shock, he ignored her. You can’t do this! It’s my class – you can’t do this to me!

  ‘She’s on my side,’ Lynk said to Owen.

  What?

  ‘It’s just you now, isn’t it? I win. I win. No one believes you any more. I win—’

  ‘Lynk?’ Joanne asked softly. ‘What on earth is going on?’

  He grinned. ‘Nothing. All he does is lie. About everything. It’s not his fault, though. He can’t help it. None of us can. You have to help him like you did me. I know what’s real now. Nothing’s wrong. You should take him away, though. He’s gonna beat me up. Kick me in the balls. He’s already beaten me up. Twice. And Jennifer hit me with a dog leash yesterday. They keep beating me up, the two of them, because I know everything – I copped her, Owen. You were going together, and I copped her tits. She begged for more—’

  Jennifer rushed Lynk, but Joanne pushed the boy behind her and threw out a hand. It caught the girl high on her chest – Joanne’s fingers jabbing her in the throat. The girl’s feet went out from under her and she fell, landing on another student, who shouted in pain.

  Joanne glared down at Jennifer. ‘Don’t you touch him,’ she rasped.

  She saw Barry hurrying towards her class. Thank God.

  ‘Joanne!’ he said. ‘Step away from those kids. Right now!’

  II

  Jennifer sat up, still slightly winded and feeling the sting of the scrapes on her neck from Rhide’s fingernails. She heard Principal Thompson’s words, but her attention was now on Owen. He was staring down at her, not a single thing alive in his expression.

  ‘He’s lying,’ Jennifer said.

  Thompson took Rhide by the arm and escorted her to one side. Rhide started talking, fast, her tone defensive. Jennifer saw Thompson nod, his shoulders dropping. Bitch. She’s saving her own skin. Roland’s dead. I wish I knew what Lynk and Owen were talking about. Something else. Something terrible.

  ‘Jennifer,’ Thompson said. ‘You’ll come with me. And you too, Owen. Both of you—’

  Owen bolted.

  ‘Come back here right now!’ Thompson’s voice was a bellow. Everyone was watching, watching as Owen – ignoring the command – raced out of the open-room.

  And then, to Jennifer’s surprise, she saw someone following him. The four, the four of them. They know something. Shit, what’s going on?

  ‘On your feet, Jennifer.’ Thompson reached down and took her arm in a firm, painful grip. He pulled her upright. She saw Lynk, behind Rhide again, looking not triumphant, but more like an animal, cornered, nowhere to run.

  ‘Call Dr Roulston,’ Jennifer said.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he growled, pulling her along.

  ‘And my mother. I’m getting the fuck out of here.’

  ‘This is a school matter. A problem in discipline. I’ll decide who to call.’

  They left the open-room.

  Jennifer said, ‘I’m leaving—’

  ‘Like hell you are. I don’t give a shit who you let feel your tits, but attacking another student – in class – I care about that—’

  ‘So expel me. Kick me out.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  They reached the secretary’s office. Thompson directed her inside. Mrs Reynolds and George Lyle stood by the desk. George looked a question at Thompson upon seeing Jennifer.

  ‘You can go back to class now, George,’ Thompson said. He released his grip on Jennifer’s arm but put his other hand against her back, pushing her towards the conference room door.

  ‘Is that necessary?’ George asked.

  Thompson stopped and faced the man. She could see the principal was shaking with rage, and felt frightened for the first time. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’

  Lyle hesitated.

  ‘Now,’ Thompson said.

  ‘Please,’ Jennifer said to Lyle.

  The teacher’s eyes flicked to her, then back to Thompson. ‘I’d like a word with you first. In private.’

  ‘Later. I’m busy. Get along now, George, before something irrevocable happens.’

  She saw the teacher’s dark eyes harden. Not just with us kids, Barry. He’s lost his temper with you now. Look out.

  ‘Very well,’ he said quietly, ‘if that’s how you want it. I don’t give a shit what your lover’s told you. In fact, I’m suggesting that you’ve lost your objectivity here. I heard enough out there to know there’s a lot more going on than just a simple fight. So, before you judge and execute the wrong people, why don’t we exercise some professional restraint here and get to the bottom of this.’

  Thompson’s face was white. His hand, where it pressed Jennifer’s back, was hot and wet. ‘Pack up, George,’ the principal said, ‘you’re out.’

  ‘This is going to come out,’ Lyle said. ‘Everything. You thought the last scandal was bad. I think your head will roll this time.’

  Mrs Reynolds cleared her throat and Thompson looked at her. She said, ‘I think we should let everything calm down. Emotions are a little high right now. A thirteen-year-old boy – one of our students – has just been killed. It seems we’re quickly losing track of what’s important here. Everyone’s in shock, given the circumstance of Roland’s death. We need to sit back and let things settle.’

  Thompson drew a deep breath, removing his hand and leaving a palm-sized sweat stain on Jennifer’s shirt. ‘Wise counsel, Jill.’ He turned to Lyle. ‘I was hasty, George. Two of Joanne’s students just left the school. We’re responsible for them, and I don’t know where the hell they’ve gone. It’s a goddamned nightmare.’

  ‘I can go look,’ Lyle said. ‘I’m sure Joanne could use your presence in the class beside hers. All the kids could.’

  ‘Good idea.’ He held out his hand.

  Lyle shook it then turned to Jennifer. ‘Can you promise not to cause a scene in class, Jennifer? It’s important, no matter what Lynk might say to you, that you show restraint. It’s important not just for Miss Rhide and the other students, but for you, as well. I think you can manage.’ He smiled. ‘I’m not convinced about Lynk, but that’s Miss Rhide’s concern—’

  ‘He’s a liar and a fake,’ Jennifer said.

  Lyle nodded. ‘His “blossoming” is a little suspect, but that’s neither here nor there, is it? Can you handle this?’

  Jennifer shrugged. ‘Sure. I guess.’

  ‘I knew you could.’

  ‘All right,’ Thompson said to her. ‘Let’s head back.’

  Mrs Reynolds said, ‘She’d better see the nurse first – those scratches on her neck need tending to.’

  III

  ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ Sten kept saying, motionless on the sofa.

  Elouise poured tea for herself, Sten and Dr Roulston, then sat down beside her husband. She noted the doctor raised his eyebrows at that.

  Sten looked up. ‘You see, Doctor, they hated me. They had to. Nothing else makes sense.’

  ‘It’s a remarkable story,’ Roulston said. ‘But not unique. There’s clearly a powerful bond between you and your dogs, and there’s precedent all through history for that kind of relationship.’

  ‘The oldest partnership of all,’ Sten said, nodding.

  ‘You’re probably right—’

  ‘Of course I am. Unless you count fleas, but they’re notoriously fickle.’

  Roulston smiled. ‘Has this changed you, Sten? Or am I witness to more games here?’

  ‘You tell me. I’m sober. I’ve been sober for weeks. Even the dry drunks are gone.’

  ‘Do you trust yourself?’

  ‘Hell, no,’ he said.

  ‘And you, Elouise?’ the doctor asked. ‘How do you feel? Do you trust
that your husband’s on the road to recovery?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘I want to, of course. But, well, hope’s a little slower to arrive these days. There’s a group, meeting at the church. It’s for people with alcoholics in their family. I’m thinking I might go. Maybe I can get Jennifer to come, too.’

  Sten scowled. ‘Why? I’m cured. I did it myself.’

  ‘There’s no cure,’ Roulston said. ‘Don’t fool yourself. The sickness doesn’t go away.’

  ‘I don’t want to drink any more,’ Sten said.

  ‘That’s a start, Mr Louper. That’s all it is.’

  Roulston began talking about AA, and Sten seemed to be listening. Elouise closed her eyes and sipped tea. It’s almost time. The thaw’s come so quickly. I’ll have to get to work. All the weeding, digging air into the earth. She’d need to buy fertiliser – they had no compost this year, but what had rotted in the garden would help. She’d have to rake up the old crab-apples as well, and check on last summer’s growth. Some cutting back might be needed, something she should’ve done in the fall. It’d be like starting all over again, in her garden. The thaw’s come so quickly. So unexpected. May be a long growing season ahead. We’ll see, I suppose.

  IV

  I ran across the highway, my only thought being to get away, to escape. Old Man Fisk killed him. Lynk freed the mink – it had to be him, so that made him responsible. He’s won, like he said. He’s won.

  I reached the road, then heard footsteps behind me. I wheeled, expecting to see Jennifer, but it was Carl. He stopped, ten feet back, his runners sinking into the mud of the shoulder. ‘What do you want?’ I demanded.

  He shrugged. ‘I’m going with you,’ he said.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Where you’re going.’

  ‘Where the hell’s that?’ I had no place in mind, nowhere I wanted to go. Just away. But Carl obviously thought otherwise.

  ‘He says it never existed,’ Carl said. ‘He’s lying.’