by Mimi Thebo
But actually, I’m going quite quickly, for me. I think I’m getting a little better. It’s going to be a whole lot easier to get up the hill the next time I go see my bear.
Though I won’t ever go again.
Because that was either stupid or insane.
The clearing is in the other direction. I shoe here sometimes, because I’ve seen hares and even elk come to look for the tall grass tops poking through the snow. But I’ve also seen wolves trotting through, and they scare me.
The targets are too far away when we stop. Dad says, “This is the place.” He heaps up some snow and puts a tarp on the ground. He talks a long time about safety and recoil and how to use the sights, and he’s so serious that it’s kind of cute, so I try to listen.
We lie on our fronts to start shooting.
We have two rifles and two targets. Dad and Jem go first, and then they go and check their shots while Tony and I reload. We’re pretty fast at this, after the time trials, and the sun feels warm on the dark green tarp. I am almost asleep again when they come back.
It hurts your shoulder worse than you can imagine, but shooting a rifle is also kind of fun. I get this illusion that I’m powerful and strong. I think I’ve hit the target almost every time. And then it’s our turn to shoe down and look while Dad and Jem reload.
I have two holes, both on the left-hand edge of the targets. All of Tony’s shots are drilled into the center.
I look at him, and he shrugs. “I used to be into it,” he says.
He’s only, what, sixteen or seventeen? Like Jem. I say, “When were you into it?”
He says, “When I was nine or ten.” And then he says, “Stop looking at me like I’m some kind of freak.”
And I say, “Sorry.” And then: “But you are.”
And something about that makes his eyes crinkle up on the corners. He looks at me, really looks at me, and he says, “Darcy…”
Dad shouts, “Hurry up!” So we peel off our papers and press down one each for Jem and Dad. Tony crumples his paper into a ball. When we get back Dad looks at mine and says, “You’re pulling to the left.”
I say, “No duh.”
“How did you do?” he asks Tony.
Tony shrugs. “Okay.”
The second time we lay back on the tarp, it’s not warm anymore. Tony gets me to stand up off the snow. I’m starting to feel tired, and there’s a wind coming up. Then Dad hurries over. He tells me and Tony to go back to the house. We get our shoes on and start off right away. Dad and Jem will catch up with us.
The oxygen seems to have fallen out of the air. The wind is pushing me down into the snow. The house isn’t getting any closer, and the snow under our feet starts blowing up to our knees.
The boys look worried, and I try to hurry, but then I get that black spots thing again. I hurt everywhere.
I keep trying to leave my body, but I know that if I do, I’ll fall down. I’m holding myself in.
Then Tony takes the rifle and the targets from Dad. It’s all way too big for him to carry, but he manages. Jem takes the tarp, as well as his rifle and targets. Dad takes me. He puts me up over his shoulder, and we hurry. The sky is getting darker and lighter at the same time. The pressure of the air is hurting my head, which is bouncing all over the place because Dad is running.
We’re late because of me. The storm is going to catch us out here, and it’s my fault, because I’m too slow. And they all could get back perfectly safely, but they won’t, because they won’t leave me.
We’re going to be caught out here in a blizzard, and it’s my fault.
And I think, I actually kind of like being out of my body. Why don’t I just go ahead and die and save everybody else a lot of trouble?
But then I think about Jem crying and how horrible it would be for Dad to pull me down off his back, all dead. So I stay in my body, and bounce.
When the snow starts it’s like someone flicked a switch. It’s suddenly everywhere at once. Tony starts shouting. He’s found the porch. Dad shouts to put the targets and the tarp under the lashed-down canoe and carries me inside. Jem comes in with an armful of logs, and then Tony is trying to push the door shut, but the wind won’t let him. He’s leaning all his weight against it, and it’s just pushing him back, and the snow and the wind are coming into the house, and the lamp goes out, and Dad has to go and help him.
And then suddenly, the moment the door shuts, it’s all okay. We’re back in, safe. I sit down at the table and half gasp, half laugh. We’re all still wearing snowshoes.
After a cup of tea I get to my feet. I have some little black spots, but I want to clean the toilet. Everyone says that they’ll do it, but I insist. And then, I lie down on the sofa again, with my back to everyone.
When I wake up, Dad brings me a bowl of beef stew and four crackers. We only had four crackers left. The boys have gone without so that I can have them all.
I eat the crackers first, using the stew like a dip. They all watch me, and I make little num, num sounds. They get happy about that. Project Darcy again.
Eating the stew takes forever. My arm feels heavy by the time I can put my spoon to rest in the bowl. Tony washes them both for me. Jem fills a water bottle. Dad has gone upstairs for a little table, and they put it by the sofa for my book and my own little lantern and some water. There is my duvet, too—from my bed, across my feet. It has pretty roses all over it. Dad says, “You can sleep there tonight. You don’t have to move, unless you want to.”
He’s just now figured out how sick I am, now that there’s no way of doing anything about it.
Tony comes and uses the sofa as a backrest. He’s been washing his hair in the sink with cold water. I touch it, and it feels nice.
He says, “I’ll wash yours for you, when it warms up a bit.” He leans his head into my hand, and it reminds me of Mouser, our cat that died. She used to do that, used to lean in for caresses.
I say, “Tony?”
I don’t have to. After all, he’s only inches away. But I want to say his name.
And he says, “Yes?” and leans back a little bit more into my hand.
I say, “Tell me more stories about bears.” But then I fall asleep like that, with my hand still tangled in his silky hair.
Chapter Six
It’s over. I wake up because I’m hot. Someone has stripped off my duvet, but I’m hot anyway. It’s very bright. I look out the window, and it’s sunny, but it’s more than that. There are lights on in the kitchen.
There’s central heating.
The door to the stairs isn’t taped shut anymore. There’s a note on my little table. It says: “Breakfast is in the microwave. We’re off to work/school. Jem will be back after three. The doctor is coming this morning. Do what he tells you. Love, Daddy.”
I open the cupboard to carry up my boxes, but somebody already has. There’s a sign on the washing machine door that says, “Please start me,” in Jem’s handwriting. But I wait to do that.
I take a bath. I shave my legs and wash my hair. I blow my hair dry and do my nails, and by then, I’m pretty hungry. I put on a fresh set of base layers and a rose-colored fleece. I put on matching rose-colored wool socks and lipstick. As much as I can, stuck in this place, I feel pretty.
The doctor comes while I am eating breakfast. He approves of the omelette and potatoes and shares some of my pot of tea.
He listens to my lungs, and frowns when he does. He thinks that days inside with woodburning stoves and oil lanterns in crowded conditions haven’t done me any favors. He tells me he doesn’t think I should go back to school for a couple more weeks. He talks to me more about the benefits of fresh air and how I need regular amounts of sunlight. He asks if I feel I could go out today for at least an hour.
No, I want to say. Getting clean, dressed, and fed is about enough for me today. I’m ready for a nice nap.
But I remember Dad’s note, and nod. “Sure,” I say. “I can do an hour.”
The bear is swimming. Up, up, up;
rising, buoyantly and irresistibly, in her consciousness. What wakes a bear? The sun has moved, and the inside of the cave is bathed in golden light. The icicles at the entrance, formed by her breath, are melting. Bear shifts off her bad shoulder. Her nose twitches.
—
I am still wearing the clashing lavender hat. At the bottom of the hill I hesitate, looking around, as if I am really being watched. But there is no one watching me but me.
I prod the snowpack with a pole. Again I hesitate.
And then, steadily, I begin the work of climbing the steep rise. The top has been scoured by the wind. The rock ledge is nearly clean of snow. I sit down and look for a view, but all I can see are trees.
And it hurts my head anyway, looking through my body eyes and my mind’s eye at the same time.
In the sun I am quickly drowsy. I see my eyes pulling shut. I start to lie down on the warm rock, but the ledge is wet—the thin layer of snow has melted in the time it took to recover my breath. Behind me an icicle crashes.
And again, I am pulled to the cave.
I’m not thinking straight. I have the black spots, and I need to lie down. I duck into the cave because the cave is where I do that. I go because there is no place else for me to go.
It is the first time it’s been light enough see her. She is massive. She is massive, and she has enormous claws. Her lips are slack, in her sleep, and I can see her huge, tearing teeth.
I suddenly feel a lot more energetic. I have to get out of here. This is utterly stupid. I will be killed in a horrible way, torn apart by an angry grizzly bear.
But then I see my hat. It’s near her, but, thank goodness, she’s not actually sleeping on it. It’s snagged in the pine branches she’s used for a mattress.
I think to myself one of those thoughts that you later realize is totally insane. I think, I’ll get my hat, and then I’ll leave, and I’ll never tell anybody. It will be like it never happened.
I creep forward.
Again, the bear is cold where she should be warm. Where there should be fat, furry bodies sleeping against her. Again, she wakes to remember: the men took them. She chased. She caught one of their mules in a mighty swipe, cutting down through its haunch with her right foreclaws. And then the loud noise, and the fire in the bone of her shoulder.
She ran. She left her cubs and ran. Can a bear feel shame?
The bear shakes her head. She cries out and opens her eyes, comes unsteadily to her feet. One of the men is in her den.
—
Just as I reach for the bright red hat, the bear roars to her feet. I scrabble back, trip over my snowshoes, and end up crouching, my back to the wall of the cave.
The bear huffs. She rears up and slams her front paws inches from my feet. She roars in my face.
I see myself trembling violently. I am shouting something. I’m saying, “It’s me, it’s me.” I clutch my hat to my heart, as if it will protect me. I look so small and weak.
Suddenly, the bear reaches out. She drags me forward.
I start to cry.
The bear sniffs at my head and neck. My eyes are shut tightly, and I whimper and shake. The bear nuzzles my chest, like a giant dog.
Still shaking, I see myself open my eyes and tentatively raise one hand to stroke the huge head. “It’s me,” I say again. “It’s only me.”
The bear snorts and swings away. Out on the ledge she urinates and defecates. On the other side, fastidiously, she eats some snow, and licks the water from what icicles she has not knocked down with her giant body.
Looking from out of my body, above, I can clearly see the dark patch of the bear’s wounded shoulder.
The bear swings back into the cave and collapses heavily on her side. She opens her huge arms and makes an imperative call. And I, hesitantly, go to be embraced.
Chapter Seven
Her arm is heavy, and she smells. So do I. I wet my pants when she grabbed me. I only think, I am in so much trouble. I am in so much trouble. I am in so much trouble.
What if she won’t let me go? But after about twenty minutes, she shifts a little bit, and I can edge away. I have to put my snowshoes back on properly to stand up. I think about the claws and how she could just casually rip my back from my bones. But she only gives a little snuffle at my place. I think she misses me when I am gone.
Then I am out on the ledge with her very smelly poo. And then I am going down the hill and I feel…I feel incredible. I feel like I could fly down. It seems easy to get to the bottom of the hill. It seems easy to shoe home.
When I’m back inside the cabin, I strip naked, push my stuff into the washer, and start it. I go up and take a shower. I keep laughing to myself, like a lunatic. I think I might be a lunatic. I really, really do. Maybe I’ve totally and utterly lost my mind.
After I’m dry and dressed, I look at what there is to make for dinner and decide to do some baking. I make two loaves of bread. While I am waiting for the dough to rise the first time, I make chocolate chip cookies. While I wait for the dough to rise the second time, I make cupcakes. I ice them in pastels when the bread goes into the oven. So I don’t waste the heat I’ve made, I make a chicken casserole for dinner, too, and turn the oven down low.
It’s not quite one o’clock. I’m clean, and everything is ready for tea. All of a sudden, I’m tired again. I get my laptop and plug it in. I lie on the sofa and watch a silly rom com; one of my DVDs from Sue.
I wonder if my mum will go see a movie at the multiplex. I wonder if she’ll sleep in Sue’s room, in the spare bed they always call “Darcy’s bed.” I wonder if she and Sue will hug goodnight, like me and Sue, and me and Mum, do.
I wonder if I’ll ever forgive them.
—
Jem comes home in a whirl of news and movement. He dumps his stuff by the stairs and eats four chocolate chip cookies before I even manage to say hello.
He says, “Nancy’s coming to clean in the morning,” and eats another cookie. His skin is starting to turn into his summer color. It’s spring now, and the bus has to come all the way to Mammoth to meet the park kids because they can’t snowmobile into Gardner anymore.
He says, “I made the baseball team today. I got four hits and bowled…” He catches himself and shakes his head. His blond hair fans out like a mane. It needs cutting, I think, but then he shakes it back into place. “I mean, I pitched a bit, too. But there’s all these rules about strike zones and things….I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it.”
He’ll be able to do it. He’ll probably have a trophy for it by summer. I just look at him, and he grins. “Oh, yeah,” he says. “Mum is going to fly back the day after tomorrow.”
I pour tea and then cut a cake, and Jem puts four more cookies back into the tin. He tells me that the first of the summer employees have arrived, and they are working, getting the hotels ready to open. He also says that dad’s postgraduate helper is on her way, so Dad won’t be so busy.
Then he says, “I’ve got tons of homework. Do you mind if I take my cake and tea upstairs?”
I’m exhausted just listening to him. I say, “No, you go on,” and wave him up the stairs. I get back on my sofa.
A rough paw is stroking my head. Even in my sleep, I know it’s her. I lie perfectly still. I hardly breathe. If only she keeps her claws away from my skull. If only she lets me go.
But it’s Dad, stroking my forehead with his rough hand.
He has news too. He’s going to take me out on Saturday. First we are going to go to the bear awareness class that the park service holds for the summer employees, because I missed the one at school and have to have my bear awareness training. Then we are going into town for the night. Jem and Tony are going to stay in the cabin and do Dad’s observations. Nancy is going to come and cook for them and do a really big cleaning. On Sunday morning we’ll pick Mum up at the airport, as a surprise.
Jem eats almost a whole loaf of bread with his casserole and has seven cookies and then two more cupcakes for dessert. After d
inner, Dad gives me my USB back. He has loaded on a bunch of pages about bears, so that I don’t look stupid at the training event. There’s also an email from Sue. I take it up to my room and sit on my bed to read everything.
Sue says she has loved having Mum there, but it makes her miss me even worse. She says she understands now how sick I was. She says she’s not surprised I got sick, and if it was her living here, she’d probably die in about five minutes.
It’s very sweet and everything, but it’s also irritating. They’ve all been talking about me.
I look at all the bear pages, flicking through. I know what grizzlies look like. I know how they hibernate. There’s a bit about how they keep their cubs with them for two or three years. Something about that feels painful, and I think about my bear.
I know she is hurt, and I look to see what she should be doing this time of year, the beginning of spring. Eating meat. She should be eating an elk carcass or stealing a deer kill from a pack of wolves. She will be vegetarian for most of the summer, but she needs meat now.
How will she get some meat? I wonder if she’s well enough to fight wolves. I wonder if she’s well enough to leave the cave. I wonder if the meat she eats will be me.
Dad sticks his head in the doorway. “You okay?” he asks.
I nod, still thinking. He says, “I’m going to make some cocoa. Are you coming down?”
I say, “Yes, I’m absolutely fine,” which we both know is not true. Dad nods like he believes me, but we both know he doesn’t.
On the way down the stairs I say, “By the way, I found my hat.”
—
On Friday I sleep late, again. When I get up Dad and Jem have already gone. Dad’s note says “There’s porridge in the microwave. Could you move the food on the porch into the freezer? We might get a bit of a thaw today. Love, Dad.
“Oh,” he’s written at the bottom. “And take pepper spray when you go out. The bears are waking up.”
—
The porridge is all gloopy on top. I scrape it into the bin and make some blueberry muffins and microwave some bacon.