Moon of the Crusted Snow

by Waubgeshig Rice

  It grew dark as snow swallowed the building. A fire burned at the far end of the foyer, flicking orange light onto the walls and ceiling. He looked up to see a frozen crust grow over the skylight, blocking out the overcast sky.

  The fire in the back made no smoke or heat, only light. He walked cautiously towards it. The whole space was barren. No furniture, no supplies, no signs of any kind of human presence. As he approached the fire, he noticed strange, dark stacks lined up against the walls. They looked like rolls of blankets. But the closer he came, he realized they were bodies, frozen stiff, wrapped in blankets, and piled three-to-four high against the Gyprock walls.

  He stopped and struggled to breathe. His heart pounded but his feet felt frozen. He stumbled forth, almost drunkenly. The fire danced above the floor, suspended ominously.

  His heavy feet trudged slowly towards the pile of bodies on the left. Wrapped in fading material and stacked together, they all looked the same size. These were all adults, he concluded. Thank god there are no children here. The room seemed to stretch longer the closer he got to the wall. The row of frozen bodies extended much farther than he had originally realized.

  He looked back down and saw thick black hair sticking out the end of a grey wool blanket. He saw his hand rise to reach for it. His fingers stroked cold, coarse hair. He ran his palm across the stiff, frigid scalp and he pulled the blanket away from the face.

  ~

  The dream shocked him awake before he saw who it was. He yelped as he jolted up.

  Nicole came around from the kitchen and looked at him with concern on her face. “You alright?”

  Even propped himself onto his left elbow and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah,” he croaked in a hoarse voice. “Just a messed-up dream.”

  Nineteen

  Scott exhaled and relaxed his shoulder as the bull settled in his scope. He squeezed the trigger and the loud crack scattered the other nearby moose. His target fell to the snow. “Fuckin’ got ’im! Woohoo!” he belted out.

  Dan, Isaiah, Evan, and Jeff Whitesky crouched in the snow behind the newcomer. “Looks like you weren’t kidding, zhaagnaash,” said Jeff, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You can shoot.”

  “Ha ha!” Scott gloated. He twisted his torso to face the men behind him and squinted into the cold white landscape. “It’s been a long time since I bagged a moose in the winter. They’re basically like sitting ducks out there, eh?”

  The rest rose to their feet behind him, now that the other moose had disappeared into the sparse bush. “Yeah, after the rut, the bulls tend to stick together in the winter,” Dan explained. “They don’t move too much either.”

  “But we don’t like to do this much, hunting them in the winter,” added Jeff. “It’s kinda like cheating. It’s not the Anishinaabe way to take more than you need. Back in the day, before beef roasts were shipped in here, we only did it when we needed to. Only during the desperate times.”

  Scott put the safety back on his .30-30 rifle and threaded his big arm through the shoulder strap. “Well, I’d say these are desperate times,” he said. “That’s why we’re out here, isn’t it?”

  “No, we’re out here because you promised to play a part here,” Evan reminded him.

  Scott shot him an icy gaze that the others didn’t notice. “I am playing a part,” Scott retorted. “You’ve seen what I brought to the table.”

  It was a week after Scott’s arrival. When the men had met to plan their hunt, they had asked Scott what he had for guns and ammunition. He took them to the health station where he’d been staying and pulled a ring of keys from his waist to unlock one of the hard cases. A soft foam mould contained a 12-gauge pump-action shotgun, a .30-30 rifle, a smaller .22-calibre rifle, and two semi-automatic pistols. He lifted the holder to reveal a cache of ammunition. “Got enough here for when the shit really hits the fan,” he explained with pride. Evan couldn’t get Scott’s artillery stock out of his mind.

  “What’s a zhaagnaash, anyway?” asked Scott. He pronounced the long vowels nasally and abruptly, and that made Isaiah and Jeff snicker.

  “It’s our traditional word for ‘helpful friend,’” replied Evan.

  “That’s bullshit and you know it,” grumbled Scott. The others just laughed. With his wide rawhide snowshoes on his feet, Dan, the elder of the group, led the way to the moose. Scott followed with his smaller metal ones, and Jeff walked beside him, sifting through the fresh snow in his traditional snowshoes. Evan and Isaiah walked back to where they had parked the snowmobiles to bring Scott’s machine to the moose.

  The three men stopped in front of the dead animal to marvel at his size. Their shadows loomed over the dead beast. “Fuckin’ right we’re gonna need my sled!” boasted Scott.

  Dan frowned in annoyance as he pulled out a pouch of tobacco and pinched out a small amount. He elbowed Scott’s forearm to get his attention to hand him the pouch. “Here, take this,” Dan said. The beak of his hat concealed his eyes. “This is what we call semaa. It’s tobacco. We make an offering to give thanks to this moose for offering its life to us.”

  “I’ve heard of this,” Scott said, and he silently took the pouch and pinched some into his own hand. He handed it to Jeff, who did the same.

  Dan took off his hat and began to pray. Jeff pulled back the hood of his parka and removed his ball cap and Scott pulled off his black toque when he saw what the others were doing. Dan finished the prayer with a miigwech and placed the tobacco in front of the dead moose with care and respect. Jeff followed, and Scott mimicked the motions of the others.

  By the time Evan and Isaiah returned with the sleds, they were ready to lift the bull on and return to town. This is where Scott’s muscle would come in handy. He’s pulling his weight, thought Evan. Maybe he’ll be useful around here.

  Twenty

  Evan, Nicole, and their children dined under the yellow lightbulb that brightened the kitchen table. It was a moose roast with the last of the potatoes mashed for a side and heated canned corn. Evan was careful not to douse his potatoes with too much gravy. He wanted to savour them because no one knew when they’d be able to eat them again. He’d saved a few to plant in the spring, but he wasn’t sure if they’d actually grow.

  Cutlery clanked against thin glass plates as the family ate their meal with quiet chatter. They all took their time over the meal without the distraction of TV and homework. After supper, they unfolded worn board games, played cards, or told stories. The pace of their lives was slowing.

  “Moozoo, that’s moose,” Nicole said to Maiingan. She took every opportunity to remind them of their Anishinaabemowin words. They had language classes at school, but there had been no regular classes for almost a month. The band couldn’t justify using the fuel to keep the school open. Some teachers still held informal classes in their homes for families who wanted to maintain some kind of normal routine. But even those were happening less often. “Moozoo,” the boy repeated.

  “What’s this?” Nicole asked, pointing at the corn on her plate. Maiingan stared at the vegetable, scrunching his face in concentration. “M . . . ma . . . man-daa-min?”

  “Right! Mandaamin!” she said, holding out her hand for a high five. He slapped it with peak five-year-old force. “And that is?” she asked, pointing at the potatoes.

  “Piniik!” he shouted. Nicole smiled and raised her palm for another celebratory slap.

  The children were learning their language earlier and better than their parents had. Evan and Nicole had grown up in an era when Ojibwe wasn’t spoken much with the younger generation at home. It was only two generations before Nicole and Evan that speaking Ojibwe was punished at the church-run schools that imprisoned stolen children, and the shame attached to it lingered. Evan and Nicole had vowed to make things different for their kids. They had given them Anishinaabemowin names with pride — Maiingan meant “wolf” and Nangohns “little star.”

  Evan g
athered the empty plates and dropped them neatly into cold water in the sink. The council had asked everyone to shut off their hot water heaters the week before, and Evan had loyally heeded the request. Water for cooking or bathing was once again heated on the stovetop. Showers were gone, and a bath had become a twice-weekly routine. They’d likely have to reduce that even more if the rez wasn’t going to run out of diesel before winter was over.

  He cleared the pots and bowls of food, then put the leftovers into plastic containers and stacked them neatly in the fridge. He promised to wash the dishes when he got home later. He was off to check in on his brother to make sure he and his family had enough wood. Evan knew his little brother could easily become vulnerable and desperate.

  He stood at the top of his steps in the dark of the early evening and let out a breath just to see the vapour billow from his mouth. He had done this since he was a kid to gauge the cold.

  Thick clouds blocked the bright moon and the stars. The roads were blanketed in a darkness so heavy it was almost tangible. Evan drove along the white road he had recently ploughed. Most homes he passed were dark, save for one light in one window. It appeared the conservation message had finally sunk in: people were now complying — although, Evan felt not enough people understood the extent of their crisis. Perhaps the council should not have protected people so much at first. In recent weeks, he had silently begun to second-guess Terry’s strategies and leadership. People weren’t exactly rallying behind their chief, although most complied with his orders.

  Evan pulled up to his brother’s duplex. He noticed more lights on than usual. Smoke swirled out of the chimney. At least he’s burning wood and not using electric heat, Evan thought. He walked up to the front door and knocked, although he usually just walked in. The crisis had put many people on edge, and he didn’t want to alarm his brother. He was already at odds with Cam over his inactivity and lack of initiative. No need to make it worse.

  No one came to the door. He heard muffled voices inside but couldn’t tell who it was. He knocked again and waited. Still no one arrived to let him in, so he decided just to open the door and walk in after all.

  A thick haze of cigarette smoke assaulted him. He had run out of smokes a few days earlier, and the smoke stung his eyes though the longing remained. He heard loud chatter, the shouts and laughter of a small party. Bass-heavy music thumped from tiny speakers.

  Evan was immediately annoyed, knowing that there would be more lights on and more toilet flushes than there should be. He took a deep breath and tried to contain his bubbling anger before walking into the kitchen.

  Cam sat at the kitchen table with Nick Jones and his friend Jacob McCloud. Evan was surprised to see Nick, slightly younger than the other two and not generally a partier. “Hey bro!” Cam shouted, rising with arms outstretched. Greasy hair peeked out from under a toque, and his stained white T-shirt hung loosely off his skinny arms. He stumbled as he came towards Evan.

  Evan let his younger brother wrap him in a drunken hug and squeezed him back before nudging him away. “How’s it going, brother? Looks like you’re nice and relaxed tonight,” Evan said, barely containing his fury at his brother’s fecklessness.

  Cam stumbled back to his chair and shrugged. “Just survivin’, bro,” he said, cracking a wide, toothy smile.

  A plastic bottle of rye was the table’s centrepiece, an overflowing ashtray nestled up against it. Evan didn’t recognize the brand of rye. It looked like it had been bought wholesale somewhere. He scanned the table and noticed the young men were drinking it straight. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t want to alienate his brother’s friends, so he moved to shake each of their hands.

  “This is the fuckin’ guy that saved my life!” slurred Nick. “These guys found us!”

  Evan corrected him: “You guys found us.”

  “No way, man. I was so happy when I saw you guys there.”

  Evan didn’t want to fall down this soggy, inebriated rabbit hole. “I just came by to check on you guys,” Evan said. He didn’t see Sydney, but he heard more voices in the living room to his left. “You got enough wood?”

  “Yep, for the whole winter,” his brother replied, nodding his heavy, drunk head.

  “What about food?”

  “We just got our box for the week yesterday.”

  Evan had prepared it himself. He, Tyler, Isaiah, and a rotation of councillors delivered the food to prevent a pickup point from descending into mayhem as people got hungrier.

  “Where’s Jordan?”

  “At Syd’s mom’s. We needed a night off. So I invited some people over.”

  “I see that. Where’s Syd?”

  Cam lifted his chin in the direction of the other room, pointing with his lips.

  “Alright, I’ll go in and say hi. Just remember to keep it down, and don’t have too many lights on,” he reminded the table. He knew he was in no position to cast stones about the drinking. He felt like indulging himself, but the sloppiness bothered him tonight, so he walked into the next room instead.

  Light from a single lamp in the far corner illuminated the whole space. A tiny boom box beneath it played hip hop music. “Hey, Evan! Come over and have a drink!” shouted Sydney. That was the last thing he heard before blood rushed into his face and ears, drowning out sound.

  Sitting in the opposite corner with Sydney’s cousin Jenna on his lap was Scott. He raised his cup to Evan to salute his arrival. “Welcome, friend. Will you join us?”

  Somehow Evan had known that the cigarettes and free-flowing booze would lead back to Scott. Scott hadn’t been in the community long, but rumour had it that he was the man to go to if you’d run out of smokes or alcohol. He had somehow concealed a decent supply of vices in those hard cases he towed from the South. Desperate to keep his cool, Evan scanned the room. Sydney sat on the love seat to his left, leaning over the coffee table to knock the ash of her smoke into one of the empty red cups. Her younger sister Tara leaned back on the dark couch on the opposite side of the room closest to the light.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded through gritted teeth.

  “Well, nice to see you too, friend,” Scott replied sarcastically.

  “I don’t have time for your bullshit, Scott. What are you doing in my brother’s house?”

  “Your brother welcomed me in. I saw Nick by the band office the other day. He said they were having drinks here tonight. I figured I deserved to cut loose.”

  “Get your hands off the girl. She’s too young for you.”

  “Evan, just chill out,” Sydney muttered, rolling her glassy eyes.

  Sensing the tension, Jenna stood up. “I gotta go pee,” she said and made her way across the room. She flicked up her long black hair as she passed Evan. It smelled faintly sweet.

  “Happy now?” Scott asked, his free hand clenched in a fist on his thigh. “I’m just here to make friends, Ev.”

  “I don’t give a shit. You’re too old for this crowd.”

  “Seriously, chill out, Evan,” Sydney commanded.

  “I’m not gonna chill out. This visitor has to respect our ways.”

  Scott’s head snapped back in a fit of laughter, his big teeth catching the lamplight. “Your ways? You talk a big game about your so-called ways, Ev, but your brother tells me you enjoy the old firewater too.”

  Evan lurched towards Scott, his anger making him clumsy enough to knock cups off the coffee table. The bald man shot up to square up against him. They faced each other inches apart, staring each other down.

  Scott leered into Evan’s eyes and gritted his teeth, whispering, “Try it, tough guy” so that only Evan could hear. Even in the dim light Evan could see fading scars on the big man’s forehead and cheek. He knew he was no match. These useless fucks are all too drunk to back me up, he thought as he took a step back.

  Cam appeared in the doorway of the li
ving room. “What’s going on in here?”

  “Ask your brother,” said Scott.

  Evan turned to look at his younger brother with a despairing affection. His face softened as he remembered just how naive and vulnerable Cam was. He remembered the sweet boy that he once was. He never really grew up. Soon his life would depend on it.

  “Nothing, I was just heading out,” said Evan. “Take care of each other.”

  He stepped around his brother and walked out of the house. He could hear Scott’s booming laughter from inside as he opened the door to his truck.

  Twenty-One

  He could barely hear the pounding on the front door from his burrow in the safe, warm confines of the bedroom but the boom reverberated through the house. A muffled voice yelled from outside and Evan jumped out of bed.

  He rounded the corner and saw Isaiah standing at the door. Evan unlocked the bolt and let him in. “Izzy, what the fuck, man?”

  Isaiah was trembling, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the pre-dawn darkness. “Get dressed. We gotta go,” he said. “We got a real bad scene on our hands. I’ll explain on the way.”

  Evan rushed back to the bedroom and looked for jeans and a sweater to put on over the long underwear he slept in.

  “What’s going on?” Nicole asked.

  “Some kind of emergency,” he said. “Izzy’s here to take me somewhere.”

  “Damn. I hope everyone’s okay,”

  “Me too.” He remembered the drunken scene at his brother’s the night before and he was struck with foreboding. He rushed into his clothes and leaned over to kiss Nicole. “I’ll be back as soon as I can to let you know what’s up.”