by Clara Hume
That night, we were exhausted. I boiled us some water for tea while Fran bathed. She came out dressed in flannel and took the tea, saying, "Some night soon, we'll have to have another drink and talk. For now, we should get this little girl to sleep. She can sleep in my room on a cot."
I followed Fran into her room and leaned against the doorway. "I want to talk with you for just a minute after you put Kristy to bed."
Fran nodded and joined me back in the hearth room. I told her about the journal entries.
"Have you read them?" I asked.
"Yes, long ago."
"They are fascinating. And the camera."
"You found it?"
"Yeah."
I showed Fran everything. She pitched the journals aside in order to check the film cartridge.
"Maybe we can all write in those notebooks," I said.
Fran seemed distracted but agreed. "I have thought so too, and occasionally we do write. There is a lot to say, and we need more relaxing past-times, you know? We're always working."
"We do need time for fun," I agreed.
"Thanks for finding the camera," she said. She hugged me longingly.
Caine had been staying out of everyone's way, but now he walked heavily into Fran's place and said, "It's fucking cold out there." He smelled like tobacco, and Fran had insisted nobody smoke inside her house.
***
In the coming days, I would go out a few times in search of that bear. It had left a bloody trail in the pure snow on the night Caine arrived, and I had followed the tracks as far as they would take me before the blood congealed and then was covered by more snow. The blood went up the frozen creek, near the same place I'd found Daniel up the tree.
There the trail ended, but two days after Cameron died and we had taken Kristy back home, I went back up that trail to pick some more pinyon nuts. I had a knife with me, which I used to hunt a rabbit. That night I made rabbit and poured some rum. Wine for Fran, of course, the deep blood red drink she liked so well. She had cases of it in her cellar, from her father's travels in Spain, and she and her friends also grew grapes at the gardens. We invited Daniel and Elena over for dinner, but they weren't up to being social yet. Caine also said he wasn't going to butt in, even though we told him he was welcome.
I roasted the meat in skewers over the fireplace in the hearth room and seasoned the rabbit with salt and rosemary. The nuts were a treat, mixed with cinnamon. I opened a jar of carrots and put that aside. When I called Fran into the kitchen, which had a little pine table to put our plates on, she folded her hands together in delight.
She didn't say much. She never did. She sat down in front of the meal, and I stoked the fire, making it bright.
Fran wore a pair of jeans and a sweater that was too large for her. But the room was drafty, and even though the snow had ended, the cold had lingered.
"I like your sweater," I said with a tease. It was my first attempt at light conversation in days.
"It was my dad's." Fran said. Her tone contained an air of nostalgia, and I sat down with her. We ate slowly, glanced up now and then with grins. She finally said, "You are a decent cook. I've never had much luck with rabbit myself."
"The younger, the more tender," I said. "Less coarsely grained."
She said, "And the rosemary. I like it."
In the cellar were small vats of dried spices. We might go hungry at times, but when we had meat or fish or even vegetables, we could make them taste good. We ate our rabbit in solitude. Then Fran took the dishes. About that time, Caine entered the cabin again. He'd been cleaning the horse stalls and asked if there was any rabbit leftover.
"Help yourself," Fran said invitingly.
After dinner, Fran played with the camera some more. She remembered her father using it when she was very young. The film inside the camera, it turned out, had not been used and had gone bad. But she found newer film in the basement. Meanwhile, I opened a notebook and began to write.
These days by nightfall, we were tired. There was something to do from sunup to sundown: tending to horses, sheep, and chickens. Gathering eggs. Chopping firewood. Insulating the cabins and stables. Ice fishing. Hunting and cooking. But tonight, after some repose in front of the fire, Fran wanted to venture out after dinner. She said, "The snow has stopped. It's a cloudless night. Maybe we can try to spot the borealis."
She regarded me with her heavy eyes, and I wanted nothing more than to slip my arms around her. She stopped when we got outside and said, "I have no experience with men."
Her close proximity as we headed into the starry night and the smell of something—I don't know what that scent was, probably her jasmine soap—made me nervous. I had never felt that way around women. What was wrong with me?
Her skin was golden, that natural olive Spanish skin passed to her from her father, and her short hair seemed shiny and soft. Her eyes were cruelly mysterious and sensual. Cruel because she drove me nuts in ways that shouldn't be. How she could manage to be so naturally beautiful, even in a hard world like this, was astonishing. It made me relieved that she might desire me in any way at all, though it had seemed clear there had been something from last summer down at the lake. I stopped her outside, once we'd stepped onto the frozen ground, and shut the door to the firelit room behind us. I could see her breath like diamonds trailing into the night. I held her close. "Experience is for the birds," I said.
She smiled at me and said, "It's just that...I don't know. I was like one of the guys when I was younger. Oh there were a few boyfriends, but none serious and none I ended up liking too much."
I could have said I'd been with some of the top leading starlets before the world changed, and something told me I should someday tell her about my old days. But here and now, we all got a new start. I wasn't sure our old lives counted anymore. All that mattered was right now. I took her hand and led her to the stables, where we checked on the horses and then went out to sit in the old wagon, which still had hay in it. The wheels squeaked as I helped her up. She was light and agile and sat very close to me at the back end of the wagon where her legs could dangle. I wrapped my arm around her and stuck my gloved hand into her parka's pocket. I pulled her close with my other hand and took my glove off so that I could caress her soft cheek. She was looking at me naively, her light eyes wanting.
I kissed her. Her lips were warm and alive, red wine-flavored and moist. She wanted more, and we found ourselves struggling to get enough. Pressing close to her, I wanted nothing more than to take her back inside and lay her down near the fire. For now, the kiss was enough. It lasted until we felt bruised. Then she simply laid her head on my shoulder while the moon above glimmered in her hair.
I looked up. The stars were innumerable tonight, like millions of pinpricks in an expansive universe, which felt larger with Fran next to me. I felt that together we could do anything. I made a promise to myself that night that I would stay with her as long as I could.
Caine—Chapter 8
I felt like I should get a move-on but wasn't sure where to go. With Elena and Daniel grieving, and Fran and Leo falling in love, I felt like a third wheel. One afternoon I went outside to smoke a cigarette and contemplate where my home should be. I stepped into a frigid but luminous day with glistening leaves drifting off trees and floating down to wet snow. I hadn't gotten more than a few yards away from Fran's cabin when I saw her and Leo walking hand in hand beneath the pine grove between her cabin and the stables. She had a finger hooked in his belt loop. They both wore jeans and smiles. They stopped to kiss, and then he propped her up against a tree where he pressed against her, and they got to moaning, so I decided to cough so they could hear me.
Before I made a sound, though, I heard a rustling from the other direction and turned around fast, expecting to see that bear again. Instead, I noticed an older man limping toward Fran's cabin. Looked like he hadn't bathed in a month. In his free hand, he held a rifle.
He seemed to be having such difficulty hobbling along, I went rig
ht over to him and said, "Hey, you okay?"
He stopped and perched his rifle ever amazingly fast for an old man and called in a rattle, "Who the hell are you?"
From the corner of my eye I could see that Fran and Leo's little rendezvous was disturbed, sure enough, and Fran laughed and said, "Drop your gun, old man! This is a friend of mine."
"Girl, what is this hullabaloo. You're surrounded by these assholes I ain't never seen before."
Fran said, "That's no way to talk about my friends, Jimmy." She introduced Leo and me to the man, who gave us once-over looks as though neither of us would ever be good enough for his mountain or Fran, and then he lowered his rifle and said, "I hope you know what you're doing, Francesca. Cain't trust a damn anybody these days."
"They've said that in every era throughout time," Fran told him gently, but received him by the arm and walked him up to her cabin. "But these are people you can trust."
I followed them in. Fran demanded the old man wash up, and she'd pour some whiskey and wash his clothes. Meanwhile, she went over to let Daniel and Elena know old Jimmy had come by, and invited them over for supper too.
Fran also said things would be tight but I could sleep on a cot in the cellar tonight, and then after Jimmy left I could have the couch again, where I had been crashing. Leo had been sleeping in Fran's room, though it wasn't clear to me whether he was sleeping in her bed or in a cot. Later, we all sat in front of the fire and sipped whiskey. The old man hadn't forgiven our existence yet, but when he asked how we met and Leo told him about the bear, he shot right up and said, "Hot damn! There is a bear up here. I rightly knew it, fuck yeah."
About that time is when Daniel and his family arrived, and while he hugged Jimmy, and Elena forced a smile, we could tell they weren't so thrilled about life. We'd warned Jimmy about what happened, and he told them he was awful sorry and they waved off the conversation.
He then nearly fell over, and hadn't drunk too much yet, so Fran said, "What's a matter, Pops? You have a bum leg, I see."
"Nothin' you need to worry about," said Jimmy. "I sprained my ankle the other day on some ice. Should've seen it. I made a real ass of myself. Slid right off my porch to the ground."
Fran sighed and said, "Jimmy, it's time you quit staying by yourself. You should come down and stay with us. We'll build on to the house and make it like it used to be."
He let out a howl of laughter that sent chills through my spine. I hadn't heard anyone laugh like that since back in Australia, and well, I guess our ranch had a similar old cooter. Maybe every ranch does. On our place, his name was Derain. Old Jimmy reminded me of that codger I grew up knowing as a brown-faced, drinking man's man who could ride any horse you put in front of him. He and my dad were best mates.
Derain was a wilderman who lived in a cottage on our land. Every weekend he went to the bottle store and got enough liquor to light the bush on fire. Every night, he'd slide off a horse and bowl-leg walk up to his place, build a bonfire, pull out a bottle of something, and fry up some bangers.
He got smug each night. I and other rancher kids would go over and listen to his tales. To us it was a corroboree, and he was the star. He died of liver problems before Dad and I ever left Australia, but now with old Jimmy, it was like Derain was resurrected.
I think the old man knew I respected him, if anything because he'd outlived us all by several years, with a hooting closet of stories to tell us. His far-off eyes were like some wild shaman's eyes. Finally, toward the end of the night, Fran and her man went off to bed, and Daniel and Elena left with their daughter.
Jimmy said, "Boy, I need to know more about this bear you say you witnessed. I have been huntin' these mountains and ain't seen a bear for nigh near five year. We oughtta go out a'lookin' for it tomorry, what you say?"
It was the first complete sentence I'd heard out of his mouth all night that didn't contain a cuss word. I said okay. But we couldn't kill it.
"Course we ain't gonna kill it, you moron. Nope! We gotta find it a mate and next year or the year after have some little cubs revivin' the species. That's what we gonna do."
Next thing I knew, Jimmy plopped his head down into his chest and began to snore loudly; he had been sitting upright on a rocking chair near the hearth. I thought about attempting to put him on the couch, but just chuckled to myself and couldn't help it. One minute he was full of spitfire, and the next he had said all that was to be said and instantly passed out. I threw an afghan over him and went to sleep.
I was surprised the old man wasn't hungover the next morning. He was up before me, and I could smell strong coffee that Fran brewed above the fire, along with a rare treat of bacon from a wild pig she had killed earlier in the year and fried eggs from her chickens. She also made skillet bread, which we dipped in fat. It was a good breakfast for those of us who wanted to go look for the bear today.
Daniel came over too, looking like he wanted to kill, and the house was full of loud voices and pumped energy. Fran argued that she should go on the trek too, but Daniel said someone should stay with Elena and Kristy, and Fran acquiesced grudgingly.
We had a plan to load up a blowgun with tranquilizers, which had been used for horses from time to time, and shoot the bear with it so we could check its wounds, tag it, and ensure it was okay. Then we would leave it alone but try to keep track of its habitat. If it was not hibernating, it hadn't gotten enough food, at least that's what we guessed. That thing didn't have enough fat in its body to last all winter.
Daniel said, "I didn't think it was scrawny when it chased me up a fucking tree."
"It weren't no petite thing, but it must've been hungry," said Jimmy. "But seriously, man, I'm not sure you should come with us this time. We gotta keep this bear alive, and while I cain't blame you none, I am not so sure you have the best intentions. You can't seek revenge on this animal."
Daniel didn't reply. His eyes looked cold blue and vicious.
Fran wouldn't have this talk and excused herself to go check on Elena. "You men have a wonderful sausage fest today," she said.
That girl was pretty even when she was mad, and I have to admit I was a little jealous she was Leo's woman. We packed up some jerky, coffee, and a few supplies before taking off. Jimmy poured some whiskey into a flask, and I wondered if we'd be carrying him back down the mountain. As it was, neither he nor I had the best feet in the world. His ankle was sprained, and my frostbite was still bothering me from time to time. We headed outside, and the day was warmer, almost like fall with a full sun peering down over us while eddies of dead leaves were kicked up by stalwart winds. Our boots crunched in the frigid groundcover of snow, and we headed over to the creek and then up the route they’d seen the bear before.
Jimmy hummed a song, and I knew it and started singing on the chorus where we said "and it's all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog," and before we knew it, Leo chimed right in, but Daniel never joined us.
And it's all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog
All for me beer and tobacco
Well I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin
Across the western ocean I must wander
Where are me boots, me noggin, noggin boots
they're all gone for beer and tobacco
For the heels they are worn out and the toes are kicked about
And the soles are looking for better weather
And it's all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog
All for me beer and tobacco
Well I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin
Across the western ocean I must wander
Where is me shirt me noggin, noggin shirt
It's all gone for beer and tobacco
For the collar is all worn and the sleeves they are all torn
And the tail is looking for better weather
And it's all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog
All for me beer and tobacco
Well I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin
Across the west
ern ocean I must wander
I'm sick in the head and I haven't gone to bed
Since I first came ashore from me slumber
For I spent all me dough on the lassies don't you know
Far across the western ocean I must wander
And it's all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog
All for me beer and tobacco
Well I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin
Across the western ocean I must wander
The wind played with our voices; the higher we climbed, the colder the elevation, and I had a vague sense of timelessness that afternoon—how many times in history had men sung on the hunt or on the path to some adventure. The wind lifted and dropped our song, scattered it in the air—the attenuation for the revival of a species, I thought fleetingly.
By noon we'd gotten further up the mountain than where Daniel and Leo had seen the bear before, and stopped to have a snack and cold coffee. We'd seen fresh tracks with long claws a half hour back. If the bear were feeding, it wouldn't be too much higher up the mountain. We looked for scat and carcasses and didn't see a thing. We circled back to the sub-alpine level, which broached a meadow, and finally found the bear's markings, where it had rubbed up against trees. Then we didn't know what to do, but we were in its territory for sure.
Jimmy found a huckleberry bush that had its branches raked. "It's been eating the berries here," he said. "But it's probably going to migrate up to the mountain ash and bearberries soon. I wonder if it got into hibernation yet this year. Cain't tell with this fucked-up weather. It's like everything's off. I can't even tell when it's time to get up half the time."
"We're going to have to hang back and be patient," said Daniel. Of us all, Daniel and Jimmy were the only ones who could make sense of this mountain. "Leo, how do you feel about shimmying up this pine tree here? The bear can't climb that far up. We'll need you up there for support, man."