The Sky Fisherman

by Craig Lesley

  "Hang on a minute." Jake held up the picture. "You got to see this first. It was taken right after your dad and I finished our volunteer ambulance training."

  I moved closer. They were posed beside an ambulance. Both had their right foot on the running board and were grinning eagerly at the camera. They wore white coats with dark medical patches on the sleeves that read "GVFD."

  "Didn't we look sharp?" Jake tapped the photo. "See the creases in those trousers?"

  "You looked sharp all right." I tried studying my father's face for the gloom fake and my mother had described, but I didn't see it in this photo.

  "On the way to Gab's place you were asking about horses," he said, "why they make me spooky. Not long after we started driving ambulance, your dad and I answered a call about some California tourists who ran into a herd of reservation horses during a big snowstorm. That was a terrible winter."

  "Like now?"

  "Sure, but this one might get worse. Anyway, whoever called was frantic and garbled her speech. The lines were icing up, and that was the last call from the rez, until the telephone line crew got out there three days later.

  "She said the old Mission cutoff road, about a forty-minute run, but it took us twice that long because road conditions were so bad. We chained up, but the roads were still treacherous. Half a foot of new snow on top of several inches of ice. Maybe thirty inches' total accumulation. Deep drifts and high banks where the snowplows had been. And still coming down.

  "We got to speculating how tourists wound up on the old Mission road. The reservation signs were never too good, and the wind made wet snow stick to what markers they had, so probably they couldn't read where they were headed. When we saw lights pointed off the road at a cockeyed angle, we slowed way down. Here was their rig, off in the barrow pit, but not flipped or anything. Except for the dead horse in front of the car, things didn't look too bad. The other horses were milling around but none seemed injured. The car's taillights were still on, engine running. And we could hear the radio playing pretty loud. Classic stuff. Who knows where they pulled that station in from?"

  "At night you can get some pretty far-off stations," I said. "Riley had one in Texas he listened to. The tower of power."

  Jake continued. "When I heard that engine running, it seemed almost cozy. Figured these folks had filled up with gas before hitting the reservation. The sign says sixty-four miles with no services and most people are cautious. Afraid that if they run out of gas and go for help, they'll get scalped. As soon as I stepped out of the ambulance, I checked the tailpipe and was glad to see exhaust. Sometimes that will plug with snow, and people die from carbon monoxide. Just get sleepy and drift off. In fact, I thought they might be asleep, the way they kind of leaned into each other. 'Got tired of waiting, huh?' I called out."

  Jake took a drink of the Seagram's and sloshed the liquid around in the tumbler. "The horse they hit was lying just in front of the car. Stone dead. One headlight was working and we saw the blood steaming in the snow, how the horse had torn the ground up, the sparkling glass fragments. At first we thought they were ice crystals.

  "Then we got right up to the car. Both people were dead. The man and his wife were turned toward each other, like they were talking maybe. But the fronts of their heads were all bashed and their faces just pulp. Dave and I stood stock dazed. When that horse came through the windshield, they froze and it kicked them to death. They never ducked, not that they could have avoided those hooves. Horse goes into a frenzy..."

  I nodded, realizing why Jake had been so upset at the horses on the way to Gab's.

  "We tried calling the accident in, but the radio wasn't much good way out there. We only heard crackling. I don't think I was ever so glad to have Dave with me. This was far worse than when we tried scaring each other as kids. Telling ghost stories in our dark bedroom. Testing our courage in the old house where a guy committed suicide. The neighborhood kids believed ghosts hung around." He paused. "But this horse deal was flat-out eerie.

  "Then we saw lights coming, and Dave struck a couple flares, because we didn't want another car coming along hitting the horses. But it was Billyum, driving slow. The same frantic gal had called the tribal police. We never found out who she was. Billyum took out his flashlight and looked at the dead people. We had left the doors open to check their pulses so he reached in and switched off the radio and the ignition. It seemed even worse then. No noise except for our car engines, and the occasional nicker of the horses.

  '"Let's chase these damn horses off the road,' Billyum said.

  "Right about then, they turned spooky. Those horses had just been standing around for an hour, but maybe the wind shifted or something and they smelled the dead people. Snorting and whinnying, they took off running. We all piled into Billyum's rig and went after them, hoping to chase them off the road.

  "Loggers had been doing some clear cutting in that part of the reservation, and cat roads occasionally cut through the high snowbanks. We figured if we could get them headed up one of those cat roads into the logged-off areas, they'd be okay. Billyum honked his horn and fired his pistol. The damn horses wouldn't leave the road. We chased them three or four miles. Twice they wheeled and tried cutting back, but they spooked and reversed when they faced our headlights.

  "Finally, a couple of lead horses left the road, and we felt good as the others followed. 'Oh shit!' Billyum said suddenly, and when we got closer to the cut I saw why. It wasn't the cat road but the train crossing. Billyum stopped the rig and cursed. We could hear the horses running down the cleared track. The sound carried a long way because it had stopped snowing by then and turned clear and cold.

  "He set flares at the crossing, then stared down the track in the direction of the horses. 'If I walk up there and try to set more flares to warn the train, the ornery devils might kill me,' Billyum said.

  '"You can't get ahead of them anyway," Dave said. 'If they turn back, you're dead. Maybe this snow has stopped the trains.'

  '"You can't tell," Billyum said. 'They're running way off schedule.'

  "After we returned to the wreck, Billyum helped us load the two dead people in body bags and put them in the ambulance. I don't care how cold it was, I was sweating like the Fourth of July. Billyum planned to spend the rest of the night at the crossing in case those horses came back to the road. No cars had come along, so it seemed like a quiet watch.

  "I had just closed the back doors of the ambulance when we heard the train whistle. No one said a word as we stood there waiting, but when we heard it again, it was much closer.

  '"Going pretty fast," Billyum said.

  "The whistle shrieked, staying on steady this time, and after a few moments we started hearing the deep crunches as the train hit horse after horse after horse. The whinnying and screaming went on. 'Stop that fucking train," Billyum whispered. He started counting. 'One-two-three-four-flve-six.' Finally, he covered his ears because he didn't want to hear any more, but there were eleven altogether.

  "After they got the train stopped, you could hear the horses. 'I sure hope they got a rifle on that train," Billyum said. He was wishing someone would be kind enough to walk the track and shoot the wounded horses. But we didn't hear any shots and then the train started up. We climbed into Billyum's rig again and went to the crossing. He tried to flag the train but it flew by. After it was gone, you could still hear the screaming.

  '"Sonofabitching railroad,' Billyum said. 'I got to walk the track, shoot those mangled bastards.'

  '"We better go with you,' Dave said. And he was right. Billyum might not see one of the horses in the darkness until he got too close. It could knock him down with its last kick, leaving him to freeze in the night.

  '"I appreciate the offer,' Billyum said as he drove us back to the ambulance. 'You better get those bodies to Gateway, call some relatives. Maybe make some more ambulance runs.'

  "I guess he was right. Things were a mess out there, but what was done was done. In town we might still help somebod
y." Jake sipped his drink. "Billyum was sure nervous about those horses. Who could blame him? He wanted to end their suffering quickly, but he wasn't anxious about walking the track.

  '"A long night,' Dave said as Billyum dropped us off. 'Nobody's getting off early. Nobody's getting paid overtime.'"

  Jake rested his elbows on the sides of the chair. "That's about it. We drove back and made the calls. Tough duty for us, too. We had a hard time getting somebody living in Southern California overlooking a golf course to understand the snow and horses. None of those dead horses could be used for anything but glue. The meat was all bloodshot."

  I nodded. "That's some story."

  "I don't know exactly why I'm telling you," he said, as if he'd lost the drift himself. "But I'll always remember how glad I was to have Dave along that night. Billyum, too. I thought you might want to know about it. Your dad and I had a lot of other ambulance runs. Women having babies, kids with broken arms falling off bikes, guys that didn't know how to handle a chainsaw. They were always bad. But that horse accident was the worst. Dave and I talked about it lots of times. We wanted things to work out better, but they didn't. The damage was already done; we just made things worse. Maybe that's the handle I'm trying to grab when I tell you."

  "All right," I said. "Well, I got to get going."

  "Put the key back on the tree," he said. "Don't go sticking it in your pocket."

  When I stepped outside it was dark. I could still see the pan, outlined against the snow. Snow was falling and a fresh layer covered it. The goose was gone, but the smell of burned goose and Prince Albert clung to my coat. I returned the key to the tree branch and just stood a while in the dark.

  I didn't know what to think. Things were falling away from me in ways I didn't understand. Although I had wanted events to be simple and clear, they weren't. Everything seemed muddled and confused. I didn't trust either Jake or my mother anymore, especially Jake. I even suspected he might know more about Meeks and Chilcoat, but whenever I thought of the possibilities, a cold hand seized my neck and my thoughts shivered to a stop. I decided I needed to distance myself from these events and people or they would stop me like submerged logs.

  When I walked to the front of the house, I heard Jake inside talking. I peered through the window and could see past a gap in the drapes. He lit the pipe and took a couple of puffs. After the tobacco was burning good, he held the pipe in his hand, gesturing toward someone across the room. "Take care of your equipment, boys, and it'll take care of you."

  He smiled, holding the pipe in front of him, close to his nose. After taking a few deep breaths, he set it in the ashtray and leaned back, closing his eyes. "I'm just relaxing a minute. I'll be coming to bed soon."

  I watched the pipe smoke rise toward the ceiling and disappear as quietly as ghosts. I didn't want to see any more of my uncle then, so I moved away quietly, leaving a single line of footprints in the falling snow.

  30

  A WARM CHINOOK WIND began blowing in mid-December and the snow melted at an alarming rate. After two days of wind, it started raining hard, but the ground was still frozen. Water ran everywhere. Each gulley, ditch, bottom, stream, and creek overflowed. In Gateway the parking lots became pools and people waded more than walked. "Hope this is enough water for the fucking farmers," Sniffy said when I ran into him at the post office. The rising water had taken out his wife's garden and flooded their basement.

  Going to the post office had become my duty. I had mailed the papers as Riley instructed, but several weeks had passed with no reply. My mother grew so nervous waiting for the divorce papers to come, her hands shook when she tried to work the mailbox combination lock. "I'm sick of waiting for that man to act," she said.

  I still felt a cold anger toward her and Jake and believed any anxiety she felt was well deserved. However, I became worried in early December when she actually caught a hard flu and stayed in bed over a week, alternating chills and fever, cramps and nausea. In lucid moments she fretted she was going to lose her job. "I don't understand it," she said between sips of strong tea, the only thing she could keep on her stomach. "I'm almost never sick. It's worry touches me off."

  She grew better, but the doctor's bills and prescriptions had set us back. She insisted on paying as she went and managed to sign the checks with a wavering hand, but I filled in the names and amounts. The flu had to run its course the doctor decided; neither he nor the drugs did much more than the aspirin. However, the bills were almost as much as our rent.

  I understood how disappointed she'd be when I returned empty-handed from the post office once again, so I tried to cheer her up by giving her sixty dollars of Kalim's money.

  She seemed pleased but surprised when I handed her two twenties and two tens that I carefully removed from my billfold.

  "Where'd you get this?" she asked.

  "It was in the post office box." I shrugged. "Riley must've sent it."

  She looked skeptical. "Why didn't he send the divorce papers?"

  "Well, Mom, he's never been real predictable." Seeing how crestfallen she was, I added, "I'm sure they'll come soon."

  A blanket over her lap and legs, she sat on the love seat, almost recovered. Even so, her arms and legs were terribly thin, and the dark circles beneath her eyes made her seem gaunt. I was relieved that she had been too preoccupied with the papers to examine closely my story about the money.

  "Where's the envelope?" she asked. "I want to see the return address. The lawyer told me if I advertise at his last address for two months, I can get a divorce without his signature."

  I paused, thinking over this new piece of information. It's true I had promised Riley not to tell his address. But why not let my mother get on with her life? Anyway, after all that had happened, I didn't feel as if I owed anybody.

  "Traverse City," I said.

  "What would he be doing there?" she said. "He doesn't have any relatives in Traverse City."

  I hadn't told her about the widow woman, real or imagined. "Maybe he's working the Great Lakes. I think a lot of guys work the lakes if they're trying to hide out."

  "He might be. If I remember my geography, that's on Lake Michigan." My mother examined one of the twenties. "And it does appear as if this was soaked at one time." She picked up a ten. "All of this money looks peculiar. You don't think he's involved in counterfeiting, something like that?"

  "I think they'll spend, Mom. Anyway, we've been a little short this month."

  Her eyes flashed. "This isn't your money, is it? You haven't been working for Jake?"

  "It's not my money." I crossed my heart. "Do you want me to look around for the Bible or something?"

  "I'm so tired." She leaned back, closing her eyes. "Well, we certainly need it. I just hope he didn't hold up a liquor store."

  "Maybe he knocked over a bank," I said.

  One eye opened. "He doesn't have the gumption for a bank."

  Our house sat in a depression, so the water stood in pools all around. "They should have built this place on stilts." Mom was buckling her galoshes. She planned on going back to work, but I could tell she was still weak. "I've got to keep shagging along. They've already given me sick leave and let me use vacation time. That was very generous." She put on her coat and scarf. "I swear, it seems no matter how hard you try, you're just one disaster short of the poorhouse."

  "Don't walk, Mom. Call Franklin."

  "He had to go to Central on business. Won't be back until late this afternoon. Anyway, I've got a little business myself today."

  "What's that?"

  She put both hands on my shoulders so she was looking square into my face. "Riley sent the money from Traverse City? You could swear to that in a court of law?"

  "Why would I need to?"

  "I'm going to the lawyer. Pretty soon, I'll be a free woman."

  "That's great, Mom. If I need to swear to it, I will." I was pleased to see her so happy. My reaction surprised me.

  She took a bright umbrella out of the clos
et and opened the front door to a rising pool of water. "What a mess. By tonight this water will be over my galoshes. Call the city and make them do something about it. Bunch of loafers."

  The high school had closed because so many roads were washed out the buses couldn't run. I felt guilty staying at home while Mom worked but felt pleased about giving her the sixty dollars. I decided to swing by at noon, maybe walk with her to the lawyer's office, just to keep her company.

  At eight o'clock, someone honked outside and I thought maybe Franklin had come by after all, even though it didn't sound like his car horn.

  When I opened the door, I was surprised to see Jake's rig towing his big aluminum guide boat with the twin Evinrudes. "The reservation's flooding," he said. "Lots of people are trapped in Hollywood."

  I hesitated at the door.

  "Hurry and get dressed. I need you to ride shotgun." He held up his hand. "Five minutes. These people need help."

  In about three minutes, I had on my clothes and boots. At the last second, I grabbed my Sasquatch coat and headed out the door, splashing through the puddles.

  When I climbed in, Jake looked at the coat, shaking his head. "That damn thing soaks water like a sponge. There's rain gear behind the seat." As he drove away, the tires threw up big sprays of water.

  When we passed the burned-out plywood plant, Jake scowled at the hulk. "What an eyesore."

  In spite of the cold, the char tingled my nostrils. For a moment it seemed to come from Jake's breath and clothes. I rolled down the window until the smell cleared.

  "Don't play freeze-out," Jake said.

  "Meeks and Chilcoat should have been deep-sixed." I rolled up the window. "Burning's a horrible way to go."

  "You wouldn't want that," he said. "Think a minute. Your father's in the river."

  That was as close as he ever came to saying he was mixed up in anything. "Well, those guys are dead," I said. "But the owner did all right for himself. Money in the bank. Lots of golf. The big fish got away, if you ask me."