The Provider

by John Hunt

  “Could you tell us one of your prayers?” asked Sue.

  Louise thought for a moment. “Well, here’s one of my favorites, Sue.

  I give you this one thought to keep: I am with you still – I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain.

  When you awaken in the morning’s hush, I am the swift, uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night.

  Do not think of me as gone – I am with you still – in each new dawn.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  We ran around the Lodge in a silly dance contest, seeing who could do the weirdest things with their limbs, all falling over occasionally onto the floor. Sue was declared the winner. After a while Matthew called out, “Dinner’s up!”

  We sorted ourselves out around the table. Matthew had even arranged name cards along with the place mats. The candles flickered away.

  “Smoked salmon starter, with dill and onion,” he began. “No lemon juice, I’m afraid, but I’ve made this herb sauce.”

  “This is wonderful,” Louise said between mouthfuls. “I’ve never had better.”

  The main course was ptarmigan braised in deer stock, with side helpings of greens and small new potatoes. “How did you make this mustard?”

  “It’s basically wild celery and a bit of left-over Dijon.”

  “Where did the potatoes come from, Dad?” asked Jessie.

  “I found a few small, wild ones. Not many, I saved them up for this.”

  The pudding was a fruit pie, crammed with blueberries, raspberries, cranberries.

  “Thank you so much, Matthew,” Mom said, as we were finishing. “Do you know? This is the best Thanksgiving Day I can remember.”

  After we had cleared up, Louise spoke again.

  “Now, I know the last few months have been hell in many ways. And they still are for most of the world. We’ve probably lost friends and family. But we’re here and have good reasons to be thankful for that. So as this is Thanksgiving Day, I’d like to suggest something. I have sheets of paper here and pencils. I’d like everyone to write something down. Something positive. Do share it, be as honest as you can. It could be your favorite memory from childhood. Or what good thing’s happened in your life this year. Or something nice you can say about the person sitting next to you. It doesn’t really matter what it is. Try and keep it to one sentence, half a dozen words. That’s difficult, I know, but I want us to focus on what good has happened. Shall we break for half an hour, so you can think about it?”

  “I don’t need to think about it,” said Bess. “I’ve made a new best friend.”

  “And I’ve found a family,” added Sue. “I don’t know where they were before, but they’re here now.”

  Matthew laughed. “Well, I guess I’d have to support my daughter in that one. It’s been meeting you guys. I’ve felt adrift out here and I miss my work, the structure it gave me. But you’ve helped me a lot. I wouldn’t say I’ve got used to it, but I hate to think what would’ve happened if we hadn’t met.”

  “I’ve never really learned to write,” said Bob. “Didn’t pay much attention at school. But this has been the best year of my life, and I’d like to thank you all for that.”

  Mom got up, went over to him and kissed him on the head. “That’s so nice, Bob, thank you.”

  “Me and Jim have met,” said Jessie. “And we’re going to stay together. That’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  I thought for a while. “I’d like to thank you all. This is the first year I’ve really felt alive.”

  “You’ve grown up, Jim,” Dad said. “I’m sorry about the circumstances, but it’s been great to see.”

  Mom sniffled a tear. “I’m just so thankful we’ve all met and are here. I don’t understand why all this has happened, but I love you all.”

  “How did you two meet?” asked Matthew, curiously.

  “I had to go to the medical unit when I injured my fingers in a lathe,” Dad said, holding up his left hand and pointing to the scar. “Mary was the nurse on duty. She was so unfussed by the blood and careful with the bandaging. I remember thinking to myself that she cared about people in the kind of way I cared about engines. I knew she’d look after me, and she always has.”

  “Oh, Donald, don’t be silly, you’ve got this the wrong way around,” Mom replied, blushing a little. “You’ve been looking after me.”

  “Seems to me you’ve done a great job of looking after each other and brought up two fine children in the process,” said Louise. “As have you, Matthew.”

  “Thanks, Louise.” Mom hugged her. “And it’s been so great having you here. Now, there’s one thing you could all do for me. I’m not one for war, or nationalism, but I’d like to hear the national anthem one more time, the Star-Spangled Banner.”

  “What’s that?” asked Sue.

  “It was a poem, called The Defence of Fort M’Henry,” Louise replied. “It was written the morning after a critical battle for the fort in Baltimore, which the British were trying to take. If they’d succeeded it could’ve split the country in two. We used to sing it at school every day when I was a child, but it’s not so much in fashion nowadays. For old times’ sake, I’d like to hear it as well. I can’t remember the words though. Does anyone?”

  “I can sing it,” volunteered Jessie,” I had to in front of School Assembly once.”

  And she did it well, with feeling. I knew by now she had a good voice, but I still got a real kick out of it. I was glued to the seat.

  “That was beautiful, Jessie,” Mom said. “Have you been taught to sing?”

  “No, but I did go to piano lessons for a few years. My teacher encouraged me to sing along with her.”

  “I used to tinkle the ivories a bit when I was in the army,” Bob added. “Just bar songs. I miss it.”

  “You know, I don’t think we’ve got a single instrument here,” Dad said thoughtfully. “We should find some next year. I’m not musical myself, but it would be great if you kids could pick up something.”

  “You mean make our own music?” asked Bess.

  “Not much point in ones that we can’t repair or replace,” Louise commented. “We couldn’t get new strings for a violin, for instance. But we should look at the native ones, drums and pipes. How about thinking of some aims for next year?”

  “I’d like to play a pipe,” said Sue.

  “If we could get some skates, I’d like that,” Bess chipped in. “It always looked so elegant. I’d like to skate faster than any of the boys I might meet, so they can chase me.”

  “Skiing is going to be important,” I said. “I can do it a bit, but I’d like to get good at it. And I’d like to be able to carve.”

  “I can help you with that,” Bob replied.

  “I’d like to play the harmonica,” Jessie added.

  “I’ve got something for Donald and I to do,” Mom added. “We’ve been slow on the uptake here, but we’re going to get used to the outdoors. We’re going to go for hikes, with backpacks and rifles, like Bob, Jim and Jessie do, and brave the bears. OK, Donald?”

  Dad laughed. “OK, Mary, we’ll do it together.”

  “And I’d like to learn to shoot,” Louise responded. “Right, we have some targets, let’s get good at what we want to do.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Thanksgiving Day passed and we took up our usual routines. With all the physical work and the cold and ice, we seemed to be always banging ourselves, slipping, making mistakes when we were tired. There was a steady stream of minor injuries. I stripped skin when picking up my gun by its frozen barrel, having left it outside in the porch overnight. Bob got quite steamed up with me over such a small thing.

  “Now what would you’ve done if you were out on your own? You’ve got to use your gourd more, Jim, you only get the one chance. It’s the little things that kill you. If that went sceptic, you’re dea
d. You’re not as dim as this.”

  I was in the doghouse with him for a few days after that.

  But we survived over the next few months, even flourished, and very happily in my case. Christmas came and went without problems. There were four or five hours of daylight, when we tried to get out. We gradually became acclimatized to the lower temperatures. We walked around our trails, checking traps, compacting the snow down with each trip. As the trails hardened, snow banks built up around them and animals also used them. Jessie and I got the stove going again, finding the knack of leaving the right amount of embers in it so it only needed topping up a couple of times a night. We had long evenings together in the lodge, when we would variously work on projects – Dad was building non-battery crystal radios while Mom talked with other ham operators. Bess would still grumble, but loved her jewels, and Jessie and Louise worked with her in making necklaces and anklets; sewing them into deerskin. “You look like an Indian princess, now,” Louise said. “Now how about a decorated waistcoat, and we need something to go around your forehead.”

  With the lake frozen, we used an iron rod and chisel to make a hole and fished there with occasional success.

  “Cover the hole with a board and put snow on top to slow down the freezing for next time,” Bob instructed. “And take a stool with you. Sit on the ice too long and you’ll get polaroids.” He chuckled. “Hey, have you heard the story of the drunk Alaskan who goes ice fishing…no? He saws a hole, and this big voice booms out “You’ll find no fish there.” He looks around. “God, is that you?” he asks. “No,” the voice replies, “I’m the manager of the ice rink.”” He roared out laughing.

  But one thing happened which I find it still difficult to think about.

  Bob, Jessie and me were tracking another moose, a big bull. We’d been following it for a couple of hours. It had circled around in the direction of the cabins we’d seen a few months earlier. Banks of ice fog were rolling down the mountainside, making the tops invisible, the wind was whistling around the canyons. The day was greying, and the further down the canyon we went the colder it got. It was like walking down into a clammy freezer. The clouds were thick with snow.

  “I’m worried, Bob. We should get back. I think we’ve lost the trail.”

  “A bit longer, Jim, we’re getting close. Just taking a short cut. He’ll be on that rise over there.”

  But we got stuck in impenetrable thickets of alder, twenty foot high tangles of knotted, twisted black wood. It was oppressive, gloomy.

  “You’re always telling me to follow my instinct, Bob, and we’re shit out of luck here.”

  “OK,” said Bob. “This isn’t going to work. Best not to push ourselves into problems. Look, as we’re here, let’s go check out that cabin we saw earlier, that single guy. We’re not going to get back tonight anyway and it’s on our way. If he’s still there, we can find out what he knows. If not, we can camp there, use the stove, see if he’s left anything useful.”

  It was getting dark when we got there. There were no lights burning. We hollered, but nobody came out. We walked up to the door. There was a snow-covered hump in front of it.

  Bob started sweeping the snow off. It was a corpse! The skin was blue, covered in ice crystals. The eyes had gone and much of the emaciated face.

  “The voles’ve been at him,” said Bob, pointing. “You can see their droppings here, and the tunnels they’ve made through the snow to get to him.”

  “Oh, that’s so awful!” Jessie paled. “The poor guy. What happened?”

  “Starved to death, I reckon,” said Bob. “Look, we can’t get back now, we’ll have to sleep in here, unless you’d prefer to bivouac outside.”

  We opened the door, and it was a shambles. Animals had been in and the smell was overpowering.

  “I’m sleeping outside,” said Jessie. “The bag’s warm enough.”

  “OK, Jessie. Let’s camp over there, out of the wind,” Bob agreed. We’ll get a fire going, make some tea. There’s some sticks of dried fish in my pack. You make a start, I’ll check the cabin.”

  He made a torch with a ball of resin wrapped with wire around a cleft stick; a few minutes later he was back. “We’re in luck,” he said. “A semi-automatic, .223, it’s light caliber but you can get thirty rounds into this clip. This’ll be good for Louise. Two boxes of ammo. Some useful tools, and a handgun. I think it’s a Magnum. Could come in useful at close quarters. We’ll take them back with us – will be heavy, but we can manage between the three of us.”

  The next morning, we talked about what to do. The sky was overcast. The world a grey, monochrome sludge. There had been a few inches of snow but nothing to slow us down. I shivered.

  “It’s only a little out of our way to the other cabin,” Bob said. “I reckon we should detour for it, see what’s going on, and then we should be back by the evening. We just need to avoid the side of the river, that’s where any bad ice is going to be. So we’ll circle around a bit.”

  We got there, and again hollered out when we were still way back. There was no answer. “Looks empty, no smoke, let’s see if there’s anything we can take,” said Bob, cocking his rifle. “Have your rifle ready, in case a grizzly’s made its den there for the winter.”

  We were coming up to the front steps when the door swung open and I had a brief impression of a ragged skeleton standing there, a few feet away, with a shotgun. He was screaming something as he fired at Bob. I was shouting, “No! No!” as I shot him, the force hurling him inside and across the room.

  Bob was on the ground, Jessie cradling his head, her tears falling onto his face. I checked his pulse. He was dead. It couldn’t be! But the bullet had taken him in the chest, half of it was torn away. There was blood everywhere, on his clothes, on my hands. I moved like a robot. There might be someone else inside. I went in. The guy was spread-eagled on the floor, no one else. The stove was cold, the cupboards empty, apart from piles of old, yellowing magazines, Playboys. Water dripped from the roof, pooling on the floor.

  “Son of a bitch!” I screamed. I wanted to mash him into pulp, but there wasn’t much of him to mash. He was all bones, with a few wisps of hair on his head. His skin was discolored. He’d lost most of his teeth. His clothes were tattered rags. He smelled terrible.

  I came back out. Bob looked peaceful, slightly surprised, his eyes staring. “Bob, Bob.” I took over from Jessie, cradling his head. With the fire gone from his face, the quirk of his mouth straightened out, no sarcastic look in his eyes, he just looked like a tired old man. “He was like a father to me, Jessie,” I said after a while. “This is so unfair. He’s the last person who should have died here. He’s kept us all alive. I don’t know what I’m going to do without him. Jessie hugged me. “What’re we going to do?”

  I felt something break inside me. Something strange was happening in my chest, throat, eyes…for the first time in my life, I sobbed.

  “And I’ve killed again.”

  “You couldn’t have done anything else, Jim.” Jessie said, tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry. I wish it had been me who’d shot him. I would’ve done it for you.”

  “Twice, Jessie, twice. I’ve killed two people. I’m a real murderer now.”

  “Jim, you’re not! It was self-defense. He killed Bob first. There was nothing else you could do.”

  “Oh God, is this what it’s going to be like? It was just too quick, Jessie. I want to talk to him. I want to tell him I love him.”

  “Jim, listen to me.” She was looking at me fiercely. “We are going to get through this, OK? Bob didn’t die for you to go feeling sorry for yourself,” she muttered, her chest heaving. “But it’s done. Now…come on, let’s start clearing up.”

  FORTY-NINE

  We carried Bob inside, he seemed to weigh nothing. I took the guns, the ammo and the tools, closed the door, and we spent the rest of the day trekking back to the lodge. As soon as we came in, everyone could see something bad had happened. We explained.

&nbs
p; “I can’t believe it,” Dad said, looking white. “I thought he was invincible. And he was right, as usual, we didn’t all make it through the winter. It just doesn’t seem fair that it was him.”

  “I was so nasty to him,” Bess sobbed. Louise hugged her. “He knew your heart, Bess.”

  “That guy who killed him, he probably wasn’t a bad man,” said Mom later. “From what you say, he was starving to death. That brings on convulsions, hallucinations, it’s like being on LSD, but worse – he probably had no real idea of what he was doing. But I feel terrible about the things I’ve said to Bob. I’d never really even thanked him for what he’s done for us.”

  “What I don’t understand,” said Dad, “is how come these guys didn’t do more to help each other? They were only a couple of miles apart.”

  “Maybe they tried,” said Louise, “but neither could actually help much, because they didn’t know how to in this new world. And after all, they were only ten or so miles away from us, and we didn’t help.”

  “You think we should’ve helped them?” railed Dad. I’d rarely seen him so angry. “Dammit, Louise, Bob was right all along. We just refused to see it. We can’t make everyone our responsibility. We’ve got enough to do with looking after ourselves here.”

  “You’re sounding like Bob. If that’s really what you and everyone else thinks,” she replied sadly, “then we all die separately.”

  “Never mind all this ethical worrying,” Matthew said. “This is a disaster. Bob was the lynchpin here, he knew how to survive in this damned wilderness. We’re sunk without him. We’ll end up like those starving guys.”

  “We can figure out how to recover from this later,” said Mom. “I’m sure we can. But for the moment, how are we going to bury him?”