Wilderness

by Roddy Doyle

  “You should see my apartment, Gráinne. It’s full of pictures of you.”

  “So what?” said Gráinne. “My room’s full of pictures of Marilyn Manson, but that doesn’t mean I know him. Or even care about him that much.”

  She wished the light was off. It would have been easier. Her head was hurting, just behind her eyes. She was tired too, and thirsty. She wished it would finish. She wanted it to stop.

  But it was too soon; she knew that. They had to keep going.

  “Can you forgive me?” said her mother.

  “Why are you here?” said Gráinne.

  “To see you,” said her mother.

  “Just see?”

  “No,” said her mother. “I want to know you. Be with you.”

  “Why now?”

  “I’ve always wanted—”

  “Why now?”

  “A friend of mine died.”

  “What kind of friend?”

  “My best friend, Gráinne.”

  She smiled. She shrugged.

  “We went to school together.”

  “Did I ever meet her?” said Gráinne.

  “I’m not sure,” said her mother. “Yes. Yes. You did. She came to see me. She stayed here for a little while after you were born.”

  “Did she live in New York?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you live with her?”

  “No.”

  “When you went over?”

  “For a few weeks, yes.”

  “What was her name?” said Gráinne.

  “Bernie,” said her mother.

  “I’m sorry she died,” said Gráinne.

  “Thank you.”

  Gráinne didn’t have a friend like that. She didn’t really have friends at all.

  “Anyway,” said her mother. “She told me she had cancer, and five weeks later I was at her funeral. Standing beside her husband and her son. And I knew I’d made a terrible mistake and that I had to come here and see you and try – I don’t know. Make amends? Start again? Say hello?”

  She smiled; she cried. She wiped her eyes. She looked at Gráinne.

  Gráinne nodded.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Wil-derness!”

  They shouted into the dark, but nothing came back. They listened; they leaned forward on the sleds. They’d only heard her once.

  “Where did it come from?” said Tom.

  He meant their mother’s voice.

  “Over there,” said Johnny. “I think.”

  Tom looked, and could just make out where Johnny’s arm was pointing.

  “Wil-derness!”

  Nothing.

  “Wil-derness!”

  “What will we do?” said Johnny.

  “Just go,” said Tom.

  “Yeah,” said Johnny.

  “The dogs will find her,” said Tom.

  “Yeah,” said Johnny. “Ready?”

  “Ready when you are, my friend,” said Tom.

  He was scared. But he felt good. They’d heard their mother’s voice. They weren’t lost. They’d nearly found her. He heard Johnny scraping ice off the metal plates, where he put his feet. Tom did the same. He took one foot off the brake and knocked the ice off the plate with his boot. They got ready for the last push.

  He heard, and saw, Johnny’s sled advance. He took his feet off the brake, and he was moving. They were on good snow now, and the dogs were soon moving fast. There was space between the trees.

  “Wil-derness!”

  Nothing.

  “Wilder-nessss!”

  They followed the dogs. The snow was thick again, crashing into their faces. Johnny’s hands were freezing cold, even inside his gloves. He had to tell his fingers to move – he even said it out loud. They were so stiff, sore. He couldn’t feel the stick that held Kalle’s hat. That part of his hand was numb, like it was welded to the sled.

  They kept going.

  “Wil-derness!”

  Tom watched the dogs’ backs. He tried to get ready for jumps or bends. He tried to see ahead. But they were in the trees again, and it was even darker. He used his elbows and arms like shields against the grabbing branches.

  They kept going.

  “Wilder-ness!”

  They heard it, together. They heard her voice. It was near, and miles away. It was left, right, straight ahead, behind them – they didn’t know from where.

  Johnny stopped.

  Tom stopped.

  Johnny shouted.

  “Wil-derness!”

  They heard her again.

  “Shout something else!”

  It was definitely their mother.

  “Something else!” Johnny shouted back.

  Tom laughed. His throat was dry, so it sounded like a bark.

  They heard her again.

  “I’m over here!”

  “Where?!”

  “Here!”

  Tom saw Johnny’s outstretched arm.

  “Over there,” said Johnny.

  Tom agreed. Her voice had come from that direction. Left, and forward, behind what looked like a black mountain of trees.

  “How do we make the dogs go that way?” said Tom.

  “We don’t,” said Johnny. “It’s the way Rock’s been bringing us all along.”

  He was right. It was another surprise, although Tom had always known it. Rock had led them this far, and he’d bring them the rest of the way. That was it – Johnny and Tom could make the sleds stop and go, but it was Rock who decided where they went. And Rock had decided to help them find their mother.

  A branch slapped Johnny’s face; he didn’t care.

  “Where are you?” he shouted.

  She didn’t answer; they didn’t hear her. They were in the black trees now, and another branch lashed across the side of Johnny’s face. Snow had gone down the back of his suit; he could feel it rolling and melting on his back.

  “Where are you?!”

  No answer.

  The dogs kept running. Tom could see each tree. They were different trees, and the bottom branches were way above their heads. Maybe she couldn’t hear them; their voices were trapped beneath the branches. Tom shouted again.

  “Hell-ohh!”

  Nothing.

  It was warmer and quiet here, beneath the tall trees. But Johnny wanted to get out. It was too like being in a cave. Like a new, high wall between him and his mother. She was very near – he knew it – but he couldn’t hear or see her. The snow was thin here; Johnny could feel that in his feet. The sled vibrated over solid ground as the dogs dragged him further under the trees.

  “Hell-ohh!”

  No answer.

  They were out of the trees. The snow was on them again. He heard Tom.

  “Wil-derness!”

  The word in the air was like hope coming back.

  “Wilder-ness!”

  They heard her. Johnny heard her. He definitely heard her voice. There was an echo of it, a memory, and it seemed to be right in front of him. They were on a slope, going down. He had to lean towards the hill, his whole weight, to stop the sled from toppling over. He couldn’t shout; he had to concentrate.

  Tom was suddenly on the hill, suddenly going down. He thought he was falling off. But he saw what was happening. He saw the slope and Johnny’s sled in front of him and, before he decided, he was leaning into the hill, his right leg bent, and he stayed that way until they were off the slope, and they were going along a valley, slopes now on both sides. They could
stand straight on the sleds. They could shout again.

  “Wilder-ness!”

  “Wilder-ness!”

  “Lads!”

  They saw her dogs before they saw their mother. There were four of them, and it looked as if they were climbing all over a fallen log. Then they saw her lying in the snow, away from the log.

  “I can see you!” Johnny shouted.

  They’d found her.

  They came closer to the log. Her sled was broken and on its side, and the straps were tangled in the branches that were jutting from the log. Her dogs were trying to free themselves. And, as they came closer, one dog became more frantic. They watched and heard him trying to bite through the leather straps that had him trapped. It was Hastro.

  Their mother was lying on the slope. She was lying beside a boulder that was almost buried in the snow.

  “Hiya, lads,” she said.

  Her voice sounded weak and wavy, as if she’d been shivering when she spoke.

  It scared Tom. She hadn’t got up to hug them. She’d just turned her head, to look.

  It scared Johnny. She hadn’t moved at all. He stopped his sled. He didn’t want to bring it any closer. He put his feet on the brake, made sure the steel teeth were deep in the snow. He stepped off the sled. Tom did the same. He jumped on the brake, to bury the teeth down deep. And he stepped back, off the sled. He put his feet into the snow.

  Hastro was snarling and whining, and dragging the other dogs with him. But he was getting nowhere. He was tangling the straps even more.

  The boys went the last deep steps to where their mother lay. They lifted their feet out of the snow; they made sure they didn’t fall.

  “Hiya, lads,” she said again.

  “Are you OK?” said Johnny.

  “I’m grand,” she said. “But I think I’m after breaking something.”

  “What?” said Johnny.

  “My leg,” she said. “I think. Hiya, Tom.”

  “Hi,” said Tom.

  He saw her smile. Her arm came up, although she didn’t move much. He saw her hand. She wanted to hold his hand. She looked at Johnny. She wanted his hand too. They did it at the same time. They let themselves drop to their knees, and they landed right beside her.

  She laughed – she tried to laugh.

  “You’re great lads,” she said. “Where are the others?”

  Then they heard it.

  And they saw it.

  Rock had pulled his sled, even with the brake teeth dragging piles of snow. He’d pulled it right up to Hastro. He stood now, right over Hastro, right on top of him. His paw was on Hastro’s head, and his mouth was full of Hastro’s neck. There was a yelp – it was the first thing they’d heard, before they saw anything. It was Hastro that had yelped. And there was a growl. That was Rock.

  The boys didn’t move. Rock stopped growling. He didn’t move. Hastro didn’t move. None of the other dogs moved. It was total silence – white silence. Rock stood over Hastro, with his teeth holding his neck.

  Johnny whispered.

  “He’s teaching him a lesson.”

  “Yeah,” said Tom.

  He’d thought at first it was going to be horrible, that he’d have to watch one dog killing the other one. But then he knew it wasn’t going to be like that. Without shifting his legs or paws, Rock lifted his head from Hastro’s neck. They watched as Hastro stood, making sure he didn’t touch Rock. He had to crawl out from under him. He was still trapped in the straps, tied up to the fallen log. He had hardly any room as he got back up on all four legs. But he didn’t touch Rock. Rock was the lead dog, and he was making sure that Hastro knew it.

  “Cool,” said Tom, very quietly.

  “That was amazing,” said Johnny.

  They looked down at their mother, and they knew it wasn’t over. It was only beginning. She was shivering now, her whole body. They could hear her teeth chattering. She was trying to smile, but they could tell that she was frightened.

  It was weird. It was terrible. Tom had expected her to hug him when they’d found her. He’d been cold and tired and very frightened. He was a kid; she was his mother. But she was lying on the snow, and she was broken and sick.

  And something happened.

  He knew what to do. He just did. He knew what had to be done.

  “Fire,” he said.

  “Yeah,” said Johnny.

  It had happened to Johnny too. He thought it was the dogs, being alone with the dogs. Being with the dogs had changed him. He was still a kid, but he’d become something else as well. He’d been alone. He’d learned from the dogs. He knew how to survive. He just knew it.

  “Wood,” he said.

  Tom was already getting up. He broke small twigs off the fallen log. But they were damp. They’d take ages to light. He waded through the snow, to where some trees were close together. The twigs and needles around the trunks were dry and almost crispy. He filled his arms.

  They couldn’t move their mother. It was dangerous to move someone with a broken leg; it would only make it worse. Johnny was pushing snow away, trying to clear a gap for the fire beside his mother. He was sweating and cold. He could feel the ground through his gloves, but he couldn’t see it yet. He sat, and pushed with his boots. He did a full circle. It was good they weren’t too near a tree. Not because it might catch fire. Aki had told them, the snow sometimes slid off the branches, right on to the fire. He cleared the snow, right up to his mother’s side, where she lay.

  Tom dropped his first load in the space that Johnny had cleared.

  “I’ll get bigger sticks and branches too,” he said. “For when the fire’s going.”

  “Yeah,” said Johnny. “Good.”

  His mother had gone very quiet. She was too quiet. Johnny knew – they’d have to keep her awake. They’d have to make her talk and answer.

  “Are you OK?” he said.

  He gently pushed her shoulder.

  “Hi,” she said.

  He heard her teeth.

  “Are you OK?” he said.

  “I’m grand.”

  She closed her eyes. He pushed her shoulder again.

  “Don’t go asleep,” he said.

  Tom came back and dropped more wood and needles.

  She opened her eyes.

  “You’re not to go to sleep,” said Johnny.

  “I’m cold,” she said.

  “We’re making a fire,” said Johnny.

  “Great,” she said. “That’s great.”

  He had to keep her talking.

  “What happened?” he said.

  “What?”

  “What happened? How did it happen?”

  “Oh,” she said. “The usual.”

  She closed her eyes. He pushed her shoulder.

  “The bloody dog,” she said. “What’s his name –”

  “Hastro.”

  “Yeah, Castro.”

  “Hastro,” said Johnny.

  “Him,” said his mother. “We were way behind everyone. Then, whoosh.”

  “What?”

  “He took off. Swerved off the path. And the other bow-wows went with him.”

  “Were you scared?”

  Tom was back, with bigger pieces of wood.

  “Good man, Tom,” she said.

  “Were you scared?” Johnny asked again.

  He helped Tom with the wood. They made a small hill of the twigs and needles.

  “They won’t last,” said Tom.

  “Yeah,”
said Johnny. “But they’ll start it. Were you scared?” he asked his mother.

  She moved her head slightly – that was good – so she could look at them while she spoke.

  “No,” she said. “Not really. But, like, I’ve been scared since we got here.”

  Tom had unzipped the front of his suit. He took his knife out, from the pocket in his jeans.

  “Where did that come from?” said his mother.

  “I bought it,” said Tom. “With my own money.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “You’d have said no,” said Johnny. “And we’d be in trouble because we didn’t have a knife.”

  “OK,” said their mother. “You win.”

  Tom was slicing the wood, the same way Aki had done it. He cut around the end of the branch, so it looked like a mad haircut, or a pineapple.

  Their mother was closing her eyes again. They could see the shivers running through her, even in the dark. They could hear them.

  Johnny leaned over and tapped her shoulder.

  “What happened then?”

  “What?”

  “What happened? When Hastro swerved away.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I didn’t know. Not at first. I thought he was taking a shortcut.”

  The boys laughed; they couldn’t help it. She enjoyed it; they could see it in her face.

  “And it wasn’t that long, you know,” she said. “Between then, and here. I don’t think we came that far.”

  “It took us ages,” said Tom.

  “Yeah,” said Johnny.

  “Well, it didn’t feel long when it happened,” she said. “But, God, lads. It was mad.”

  Tom had given punk haircuts to three of the 191 branches. The fresh-cut parts would take the fire more easily, and the fire would climb the rest of the branch.

  They’d made a pile of twigs and needles, and a tepee of punk branches right over it.

  Then he thought of something.

  “We’ve no way to light it,” he said.

  It was like being smacked on the head. Tom suddenly felt tired again, and annoyed.

  “Oh, yes, we do,” said Johnny.

  “How?” said Tom. “There’s no sun and, anyway, we don’t have a magnifying glass.”

  “Shut up a sec.”