The Cast Stone (30 page)

“Wasn't it George Orwell who once wrote that everything is political?”

“So you admit that you are part of a political movement?”

“I've told you over and over again, John, I am not part of any organized resistance. I speak only for myself.”

“Maybe not organized, as you say, but you are resistant.”

“I accept that you are here and that you are not going away, that we have to learn how we will live together.”

“Good answer, Ben. But between you and me, we know you would prefer that I went home to Richmond. I'd like to go home to Richmond too. Especially now with winter coming on. But, we have things to take care of here first. Satan walks these lands, spreading lies, spreading his hatred of the holy.” Ben watched as Penner's hands began to wave the air. The beginning of the rant, the calling down of the wrath of God, the demand for repentance that began with admission of sin. Soon he would be begging Ben to save himself, save his soul from eternal damnation, admit his wrongs so that he could experience the salvation of the lord.

Ben tuned him out. Would not follow him into the circular depths of his rant. Instead he wondered why Penner had told him about the letters. People on the outside were putting on a little pressure. He imagined the content; held without charge, principles of fundamental justice, the rights of humans.

But why tell him?

To give him hope?

Maybe. Probably. Give him hope so that there was something to take away. The problem was that Ben had no hope, had taught himself to not hope. Hope exists for people who never learned to live entirely in the moment. Ben stayed in the here and now.

“Repentance is the path to salvation.”

Ben didn't need salvation, or the promise of salvation. His Mother, the Earth, was still somewhere beneath the concrete. His Grandfathers were in the air around him. He didn't need promises of somewhere better. He was home.

“‘I am the way, the truth and the light. No man comes unto the Father but by me'.” John Penner stared straight into Ben's eyes. “Jesus said that. Know what he meant?”

Ben kept silent.

“He was telling us that the Muslims and Buddhists and Indian spiritualists and Atheists, and all of them are deceived by Satan. There is only one way, Ben. You have to follow the truth and the life.”

Ben refused to respond, kept his face calm. He realized in that minute, even though he had thought about it before, the power of a few words. He counted them in his head:
I am
the way, the truth and the light. No man comes unto the father
but by me
. . . Eighteen words. How many millions have died for so few words? The phrase was the epitome of intolerance. There it was, clean, simple, deadly, perfect. It didn't say go and kill everyone who prays differently than you. Ben couldn't resist. He asked, “What did he mean, he was the truth, the light and the way?”

“That's not important, Ben. The important part is that no man comes unto the father but by Jesus. If you understand that part, then you are on the path of righteousness.”

But Ben couldn't stop thinking that he knew a little about the truth, that
the light
was synonymous with
understanding
and that he definitely had a
way
to pray that was humble and honest.

“Do you think Benji could set a net?” Rosie was talking to Elsie, but her eyes were on Rachel. The little girl toddled, holding on to the edge of the cot, her feet unsteady. Going, always going. The little girl had two speeds, flat out and stop: she was either asleep or moving, a handful.

“He could.” Elsie forced confidence into her voice. She had never seen Benji set a net, didn't know for certain that he could. “Are you hungry for fish again?”

“Oh, not for me. I could use a big feed of pike, maybe make a fish pie. No, I was thinking about Duchess and her puppies. Whitefish run this time of year, we might want to put up a bunch of fish to feed them over freeze up. Might be a long time until we can set nets through the ice.”

“I don't know if Benji can set a net through the ice. His dad showed him how to set a net in open water. But, I don't think he ever saw fishing through the ice.”

“That's okay, we can show him.” Rosie moved to stand behind Rachel, let the little girl fall against her legs.

“Now, how in the world did you know she was going to fall right then?” Elsie stayed seated at the table, her tea cooling in the cup, no need to move, her mother had things under control.

“Four kids, no help from anyone.” Rosie offered an answer that didn't satisfy Elsie, didn't at all explain how. Elsie let it go, one of those things about her mother that she might never understand.

Benji pulled the boat up on the beach. Setting the net had not been too difficult, he tangled it a couple of times, it hadn't been a smooth set. But now it was in the water and tomorrow there should be fish in it. He stood for a moment before unloading the gear, a moment to take in his surroundings. It was one of those perfect fall days, crisp; a light wind out of the west that rippled the lake for no apparent reason other than to give the sun something to reflect off of. A large flock of snow geese swirled off the northern horizon, formed patterns, waves that broke and reformed chaotically. Nearby a gull screamed its demand for food, or just yelled for the joy of its own voice in the wind and sun.

Benji noticed a bit of ice on the deck of the boat, it didn't mean much to him, other than the day was colder than it looked. He packed the gear into the back of the truck. No need to put the boat onto the trailer. He would be back out onto the lake tomorrow. He was thinking about a hot cup of coffee with Elsie and Rachel when he put the truck into gear. The rear wheels spun in the sand, the truck bounced up and down. He pushed a button on the consul and the bouncing stopped. Four-wheel drive was such a nice option.

A large black and grey pup jumped at the hanging fish, out of reach. It stood and bent its neck back, blue grey eyes begging. “That fish is for you, but you can't eat it all today.” Rosie's soft voice shooed the puppy as she hung another string of fish, a slender, peeled pole pushed through holes cut in their tails, shoulder-high on the drying rack. “These are for winter, little guy — you go eat with your brothers. Benji brought you lots of tasty fish.”

She knelt and petted the pup, felt it along its broad chest already muscled, ruffled the fur along its back and its narrower hips. “You're going to be a good size dog in a few months. Before winter is over you'll be big enough to pull.” The pup wriggled with the petting, turned and licked her hand. “I'll make you a harness the way my mother used to. A nice one with lots of padding so it doesn't rub. Yes sir, little guy, you are going to become a good-size dog.”

“Having trouble, my girl?” Rosie returned to the gutting table under the pines where Elsie struggled with a knife.

“Just this part gives me a hard time. How do you get the little bones out.”

“Here, I'll show you again, just run your knife along here.” Rosie started a cut down the inside of the pike fillet. “Well, here is your problem, your knife is dull.” She ran the edge of the knife against a honing steel hung with a string from a branch. A half dozen quick strokes and she handed the knife back to Elsie. “Try it now.”

“Benji did good. I didn't think we'd get this much out of one net.” Elsie's knife found the line, made the shallow cut the way her mother showed her, felt the click of it against the line of tiny bones, another cut above the first line and a sliver of flesh fell away. Elsie held up a perfectly boneless fillet.

“Pretty good,” Rosie agreed as she prepared the next string of fish. She watched Elsie without being intrusive, let the girl learn, even though Elsie was leaving way too much fish on the bones. She had to do it to learn it. Rosie prepared the fish that would go to the dogs and let her daughter prepare the fish for the frying pan.

The wind died overnight. The water calmed, Benji slept content in the silence.

“Rosie said we had enough yesterday. I should have listened. But man we were catching good, I just wanted one more lift, just one more.” Benji tugged against the boat frozen into the lake.

“That's the way it goes.” Red agreed. He was happy to answer cousin Elsie's phone call,
I need a favour, cuz
. He looked out across the frozen bay. “Where's your net set?”

“Off Willow Point.”

“That part still looks open, lucky thing. It's hell chopping out a frozen net.”

“If the boat isn't buggered up.”

“It's not the boat you have to worry about. A little chopping and we'll have that out. You left the motor down. If there was any water in that gear housing, it'll bust sure as shit.”