The Man Game (31 page)

Not yet.

Because she
can't
. If I believe you and she's your coach, she can't even be there when you play. That's not helpful. She knows she can't. What with her reputation to upstand. Spectators wouldn't stick around if she were there anyways. Men wouldn't go near the game with her around. Spoil it. How's she supposed to be your coach like that? Not able to conversate with you aboot how you played. That's a deficiency worse than one arm. That's worse even than being a lady. I'm at every game, Litz. I watch it all. I seen every time you played. I know how you move. I can see how you get your speed and where you're still clumsy. I know why you lose to Pisk so often. Don't look at me like that. You know you do. I can see what you do to win and I know how you lose. I watch you both like a hawk, as if I were your coach. I should be your coach.

You? said Litz, incredulously.

I could tell you advice that would burn your ears off to learn. Your whole game style would change, Litz, if I was your guys' coach. He gave Litz a hard shove on the shoulder and said: Listen to what I say, not how she looks.

I'm listening, said Litz as he watched her make a slow, partnerly circle, rotating along the circumference of the tree stump towards where he sat at the bar. She seemed to be carried along the age lines of the tree, a shimmering needle, touching the floor with only the diamond tips of her toes. She smiled, but not at Litz, at some face he couldn't see. The dancers separated into lines of men and women, then he saw old Mr. Husband Erwagen, seated under a tartan blanket. He had his ward Toronto behind him, sublimely Indian under a hood of natural darkness. Litz's features backed up, crinkled before he could resist the expression. What was he supposed to feel for this handicap who got all Molly's love?

She's
teaching you how to play this game? said Clough, still trying to grasp. Since when?

I guess it's been since she saw Pisk that day with Daggett.

The time Pisk … is that why you play in the, what, buck?

She says it keeps the game honest.

Keeps it honest. My fucking lord. I'll have another drink there, Calderón, but make it a real whisky this time, and a double, I'm feeling reality.

And who pay?

It's New Year's Eve, for crikey. Put it on 1886's tab and forget aboot it.

What's the matter with you, eh? What's in your head? Take
more
time when you next go. Never come back. How aboot that? Where you been anyway? What took so long, eh? Where you been so long? And where my husband, also? Eh? Where is he? Not with you?

By moonlight they argued. Nothing but wild animals within earshot. Pisk shook his head and walked past her to fetch the axe. Shut your trap, why don't you?

The fire out for hours. You chop no firewood before you left. I told you chop some firewood, eh. I'm frozen. Go chop some wood now. Right now, eh? Don't look at me. Don't look at me, dummy. Where's Litz, that bastard? Where's Litz?

Jesus, woman, would you just shut up?

You got to chop some wood, eh? Can you do that? I'm freezing cold.

What a you see me doing? Now just shut up, all right? You're shrieking right in my ear. I'm chopping, I'm chopping. Jesus.

Where's my husband? Where is he? Is he gone to the dance? You know I can hear it. Drums like Salish nights. All night I listen to it. Did he leave me here? Where's my fucking husband?

Stop crowing in my ear. And don't use that language on me, hag.

You shut up. Get to work,
man
. Get to work, lazy Whiteman.

Stop screaming.

Where is he, eh?

He's nowhere. He's, I don't know where he is.

Wa.

I was with him, Jesus. Don't scream in my ear. You're driving me nuts, woman.

Where did he go? Keep chopping, not enough. Not enough. The shack is freezing cold. Where did he go?

He stayed in town, is all. He went for a drink.

You work all day. Then you leave me alone at night. Gone for a drink. Bullshit. He's at the dance. He forgot me. Wa. Let me out a here. Let me find him. All day you log. When are you supposed to make real chickamin? You expect me feeding you, little Whiteman?

Shut the fuck up, woman.

Mrs. Litz was close to tearing her own hair out or clawing Pisk's already bruised back. She howled louder than he'd ever heard her before. He's at Wood's, she screamed. He went. That it, eh? He's at Wood's. He's at Wood's. Tell me. Don't push me away.

You're screaming in my ear.

Is he with a woman?

No woman like you.

Take this fucking wood to the house.

You take it to the house.

I said—

You take it to the house, Whitemans. Go warm my house before I feed you.

You stupid bitch.

I hate you. I hate you both.

He swung the handle of the ax and hit her in the face with it. Jesus, you just don't shut up, do you?

He picked her up over his shoulder, took her to the house, and threw her on the bed. After going back outside for the firewood, he stood in the door and looked at her laid out on the bed just as he'd thrown her. There was a big cut on her face and a lot of blood. Her eyes were closed. He dropped all the firewood. She didn't stir. He wiped his face and set to work on the stove.

About an hour later she awoke to find she was in a lot of pain.

What happened?

You fell.

She gingerly touched the gauzy blot on her forehead. No. You hit me.

He handed her a lukewarm soup that she drank in hesitant, queasy sips. The house was warm again. She was shivering.

I'm going to be sick. She ran out the door.

He waited for her.

When she came back in he was on his chair, leaning over and jabbing the fire inside the stove.

As the hours grew later, he came and lay in bed beside her. He lay on his side facing the wall and a draft kept whistling across his eyes. He couldn't move, he couldn't sleep. In the starkness of his transgression he'd completely forgotten his New Year's promise to himself to shave off his beard. He would let it grow now until it concealed his entire face. He would no longer be Pisk. He would become Beard. He lay on the mattress with his hands under his hairy cheek. Of the four choices he had between moving, falling asleep, ignoring the pain, and not moving, choosing not to move was the one he knew was the wisest and worst. He listened to her halting breaths, as if she was on the brink of sickness or tears. She was certainly not asleep. He heard her throat constrict and tenderly swallow. He couldn't slow the punches of his heart against his chest, nor his constant lipchewing, nor the loud sound of swallowing the saliva that kept filling his mouth while his tongue and palate somehow remained sickly dry. The wood in the stove hissed and cracked apart. In a minute he'd have to get up to put more in so she wouldn't get cold. The thought of what her reaction might be when he moved was unbearable. Of all things, he didn't want her to flinch.

Should I—.

She stirred.

Should I get you some opium? He wiped his face.

Please.

Her cold-pinked skin was near the bonfire. She tipped her scotch to her mouth and it gave him a chance to contemplate her bosom, moist and heaving from dancing and gaiety. She said: Did you practise today what I told you to? How did the game go?

Yes, the dance …

Did you see me dance?

Yes, Molly, but—

I mustn't stay long. My husband, he needs me.

Molly, yes, but—, he looked at her.

She didn't want to hear anything else yet. Her smile reflected the pleasure she took away from the dance, not her new joys at seeing Litz.

Yes, he said, thinking to grab her attention by talk of the man game. Yes, yes, we did practise, and the game went well tonight.

How—?

It, uh …

Were you able to convert the Whistle into the Hatched B—?

Molly, yes, but …

It's wonderful. I'm so pleased. I knew it would, I mean, I knew
you
would—

Molly, I don't know how to, see … But I love you.

You what? Well, a course. I love you, as well.

You do?

And this air, this fresh, cool air.

No, I don't think you—. He paused to collect his thoughts. I know I love you. I promised myself I'd tell you tonight. I'm sorry.

You mean … you? She looked away from him, concentrating, her head tilted like a bird's with one ear to the tremors of worms.

In no time at all her shock was reduced to something domestic. She said: Why, if anyone I thought Pisk.

Pisk? Why would you think Pisk?

He's rowdy. He's a bachelor. You're
married
, Litz.

Hm?

I thought you loved your wife.

I do. It's not … but why? Do you love Pisk?

I didn't say—Litz, listen, darling. I love you both. I love you both very much.

Don't love me like some pet, said Litz, brushing her hand away from his bloodied temple.

Litz, that's not fair.

Show me. Show me fair. Marry me, Molly.

You're lovely and mad, she said. She kissed him on the cheek. I have to go to my husband now. We'll talk in a while. You'll still be here?

I'm sorry, he said, hiding his face. I've taken some opium for the pain.

That's fine. Don't worry.

And some hashish.

Litz, don't worry. I'll see you shortly. I'll come back. Stay here. Don't move. Don't think aboot anything.

And I'm blotto.

She blew him a sympathetic kiss and looked back to her husband.

There was a moment of silence while Litz dryly wept. And then another moment just like it, giving Litz the chance to contemplate whether or not to scratch out his heart.

How would you feel if you were my husband? said Molly when she returned, leading him by the hand as they gingerly made their way farther into the forest, away from the party, away from her husband.

If I was your husband I'd feel great, said Litz.

No, you misunderstand. How would you feel if you were my husband and I left you when you needed me most? Because a course I love you, Litz, but I love my
husband
. Don't you kumtuks, Litz, it's not possible. I don't even want it to be possible.