The Sky Fisherman (41 page)

"Look at that! Did you shoot it yourself? I bought a turkey just in case you didn't have any luck, but we can freeze it for Christmas. A big holiday goose! I can't believe it. I selected a wonderful recipe out of a magazine."

She was genuinely excited, even though she didn't like game coming in the front door. "Where's Franklin?" I asked.

"Back at his place wrapping the pipes. He did that here already with some electrical tape. Wasn't that thoughtful of him? I'd hate to be without water for the holiday or have a big flood later on." Some snow was melting off the goose, and she stared at the water dripping from its feet. "Carry that right into the kitchen, please. And take off those wet clothes before you catch your death. Then sit down and tell me all about it."

I threw the goose and flowers on the table and went into the bedroom. Taking the shotgun out of the case, I worked the pump several times, making certain no shells remained.

She rapped on the door. "What's that racket? Have you taken off your boots yet, Culver? Honey, you've got to be more careful. You've dripped water all across the kitchen floor."

After pausing for breath, she continued. "Where did you get those beautiful flowers? I couldn't resist taking a peek. Hope I didn't spoil your surprise."

She moved away from the door and I heard her preparing tea. After a few minutes, I came out wearing dry long johns, wool socks, and my father's old robe. Keeping silent, I sat at the table. The flowers remained, but she had moved the goose to the sink.

As she stirred around, she kept talking. "I honestly believe you men are crazy, going out in this freezing weather. Culver, put your feet right over the heat vent. I turned up the thermostat. Getting chilled the way you have, I anticipate you'll experience chilblains. Now where exactly did you get those flowers?"

It was difficult to speak, but I managed to say "Priscilla."

"Oh, Gab's wife. Well, I'll have to write her a thank-you note." She glanced out the window. "Absolutely crazy to wander off in this weather. It froze your brain. I know you weren't born in a barn, but you never plop a dead goose on the kitchen table, until it's cooked, of course. Next time, please put it directly in the sink."

The teakettle began whistling and she poured two cups of hot water. Taking a pint bottle of Monarch rum out of the cupboard, she added some to each cup. "Just a splash. I don't think it'll stunt your growth, this one time. After all, a goose calls for a celebration. The girls at work are going to be so jealous when I tell them we had
wild
goose." She was beaming.

"It's some goose, all right," I said.

"It's a
marvelous
goose. And you brought it home. Culver, you could talk yourself up a little more. Sometimes you're as quiet as an oyster."

She set a teacup in front of me and sat. "Well, at least you spoke a whole sentence. I guess your tongue's defrosted." She sipped her tea, then touched the flowers. "These are pretty. I like the fragrance. So, how was the hunt? You better start talking."

I drank some of the tea, feeling the rum settle in my belly. I took another drink. "Mom, Jake wasn't in the boat when Dad drowned."

She brushed back her hair with her fingertips. "What's this about a boat? You were goose hunting." Her brow furrowed as her rush of enthusiasm faded.

"Mom, they argued. Jake wasn't in the boat."

Her mouth became a thin line. "Surely Jake had better sense than to take out a boat in this horrible weather. There's ice in the river. He told me you were going to Gab's place. Isn't that way above the river out in the wheat fields somewhere?"

"I'm not talking about today. Please listen. When Dad drowned, Jake wasn't in the boat."

"That accident was years ago." Her eyes clouded. "What are you talking about?"

I leaned forward. "They had a big fight. Dad knocked Jake down and took off through the rapids by himself."

She gripped the teacup, letting go when it became too hot. "Why are you bringing this up? Tomorrow's Thanksgiving and Franklin's coming over."

"I want to know what happened. That's all."

"
Your ... father ... drowned.
" She emphasized each word. "Those men had absolutely no business on the river that spring. I told them." She paused. "You were just a child."

"Mom, what was the argument about?"

She picked up the flowers and studied them. "I wonder how she dries them. The colors remain so vivid."

"Mom?"

She dropped the flowers. "Why don't you ask Jake? He's the one stirring up trouble."

I shook my head. "It wasn't Jake. Billyum told me."

"He's as bad as the rest of them," she said. "Just because he's Indian makes no difference."

"It was about you, wasn't it? They fought over you." I don't know how I knew, but I did.

Her eyes flashed. "I wasn't even there." Abruptly, she seized the flowers and stood. "Why would you even imagine such a thing? I knew Jake was a terrible influence, but who expected anything like this wild story? If you were younger, I'd wash out your mouth with soap."

Her eyes teared, but she didn't cry. I stood up, too, and we stared at each other across the table. I felt terrible but wouldn't lower my gaze.

"I'm not wallowing in the past," she said hoarsely. "What's done is done. I'm working for our future."

"If there's more to it, maybe we should get the truth out, Mom. Clear the air."

"I'm certainly not going to discuss this unpleasant matter any more tonight. I was upset all day long, worrying about you. Now, to tell you
the truth, I've had an even bigger shock." She moved toward her bedroom, gripping the flower wreath like a life preserver.

I remained sitting a few minutes, then threw open the back door and trudged out into the snow in my stockinged feet. Over and over again, I cursed as loud as I could, until the cold air stung my lungs and I couldn't regain my wind. Exhausted, I might have frozen to death, a numbed statue, if a police car hadn't stopped in front of our house.

A young cop came around back and shone his flashlight in my face. "You live here, kid?"

I nodded.

"One of the neighbors called in a complaint. You got anyone inside?" He shone the light on my robe and sock-clad feet.

"My mother," I said after a few moments. "She might be asleep." I could hear the police car engine running. A bulletin came over the radio.

"Well, you better pack it in and close the door. Pipes might freeze."

"We got 'em wrapped," I said.

He shone the light on my feet again. "All
your
plumbing might freeze. This cold weather's a bitch." He paused. "You going anyplace for Thanksgiving?"

I shook my head. "We're cooking a goose."

"Well, it's not New Year's, so try to hold it down."

I went inside, closing the door softly. As the cop drove away, I could hear the tick-tick-tick of his tire chains. Part of me wanted to climb into the warmth of that car and go someplace where I wouldn't have to think about anything for a while.

My teeth chattered a long time, even though I took a hot-water bottle to bed and wore wool socks and long underwear. When I awakened toward dawn, I wasn't cold because my mother had gotten in bed with me. Pressed against my back, she had flung one arm across my chest, holding tight. For a few pleasant moments, before recall struck, I thought I was a small child again. Turning to hold her, I smelled the cold in her hair and I awakened.

"I was freezing," she said. "The whole house was terribly cold."

I remembered leaving the door open and realized I had no idea how long I had remained outside. "The police came last night."

She shifted toward the edge of the bed. "Of course they did. I called them. You were making a horrible racket."

After getting up, she studied her reflection in the speckled mirror above my pine dresser. "I'm not stopping traffic this morning," she said. "Good thing it's hours before Franklin comes." She looked my way.
"You're not exactly Prince Charming either. Give me five minutes and then stir yourself." She hesitated. "I've decided to tell you what I remember, but you've got to get up. I'm preparing a big dinner and we'd better whip this house into shape."

The goose lay on the cutting board. My mother whacked off the head with a heavy butcher's knife, then chopped the wings just below the elbows. After dropping the pieces in the garbage can, she made a face. "Who wants to look at those eyes."

Shivering, I sat at the kitchen table, glad the oven was on preheat, the room warm. She rubbed the insides of the goose with lemon juice and salt. Taking a sharp paring knife, she pricked the skin on the breast and thighs in several places. "This allows the excess fat to run out," she explained. "Although maybe the shot holes already do that."

She rinsed her hands, then wiped them on the towel and sat opposite me. "Ready?" she asked. When I nodded, she said, "Here goes. It seems like a movie, not like anything that really happened."

I nodded. The past twenty-four hours felt like that.

"Your father was a wonderful man—considerate and sweet. There wasn't a mean bone in his body." She fussed with the shoulder straps on her apron. "But he worried so. Fretted and stewed. Blew things out of proportion." She paused. "I've never said an unkind thing about him. I've always held him up as a role model, but you wanted to know."

I nodded. "What kinds of things did he blow out of proportion?"

"The store, his father's illness, you—how to support the family." She counted each item on her fingers. "We were doing okay. Sometimes his worry ruined our good times. I remember the year after you were born, we went to the beach. It was a fabulous day. The sun was so warm, no wind, and we fed the seagulls stale bread. One took a piece from your tiny hand. Later you laughed and laughed as we held you in the waves." Her eyes shone, remembering. "But even then, as I watched your father in a quiet moment, he seemed troubled. When I asked, he only said, 'I wish the good times could last.'" She slapped both hands against her thighs. "Well, that's exactly how he could be."

She stood and returned to the goose, filling the cavity with chopped onions, apples, and celery. "Franklin doesn't like carrots in the stuffing." After placing the extra dressing into a bowl, she continued. "Your father's moods made things difficult at times. He gave me the sense things were so ... transient. You see, it wasn't fair. I had you, I was young. It should have been the happiest time of my life."

I didn't know how to respond.

"Even when your grandfather died, although God knows it was a blessing, Dave mooned around for months. Jake just said, 'No clock keeps ticking forever. The old man had a pretty fair run.'"

She skewered the goose's legs and placed it on a roasting pan, breast side down. Measuring a cup of white wine, she took a couple sips, then poured half the rest on the goose. "Jake was always too confident. One time when your father was really blue, I went to see Jake." She refilled the measuring cup and had some more wine. "You know what I mean."

I didn't answer.

"Maybe it lasted three months. Of course it was a mistake, but I can't change it. We broke off right before that trip to the Barn Hole. God, but I felt wretched about everything. I never went fishing with them again." Turning to face me, she said, "I'm so terribly sorry it ever came up. The important thing as I see it is not to dwell on the past."

"But they fought about it, don't you see? Dad went into the rapids alone and drowned."

A veil seemed to hide her eyes. "I regret that. Don't think it hasn't been tough without him. But I'm not taking the responsibility. He and Jake had no business on the river that spring, especially your father. He had a child, a family..." She dropped her hands into her lap. "Well, I'm sure Jake goaded him into it." She drew a breath. "I just can't believe Jake lied about the accident all these years."

"He was keeping you out of it, trying to make you feel better."

Her laugh was harsh. "That sounds so noble. Don't forget, he was keeping
himself
out of it. When it comes to Jake, you're still wearing blinders. It was all self-interest."

I stood, moving to the back door and staring out its small window at the garbage can mounded with snow. Overwhelmed and confused, I had wanted to hear the truth, but believed I had made things worse now. The cruelest notion was that once I had dreamed Jake and my mother would get together. Learning they already had was a bitter pill.

P
IECES OF BURNED GOOSE
lay scattered across Jake's backyard along with a blackened roasting pan and some burned carrots and onions. A cat had dragged part of the goose over by the woodpile and was chewing on a wing. Blackbirds picked at some fat scraps in the pan and scattered across the yard. Jake's rig was out front but he wasn't answering the door. I took the spare key off the tree limb and unlocked the back door.

Inside, the kitchen smelled like burned goose; dishes cluttered the table and sink. From beyond the kitchen came another smell—the rich odor of smoking tobacco.

Hunting and fishing gear were spread all across the front room. Jake had taken apart several reels and rifles for cleaning. But now he was sitting in the big armchair looking at photograph albums. A bottle of Seagram's Seven Crown whiskey and a tumbler filled with ice cubes were on a TV tray beside the couch. The tumbler featured a leaping deer.

"Did you help yourself to some goose, nephew?" His grin was a little crooked.

"What happened? It's a disaster out back. I thought you were taking that goose to Juniper's."

He shrugged. "The oven went kaput. Or maybe the recipe was lousy. Naw, I just fell asleep. Woke up to a houseful of smoke and pitched the whole mess out back."

"What about Juniper?"

"We ate at the lodge. Orange pheasant in a clay pot. Delicious but damn slow service. No one wants to work Thanksgiving. How about you? The holiday go okay?"

"We got through it," I said. "Franklin was all right. They're off shopping now. The day after Thanksgiving all the Christmas sales start." Jake hadn't opened the sporting goods store and I wanted to find out why. "You know, Franklin's real decent to Mom."