Claudia Casper - The Mercy Journals

Our sister died not long afterward. We both felt like we’d called forth some kind of horrible voodoo spell with the destruction of the Barbie and for a long time that guilt shadowed our sadness.

Looking back, I think we never felt quite as easy with each other after that.

After Lucy’s death (our parents told us years later that it was inoperable brain cancer), my father was sharp with Leo and tensed whenever he came into the room. And I remember Leo started flinching when our mother hugged him, like he didn’t believe her anymore, or like she was trying to imprison him, or he knew he didn’t deserve it.

We’ve settled into a rhythm. The three of us go to the field after breakfast and work hard until mid-afternoon. Parker shows up around eleven with water and food and surveys what we’ve done, checking out where the sun is reaching. She takes a hoe and plants seeds where we’ve worked and stakes poles with shiny material to discourage birds from eating the seedlings. When she finds a slug she pierces its body with a sharp stick and we all find something humorous in her pregnant viciousness.

We cleared the field. We ploughed it quickly a second time, unsettling any weeds and grass that were starting to lay roots again. We’re half-way through planting carrots, tomatoes, spinach, garlic, potatoes, and onions. Parker wants us to plant some wheat to keep her seed base strong. With all the rain, drainage is our problem, not irrigation.

Every night we sit down for dinner tired and happy. Last night, though, there was a moment. Griffin reached out and touched Parker’s cheek while she was talking and she just kept on talking like it was normal. Leo noticed.

Leo’s moved onto “organizing” the sideboard in the living room. The floor’s covered with old bills, chipped crockery, printouts of grade-twelve English lesson plans, a Nintendo Game Boy, boxes of photos of relatives from Mom’s side. I cannot imagine Leo cares about any of it.

You looking for something? I ask.

He stood up. I’m wondering where a few things are. He held his hands oddly, with the thumb and forefinger of one hand pincering the webby flesh between the thumb and forefinger of the other.

Like what? I looked around.

He squeezed harder.

A thought entered into my head. I asked him, The will?

He shifted his grip so his thumbnail dug into the flesh of the other hand.

Whatever they wrote, I said, it won’t make any difference now. There aren’t even lawyers for this stuff anymore.

He released his hand. That, he said slowly, would be what you would say. Of course it won’t make any fucking difference to you. Why would it? I want to see what our parents said. What difference does that make to you?

Leo showed up at breakfast this morning with something weighty in his coat pocket. It clanked against the table when he sat down. We stopped eating and looked at him.

What?

What’ve you got? I asked.

A tool.

What tool?

A wrench.

A wrench?

I found it in the attic.

And kept it in your pocket?

You never know.

It’s not a wrench is it?

No?

It’s a gun, isn’t it?

Ooh. You’re good.

Show her here.

It was wrapped in a piece of flannel. A Browning Hi-Power 9mm. Unloaded.

Did you find cartridges?

Leo ate his porridge. Let me eat my breakfast will you?

Where did you find it?

In the attic. I told you.

So, yesterday?

He shrugged. When he finished breakfast, he held his hand out for the gun. I didn’t want to give it to him.

I was lying around after a late afternoon doze watching the sun make shadows on the ceiling and imagining Ruby seeing my new face. The gold-green flecks in her eyes, the corners of her wide mouth turning up. She’d like this new look: same Allen Quincy but topped with oddly angled tufts of hair, a raised, jagged red scar along the hairline, the clear markings of a claw on my left cheek, and the missing bit of lip. I was imagining her walking around the corner into my room when Griffin and Parker came pounding up the back porch stairs and threw open the screen door.

There’s a dead deer, Parker said.

A fresh kill, Griffin added. Only part of the chest cavity has been eaten.

My heart quickened.

I’m scared, Parker said.

Of course.

No, I’m really scared.

Where is it? I asked.

Just the other side of the meteor. Parker can’t be outside alone anymore. Not until we know it’s gone.

I can’t say why, but I was happy. I believed it had to be the same cougar. I felt that she’d come back for me. I wanted to see her again.

Cougars maintain a big range, I said. It won’t stay long. Besides, they’re shy.

One attacked you, Parker said.

A cripple.

I want the gun, Parker said.

Have you talked to Leo?

They shook their heads.

Cougars come from behind. You won’t even know it’s there. You won’t know what’s hit you. A gun won’t help. A knife would be better.

I’ll stay with Parker. It won’t attack two of us.

That boy, I thought, is a sweetie-pie, as my mother used to say.

I’d like Griffin to have the gun then, Parker said.

He’s just as likely to shoot you as the cat if it jumps you.

We were all at the table. Oyster stew. The sound of spoons clinking on bowls. Slurps. Parker told Leo about the kill. The hair stands up on the back of my neck even going to the outhouse, she said. I keep turning around and trying to see into the bushes.

Maybe stay inside for a couple of days, Leo suggested. It’ll move on once it’s finished the deer.

It’s probably been here for years, I said. I agree. It’s going to finish its kill and move on.

Leo looked at me. You think it could be the same one?

It could be. They range up to 160 kilometres. How far away was our campsite?

Sixty, seventy kilometres.

I want the gun until it goes away, Parker interrupted.

A knife is better, Leo said. I’ll lend you my knife.

Griffin looked at Parker and said, We probably wouldn’t use the gun, but we’d feel safer.

Leo spooned a few mouthfuls in while he considered whether to answer.

I’d feel safer keeping it, he said. If I thought it would be useful, I’d be only too happy. Surely you agree Allen?

About the cougar, yes, but I think the pistol belongs to the house and should be left in a kitchen drawer with the cartridges so if any of us need it we can get it. Also I’d like to give Griffin and Parker basic shooting lessons. Without using bullets obviously.

I’ve come to like having it, Leo said and leaned back on his chair. Does it really matter? He stretched his arms over his head. Who’s going to come here?

Who knows what’s going to happen. I’d like to give them lessons.

I can give them lessons. I’m as experienced with this weapon as you.

No you’re not. I’m a soldier

You were a soldier. Twenty years go.

How about they pick their teacher?

How about we stop talking about this shit.

He put his head down close to his bowl and spooned the last of his stew in.

You find what you’re looking for yet? I asked.

Am I looking for something?

I threw my spoon in my empty bowl and pushed my chair back. My blood was starting to boil. Nothing like a brother.

I was up first in the morning. I started a fire, milked the goat, and made the oatmeal and tea, then tiptoed into Griffin’s room to wake him up. I don’t know why but I was surprised to see Parker in the bed with him. I wondered how long that had been going on and whether Leo was aware of it.

I touched his shoulder, mimed that I wanted to talk, and tiptoed out. He came out in boxers, carrying his clothes and shoes, and followed me to the kitchen. I’d never seen his body before. His skin was very pale. His shoulders were broad but the muscle wasn’t defined.