Waubgeshig Rice - Moon of the Crusted Snow

She pushed back from the table and embraced him. Her long black hair draped over his hands where he held her close. She let go and stepped back, leading him by the hand out of the kitchen. He turned off the light on the way out and followed her to the bedroom.

Their love for each other had been with them since childhood and it had been physical for nearly a decade. The only person each knew intimately was the other.

They’d hardly even been apart: Nicole had left the reserve after high school to pursue a diploma in early childhood education in the city to the south, but two months in, she was homesick, with few friends outside of kids from other First Nations, and she returned to Evan and their community for good the following spring.

Nicole took off her clothes in the darkness and heard Evan’s belt unbuckle and zipper come down on the other side of the bed. She climbed into bed, eager to feel the skin of her lover against hers. They embraced under the thick covers, taking refuge in their warm pocket of sanctuary from the dangerous outside chill. They stoked the fire that began between them all those years ago.

Walter Meegis sat behind the desk in the shop’s lunchroom. He leaned his chair back and propped his heavy steel-toed winter boots on the table. His jacket was wide open, and under it he wore a flannel shirt tucked into his jeans.

Chief Terry paced back and forth while Dave Meegis pored over invoices, charts, and documents about energy consumption, with Evan and Isaiah looking over his shoulders. To Evan, the numbers just bled together on the page and Isaiah looked equally bewildered. Dave was muttering to himself and neither wanted to interrupt him.

The front door blasted open and a rush of cold air followed. Evan’s parents stomped in, shaking off the snow that had fallen into their hoods and coated their shoulders and sleeves. Another snowfall was blanketing the community.

“Gbakdem na?” called Dan. “You boys hungry?” He held a big steel pot, almost as wide as his torso, and Patricia carried bulging black canvas bags in each hand. Her glasses had fogged up in the sudden warmth, and she peered over them as she walked towards the small group.

Dan dropped the pot onto the table suspiciously near Walter’s raised feet and chuckled. Walter pretended to scowl as he dropped his boots to the floor. “Got some stew for yas,” Dan said. “Pat’s got the bannock and bowls and stuff.”

“Here ya go, boys,” Patricia said, as she placed the bags on the table.

“Chi-miigwech, Pat,” said Walter.

“No, you guys are the ones to thank. Keeping this place going.”

“Well, we’re doing what we can. I just wish we could tell everyone for sure when this will all be fixed.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” she said with a shrug. “They can cope. Most of us didn’t even have hydro or running water when we were kids!”

“Yeah, people around here sure got soft, eh?”

They both cackled, and the men around them chuckled. If only they knew , Evan thought.

“Okay, well we better let you boys get back to work,” said Dan. “Enjoy the miijim.”

“Chi-miigwech!” they all said, almost in unison as Evan’s parents walked back out to their truck.

“What the fuck are we supposed to tell people, anyway?” blurted Dave.

“We’ll get to that,” Terry replied. “We can’t let this get out of hand right now. I’m hungry!” He went to the pot, filled his bowl, grabbed a piece of bannock, and sat down.

Evan followed suit and sat down next to him. The bannock was still warm. His mouth watered and he realized he hadn’t eaten since early morning. He dipped a corner of the fried dough into the thick liquid and shoved it in his mouth. The savoury sauce overpowered even the heavy salt in the bread. Before long, all of the men were eating.

Back at his table, Dave swallowed his last bite and spoke up. “Alright,” he said, looking down at the sheets of paper spread out before him. “I have some good news and some bad news. What do you want first?”

“Don’t fuck around, Dave. Just tell us what we need to know,” ordered Terry.

Dave slid his glasses down his nose and pushed up the sleeves of his grey hoodie, revealing the faded blue tattoos on his forearms. “Fine,” he said, rearranging a few of the sheets. “According to last year’s energy usage, we have enough diesel to last us until the end of February, at the latest. That’s what we thought all along. But if we push conservation on the people like we’ve been doing since we fired these back up, we may be able to stretch that until the end of March. Maybe even April. It all depends on how much wood people have. And if they get lazy.

“Since there’s no guarantee we’ll even get diesel again, I recommend we go ahead as we have been. We may as well ease them into spring. If people don’t play along and we end up losing it all halfway through the winter, there’ll be total fuckin’ chaos. There’ll for sure be death.”

“We have to break the news to them soon,” Terry muttered, resting his face in his hands. “People are antsy and they deserve to know. We’ll hold another meeting. We’re in a crisis and everyone’s survival depends on cooperation. They’re gonna panic again. It might get ugly but it has to be done. Eventually, they’ll get used to it.”

“When should we do it?” asked Dave.

“Tomorrow afternoon. That’ll give these boys a chance to get the roads nice and clear. And this time, we definitely have to feed them.”

“How do you suggest doing that?” said Evan.

“The cache. That’s the only way.”

Stored in a bunker below the garage at the water treatment plant was a massive cache of non-perishable food for emergency measures. A fortified secret pantry was also hidden behind one of the garage’s brick walls. Thousands upon thousands of cans and boxes had been stored there for nearly two decades. Connection to the world to the south could be disrupted easily, so the chief and council of the time had passed a resolution outlining a well-maintained and updated cache of goods that could keep upwards of five hundred people fed for at least two years. Few people besides councillors knew the extent of it or where it was stored, although its existence was generally known. Gossip spread quickly in this small community, so those with specific knowledge of the food cache had kept it to themselves to protect it from raiding before it was actually needed. No one had ever really taken a prolonged disconnection from the South seriously, though.

“We’ll decide what we’ll need to get out of there that morning,” Terry went on. “It won’t be that hard to heat everything up. There’ll be more people than last time.”

“Alright,” agreed Walter. He turned to look at Evan and Isaiah. “Evan and Izzy, you guys go get Tyler and start ploughing wherever is needed. Then it looks like we’ve got to send out more notices.”

The angle of the sun was getting lower as the days crept closer to the winter solstice. Sunlight bounced off the pure sheen of the snow that now lay in deep piles. The wind had dropped and the air was brisk and peaceful. It nipped in nostrils and carried the smoke of furnaces and fireplaces from one end of the rez to the other. It was an idyllic winter day, even with the official beginning of the season a few weeks away, for those following the calendar. The solitude comforted Evan as he leaned against the side of the truck, smoking.

He was parked in the empty lot of the Northern. There had been no traffic here for a week. Donny Jones had shut it down shortly after the melee that emptied his shelves. There was still no contact from head office in Toronto. Some suspected Donny of hoarding food and supplies, and Evan worried that Donny’s house would be targeted and that he and his family might get hurt. Along with the snow, paranoia was rising.