Waubgeshig Rice - Moon of the Crusted Snow

Evan shook it out one more time and let it fall gently on the ground. He turned back to the pile and picked up an orange blanket the same size and make as the first. He flapped it open, making the flames dance and grow. He laid it over the grey one and sat down on the insulated ground.

Sitting cross-legged, he stared into the fire, then leaned on one elbow so he could stretch out his legs. His people didn’t make tipis. They weren’t characteristic of the Anishinaabeg. But he learned how to build one from a how-to guide in a hunting magazine of all places. He and Isaiah experimented with different sizes on random excursions into the bush over the years. Right now, it was the easiest, most reliable thing he could build in the middle of the winter in a power crisis.

The warmth relaxed him, and the stillness inside the tipi soothed him. He felt the stiffness in his upper back ease. The peaceful winter day outside left the tarps undisturbed on the poles. Evan rested his head on the inside of his arm, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

A blizzard howled as he opened the high garage door, the whiteout obscuring his line of sight. He looked up to see a crimson sun pulsing through the winter storm, washing the snow around him in a bright red glow like the flashing lights of an ambulance. It seemed to flash in sync with the beat of his heart, which sped up as he stepped into the building to escape the storm. He pulled back the hood of his parka and his eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness. The pulsating flares from the sun outside did nothing to illuminate the interior of the morgue.

He couldn’t make out the neatly arranged lines of bodies. His hands trembled under his thick snowmobile mitts. He panicked and bit on the end of the right mitt to pull his hand out and thrust it into his pocket to grab his flashlight. His hands shook as he cradled the light close to his chest and struggled to find the switch. The red light from the outside intensified and his breath grew shorter. His chest was tight and he struggled for air. To his relief, he located the button and the blueish light shot upward and back down to the floor as he got his panicked hands under control.

All that remained were the old, tattered blankets that had wrapped the bodies. It looked like they had decomposed into nothing.

His heartbeat echoed loudly in his ears. A fierce trembling overcame his whole body and his pupils dilated. A deep, guttural growl boomed behind him and drowned out the howl of the wind. Whatever stood in the snow just outside the garage door wheezed as it drew in a breath, and let out a harsh, threatening snarl at a pitch just higher than a bear’s. Evan stiffened, momentarily paralyzed, before he summoned the courage to turn and face it.

A feral odor, like a rotting heap of moose innards, wafted briskly into the garage. A tall, gaunt silhouette stood in the doorway, outlined by the scarlet blizzard behind it. The smell made him gag. The creature hunched forward. The hair on its broad shoulders and long arms blurred the lines of its figure. Its legs appeared disfigured, almost backwards. But its large, round head scared him the most. It breathed out another savage rumble.

Evan slowly raised the flashlight, illuminating the figure’s pale, heaving emaciated torso under sparse brown body hair. He brought the beam up to its face. It was disfigured yet oddly familiar. Scott. His cheeks and lips were pulled tight against his skull. He breathed heavily through his mouth, with long incisors jutting upward and downward from rows of brown teeth. His eyes were blacked out. If it weren’t for the large, bald scalp and the long, pointy noise, this monster would have been largely unrecognizable.

The beast Scott had become lunged forward.

The water bubbled in the big black pot on top of the wood stove in the basement. Wearing thick oven mitts, Nicole grabbed the handles and turned to walk it carefully back up the stairs. The morning sunshine outside was bright enough to light the basement so she didn’t need to juggle a flashlight as well.

Her hands ached and her arms trembled by the time she made it upstairs. She trudged across the kitchen floor and grimaced as she hoisted the pot of hot water onto the useless electric stove. She turned to the sink to arrange the clothes she was about to wash. Underwear, socks, and T-shirts always got priority, with jeans and sweaters going through only if they began to stink. She scooped a small amount of powdered detergent out of the bottom of the box and sprinkled the grains sparingly over the laundry.

Nicole grabbed the pot of water and poured it into the wash basin. As it splashed onto the clothes and steam swelled into her face, she turned her head to the living room behind her. “How you guys doing in there?”

“Good,” Nangohns replied. “We’re building a new house for Nookomis and Mishomis!”

Nicole put the empty pot back on the stove top and picked up the wooden spoon beside the sink to mix the detergent into the clothes. “A new house! I’m gonna have to come and see that!”

She looked into the living room, where she saw her children sitting on the carpet, playing with toy blocks. Nangohns’s pink sweatshirt was fading and the holes in the knees of Maiingan’s small jeans were growing daily. Both kids would outgrow these clothes soon anyway, and somehow they’d have to find some bigger ones soon. They both looked up at her, smiling.

“Why do Nookomis and Mishomis need a new house?” Nicole asked. “Theirs is still in good shape,”

“This one’s their summer house,” replied Maiingan.

“Summer house!” echoed the girl.

“Oh, I see. Why do they need a summer house?” Nicole untied her bun and regathered it more tightly and neatly.

“Just in case,” Maiingan said and turned his eyes back down to the interlocking plastic.

“Just in case, eh,” she muttered. “Well, I gotta go outside just for a minute.”

“Okay, Mommy,” Nangohns answered.

Nicole went back to the kitchen to get the pot and came back through the living room to put on her winter boots. She didn’t bother grabbing her jacket from the coat rack. She opened the door, went quickly out into the chill, and dipped the pot into the high snow. She packed the snow into the pot and brought it back into the house.

By anyone’s guess, it was mid-March. Terry Meegis was probably the only one who still knew the exact date. Nicole preferred to wait out the winter rather than lament the days since the power went out or generate any false optimism about how close it was to spring.

But the more tolerable temperatures and heavier snow indicated that winter had peaked. At least a month and a half of snow and cold remained, but the days were longer and the twilight hung long over the horizon in the luminous blue that foretold spring. Soon there would be no more snowmelt for drinking, cooking, and washing water and they would have to figure something else out. There would be no return to running water.

Back in the basement, Nicole dumped the snow into the large plastic basin a few metres from the wood stove. A collection of basins, buckets, and bins held melted snow water. On the other side, a smaller number of large pots contained water that had already been boiled for consumption. It was an efficient rotation and it hadn’t taken too long for them to adjust. After all, it was how Dan and Patricia’s generation had grown up.

Nicole heard a knock. She put the pot on the floor and walked upstairs to see Tyler standing at the door. Two braids hung behind his ears and his grey toque was pulled down over his eyebrows. He feigned a weak smile when he saw her. Without going all the way to the door, she waved him in.

Tyler stepped inside and closed the door. He looked at the kids on the floor and smiled. “Boozhoo binoojiinyag!” he declared warmly. “Hey, kids! Whatcha doing?”