David Vann - Legend of a Suicide

Roy covered it in a small cairn of rocks to keep it from the eagle and then he threw his line out again. Within a few hours he had six pinks and a Dolly. He strung them on a piece of nylon rope he had brought, tied up handles so that he could carry them, and hiked back slowly to the cabin, stopping periodically to rest.

Lookin’ good, his father said when he saw him coming. Lookin’ good.

I went to the next inlet. The fishing’s a lot better over there.

I believe it, his father said and took the string of fish to look at them. Fresh pinks, he said. And the smoker’s coming along, so why don’t you go ahead and cut these into strips after you’re done cleaning them.

By the time Roy was done cleaning and cutting into strips for smoking, it was getting late. He washed all the pieces well, took them inside in a bucket and made the brine with salt and some white sugar. They were supposed to use brown sugar for brine, but the bear had eaten or scattered all of that. Then he went around back to his father.

How’s it looking? Roy asked.

It’s pretty much together.

Roy couldn’t see well, but it looked like it had four walls and a top and a gap below to put the wood chips in. Does it have racks? he asked.

I brought racks, his father said. And a pan for the bottom that has two levels to it, one for hot coals and one above that for the smoker chips. Without those things, I don’t know how I would have done it exactly.

Are we gonna smoke them now?

We’ll let ’em brine overnight and start early in the morning. It’s just too much work keeping an eye on the chips and all, especially since we don’t even know if the thing works. Why don’t you cook up the pieces you left out and I’ll finish up here.

So Roy cooked up the two large filets in a skillet with oil since they didn’t have butter anymore, and by the time his father came in, he was tired and didn’t say much and just ate the fish looking down at his plate. Roy didn’t feel any closer to his father than he had on their occasional vacations, and he wondered if this would change at all.

Good fish, his father finally said. You can’t beat salmon. And then they did the dishes together and went to bed.

Late that night, after Roy had fallen asleep and awakened again, cold, his father was talking to him.

Roy? he was saying. Can you hear me?

Yeah. I’m awake now.

I don’t know how I got this way. I just feel so bad. I feel okay during the day, but it hits at night. And then I don’t know what to do, his father said, and this last part made him whine again. I’m sorry, Roy. I’m really trying. I just don’t know if I can hold on.

Roy was starting to feel now like he would cry, and he really didn’t want this.

Roy?

Yeah, I’m here. I’m sorry, Dad. I hope you feel better.

His father let out an awful swallowed sound and said, Thanks. And then they just lay there like that listening to each other’s rough breathing until finally it was morning again and Roy lay there remembering and smelling the stove, feeling the heat coming off it.

His father was already around back putting the fish in the smoker. Hey, son, he said. This is looking like it’s gonna be pretty good. He wiggled his eyebrows up and down and smiled at Roy. Then he opened up the door and Roy looked in.

The strips of fish were all laid out in there, and Roy could see the pink meat already had a glaze on it from the brine, which was good.

Just have to get the pan now, his father said. I have the coals ready in the stove.

They went inside and he pulled out coals with tongs he had brought for that purpose and laid them in the pan, then set a small grate over them that fitted down into the pan and poured a large handful of alder chips on top. Gonna be tasty, he said.

They went back outside and he slid the pan in the small door at the bottom and checked all the seams once the smoke got going inside. It leaked some smoke here and there, but his father said it would be fine and really it looked pretty good to Roy. It looked like they might be eating some smoked salmon and have some jerky to put away.

Now we need some drying racks, his father said. And it wouldn’t hurt to have a cache somehow to keep everything away from the bears.

A cache? Roy asked.

Yeah, to keep food away from bears and everything else.

Would it be a lot of work?

Yeah, I’m not saying we’re building one right now, I’m just thinking. What we need to do now are the racks and the wood shed.

So they worked on the frame for the wood shed coming off the back wall of the cabin but a few large drops came down on them and as they looked up into the dark clouds the rain came down more so then they were running around front with the tools to avoid getting soaked as it dumped on them.

They built up the fire in the stove and tried to dry off some with a towel.

Not much dry wood left, his father said. Not much at all. We should have just stored a few pieces in here for now to slowly dry out. If this rain keeps up, we won’t be happy.

They lit the paraffin lamp and got out the cards and sat on the floor playing gin rummy for the rest of the afternoon, waiting for the rain to stop. His father didn’t seem very interested in the game and looked just as glum when he won as when he lost. The rain and wind beat on the roof and outside the window, and they couldn’t see more than a hundred yards, the visibility was so poor.

After three hours or so, his father stood up. I can’t just sit here anymore, he said. I think I’ll work on my rain gear, then check the smoker. The truth is, we’re going to have a lot of rain and we just have to get used to going out and working in it.

His rain gear had some long rips in it from the bear. He laid it flat on the floor and duct-taped both sides of each tear, then went out, Roy following in his own boots and gear.

Roy stopped in front of their cabin and looked out at the water in a pale U before him that seemed connected to the sky. There was no line at all between them, no horizon. It was impossible to tell where exactly the rain and mist touched down except very close in, at the water’s edge. The trees on either side seemed hung in shreds. He walked down to the water, stepping carefully on the wet rounded stones, and heard the rain everywhere, an even sheet of sound erasing all others. It was the only smell, too. Even when it smelled of land or sea, even when Roy caught the scents of what he imagined were ferns and nettles and rotten wood, they seemed only a part of the way the rain smelled. And he was realizing that this was what it would be like, mostly. The clear days they’d had were the oddity. This dense rain, and the world enclosed by it, was what they would know. This would be their home.

Come back here, his father yelled, the yell muffled.

So he went back and helped on the wood shed. They nailed together the poles and then realized they should put the roof together first, then raise it, since they didn’t have a ladder, so they brought the poles down again. His father worked grimly at the wood, his mouth and eyes tight. He kept telling Roy exactly what to do, and Roy felt he was more in the way and more work directing than he was worth, as if his father had him out here only so that both of them would have to stand in the shitty rain.

His father nailed together the shingles overlapping, and when he had finished the roof, they put up the poles again, Roy holding while his father reached up and nailed. When the roof was finally up, they stepped back and looked at it. It was wobbly-looking, most of all, the supports knobby and smooth and rain-slicked dark brown, the shingles above not all the same size and at slightly different angles and jutting out jaggedly at the edge, some with their bark still on and some not. It looked like the frontier, like the real thing, except not as sturdy. It looked like it might keep a little rain off, but when they stood under it, it wasn’t great. It kept most the drips off their heads, and they were able to take their hoods off, but when the wind gusted they caught some rain, on their legs especially.