David Vann - Caribou Island

The clouds over the water formed a low, dark ceiling, almost like a theater, the slanted bands of rain and light a trick of staging, all of it in motion. It was beautiful, and different now that he was removed, in this warm, dry, expensive place. Money wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe he should rethink the anthropology major. Living in that tent was a preview of what his entire life would be like if he went the no-money route.

He laid his head back and closed his eyes. He’d been getting terrible sleep, the bottom half of his sleeping bag wet whenever it rained. The couch incredibly comfortable.

In his dream, Carl was being shaken by monkeys, trying to hold on to the branches in a very tall tree, but this was Rhoda, her hands all over him, and he woke to see the maple syrup spilled over him and the couch, a honey drool that had gone everywhere. Rhoda wiping at his shirt and jeans with a wet kitchen towel.

I’m sorry, Carl said, panicked.

It’s okay, Rhoda said. It’s funny. Let me just get a bit more so you don’t drip when you stand up.

God, Carl said. I’m such an idiot.

It’s fine, sweetie. Your secret is safe with me.

Ah, he said. It’s everywhere.

Yes it is.

He was able to stand up, finally, and helped her dab at the couch, which luckily was a dark brown.

I’m so sorry, he said.

Really. It’s fine.

So Carl slunk off to change his clothes and take another shower, but Monique was awake now and asked what happened and then laughed, of course.

Thanks, he said. I feel real big.

Don’t pout, she said, but he closed the bathroom door and got in the shower. He’d had about enough of Monique.

Rhoda finished cleaning up then set out a platter of cheeses, olives, smoked salmon, crackers, capers, several tapenades. Opened a bottle of shiraz and a pinot gris. She liked entertaining. She was humming “A Spoonful of Sugar” from Mary Poppins , her favorite movie from childhood. She could imagine herself putting out platters of treats for kids.

When Jim came in the door, she hopped over to him and put her arms around his neck, gave him a kiss. I have a surprise, she said.

A surprise?

Guests for dinner. A bit of company. I’ve put out a cheese platter.

Really? Who is it?

You’ll like them, Rhoda said. You’ve already met at least one of them. She walked Jim into the living room, where he threw his jacket over the couch and sat down.

The rain is kind of beautiful today, she said. Carl was out here watching it earlier.

Carl?

Rhoda poured him a glass of shiraz. Yeah, he’s up here with his girlfriend Monique. You met her at the Coffee Bus.

Jim stood up then, which was odd. He turned toward her with his mouth open, then turned back toward the window.

What is it? Rhoda asked.

There was a pause, and she brought him his wine. Is something wrong?

No, Jim said. But he looked upset. I just prefer not to see patients outside the office. Monique came in for a filling.

Oh, I’m sorry, Rhoda said. I’m sorry, Jim. And she gave him a hug, rubbed his back.

It’s all right, he said.

Jim sat on the couch again and Rhoda started fixing dinner, caribou steaks from her mother. She set them in a roasting pan with whole cloves of garlic, Maui onions, olive oil, rosemary, balsamic, and black pepper. She had potatoes boiling, and she would steam broccoli.

Monique walked out from the guest room, with Carl following behind. She was tall and kind of glamorous, in a way, though she had a weird little nose. Like an elf whose body had grown too big. Carl was out of his league, though, insecure and hopeless. Rhoda gave their relationship another few weeks at most.

Hey, Rhoda said. Have some wine. And there’s a cheese platter over by Jim. We can all watch the rain together.

Hi Jim, Monique said, and Jim stood up, walked over to shake her hand and Carl’s. He didn’t say anything, though, which was odd. So much older than they were. It didn’t make sense he should be awkward.

Jim said you were one of his patients, Monique. Rhoda said this just to break the tension.

I am indeed, Monique said. I’ve enjoyed the duck feet on the ceiling.

Jim laughed. I put those there for the kids.

For the hunters, Monique said, and there was silence again for some reason.

Have a seat, Rhoda said. Can I pour you a glass of wine? I have shiraz and pinot gris.

Shiraz, please, Monique said. And just some juice or water for Carl. He doesn’t drink.

Thanks, Monique, Carl said.

What? You don’t drink.

Yeah, but I’m not six years old.

Now’s not the time to make a stand for your manhood.

You suck, Monique.

Rhoda laughed, trying to break the tension again. Sounds like the tent has taken its toll.

Yeah, Carl said. How has the tent been for you, Monique? A little uncomfortable?

Carl’s just mad because he’s had some alone time.

And where were you? Carl asked.

I was in Seward. Ever been to Seward, Rhoda?

Rhoda was pissed off they were fighting at her wine and cheese gathering, and she didn’t know why Jim was being such a dolt, but she took this opening to try to change the tone. I love Seward, she said. The most beautiful bay, and mountains all around. I haven’t been there in years. We should go, Jim.

Yeah, Monique said, you should take Rhoda to Seward.

Sure, Jim said. He was in some kind of daze, or maybe just tired. Seward sounds good, he said.

And that was it. Silence again. Rhoda wanted to kill all three of them. She turned back to her cooking and let them stew in their own weird pot of antisocial behaviors. She grabbed the lettuce, rinsed it quick, and tore it into little pieces. She cut up two tomatoes, part of a red onion, and threw in some pine nuts. She decided she didn’t like Monique at all. She liked Monique the least out of the three of them. Her strange tone, telling Jim he should take her to Seward. As if she could pronounce upon their relationship. How old was she, anyway? Like twenty-two or something, acting like she owned the world?

All the while Rhoda worked, she had one ear cocked, and it was just silence over there. Absolute silence. Unbelievable. Who does that? And when dinner was finally ready and they all sat down, it was Monique who started talking.

Rhoda told me this great bear story today, she said. Do you have any bear stories, Jim?

Rhoda didn’t like how Monique said Jim. As if she were talking down to him. And for some reason, he was letting that happen.

Not really, he said. Do I have any good bear stories, Rhoda?

Sure you do, sweetie. You have that one in the river, with the salmon on your back. You always tell that one.

Oh yeah, Jim said. But what about you, Carl? Have you seen a bear here?

No. I’ve been wanting to see one. We even took a trip up to Denali, but we didn’t see one.

That’s too bad, Rhoda said. Denali has a lot of bears. I can’t believe you didn’t see one there. That’s really unlucky.

That’s me, Carl said.

You’re here in Alaska, though. That’s lucky. And you’re with Monique.

Ah, Monique said. That’s sweet. Thank you, Rhoda.

So things were turning around after all. Rhoda was pleased. Monique seemed much brighter now, more friendly, and the conversation moved along normally, just four people enjoying an evening, the way it should be. Oohs and ahs over the caribou. Killed by my own mother, Rhoda said. Then for dessert she surprised everyone with homemade tiramisu.

I bought the ladyfingers, she said. But the rest is mine.

This is terrific, Monique said. What a feast.

Yeah, thanks Rhoda, Carl said. This beats the hell out of the tent.

Only Jim was still relatively quiet, which was unlike him. He’d had two glasses of wine, and usually that got him rambling.