David Vann - Caribou Island

Jim just got back from Juneau, Rhoda said. Talking with another dentist about joining the practice.

How was Juneau? Monique asked.

Oh, Juneau’s nice, Jim said. The Mendenhall Glacier. Pretty hike around the lake at its foot, and if you go up the left side, you can get out onto parts of the glacier.

I’d like to go out on a glacier, Monique said. Maybe land on one with a helicopter and then lie down and do snow angels.

That sounds good, Jim said, but Rhoda could tell something was off, something wrong. She looked at Carl, but Carl was mesmerized by the tiramisu, staring down into it as he savored tiny bites from the tip of the dessert spoon. He had something going on with food.

Carl, Monique said. You don’t need to fuck the tiramisu. You can just eat it. Then she winked at Rhoda.

Carl didn’t even look up. Thanks, Monique, he said. More pleasure in this bowl than I’ve ever had with you.

Ouch, Jim said. And he laughed.

That’s not nice, Jim, Rhoda said.

Sorry.

Hm, Monique said. She clearly wasn’t used to negative comments. Rhoda was secretly a little pleased.

How about a game? Rhoda suggested. We could all play a game.

Do you have Twister? Monique asked.

Carl looked up. Twister?

We have it, Rhoda said. She went to the hall closet and rummaged around. Just leave the dishes. I’ll do them later.

So they all took their shoes off and sat around the Twister mat.

So retro, Monique said, looking at all the bright dots. I love it.

They spun the dial and took turns. Jim ended up in a tough position, his feet far from his hands. Hurry, he said through gritted teeth. He was looking up at the ceiling, hands behind him, his butt sagging dangerously low.

Rhoda was laughing. She had an easy spot on a corner, two feet and one hand.

Then Carl spun and had to go over Jim, in an extended push-up. This got Monique laughing.

Thanks, Monique, he said.

Monique had to go forward on both hands on her spin, but it wasn’t difficult.

Then Rhoda got an impossible one. She had to put her other hand clear over past Monique, and trying to do this put her face right in Monique’s butt, which she wasn’t happy about at all.

I give up, Rhoda said. I can’t do it.

Jim crashed down. Thank god, he said.

That was too seventies for me, Rhoda said. Or sixties, whatever. But we have another old game that might be fun.

So they played Pin the Tail on the Moose, getting dizzy and heading off in different directions with their darts, no one hitting anything they’d intended. And finally it felt like a party. Rhoda was satisfied. She packed up the games when they were done, then went for the dishes.

I’ll help, Monique said. It was late, and Jim and Carl headed off to the bedrooms.

Thank you, Rhoda said, warming up a bit to Monique. She had an edge, but she could be sweet, also.

Rhoda washed and Monique rinsed and dried. You have such a great place here, Monique said.

Yeah, I love it. I always dreamed of a house like this.

How long have you and Jim been together?

A little over two years, living together for a year.

How did you meet?

I was a patient.

Ah.

Jim didn’t seem like much at first, but he grew on me after a while. He’s a good guy. Solid and reliable. He has a good heart.

Yeah, Monique said. He seems like a nice guy. Are you getting married?

Rhoda wasn’t quite ready for this question. She felt put on the spot. Monique was being friendly, though, and she didn’t want to mess that up. Yeah, she finally said. We talk about it, though it’s not official. We’re taking our time. Planning what kind of wedding we’d like.

What are your ideas?

Well, Rhoda said, getting a little excited despite herself. I’m thinking Hawaii. Kauai, the Garden Island.

Kauai’s nice, Monique said.

You’ve been there?

Yeah, a couple times. Hiked the Na Pali Coast, and kayaked it.

The whole coast?

You only go one way, with the current. It’s not so tough.

Wow, Rhoda said. Maybe we could do that on our honeymoon.

You’d like it. It’s beautiful.

Rhoda felt bad for disliking Monique earlier. They finished the dishes and she gave her a hug goodnight. It’s too bad you’re not here in Alaska longer, she said. It’d be fun to hang out more.

Yeah, Monique said. I’d like that.

Rhoda turned on the light in the bedroom but then flicked it off again, because Jim was already asleep. She undressed, bumping around a bit in the darkness, tipsy still from the wine, and collapsed into her pillow.

Jim lay awake beside her, listening to her breathing, waiting until he could feel the tiny jerks of her hands that meant she was asleep. Then he waited some more, just to be sure. Monique had said to meet him in the living room. He was angry, of course, but he also didn’t want to miss out.

Irene lay awake panicking. The pain had become untouchable, and this meant no more thought, no more sleep, no more reason. She had to get up, couldn’t just lie here.

She wanted to pop another Tramadol, but she’d already had four in less than an hour and was afraid she’d overdose. She wandered the house, pacing back and forth in the small kitchen, over to the fireplace, into the bedroom, back to the kitchen, holding her head with both hands, squeezing at it, begging for this to stop. She wasn’t religious but found herself in something close to prayer. Please , she begged.

She walked outside, into the cold, the night sky clear. Wearing only her pajamas and a pair of boots. She hoped the cold might muffle the pain somehow, walked down their driveway to the road, her boots crunching gravel. Quiet tonight, without wind. She was shivering.

The trees all around seemed almost an audience, standing there waiting, watching her. Sentinels in the shadows, hidden away on a moonless night. She had never grown accustomed to this place, never felt it was home. The forest itself felt malevolent, even though she knew it well, the name of every tree and bush and flower. That worked during the day, naming, but at night the forest became a presence again, animate and unified, without name.

Irene turned and hurried back home, the crunching of her own boots seeming to come closer as she gained speed, and she saw the quick shadow of an owl cross her path ahead, the low swoop, silent. An omen, but one she didn’t know how to read. Disappeared into the trees. No call.

She hurried inside, shut the door, and made her way slowly in the dark to the couch by the fireplace, lay down, exhausted. Wanted desperately to sleep, her eyes heavy, but the pain wouldn’t allow rest. She had to get up again, had to move. Being still let the pain gather.

Carl lay awake. Monique’s breathing too even and deep, not at all like how she slept. He was careful to keep his own breathing even, and he knew she wouldn’t know the difference. She had never noticed him the way he noticed her. And he wondered why she would lie to him now, why she would pretend. Why bother? It was more considerate, in a way, than what she normally did.

She pretended for a long time, and when she finally eased the covers back and left the bed, she stood there a few minutes without moving, listening to see whether he’d stir. He kept his breathing even, and finally she tiptoed away, turned the handle of the door quietly, opened and closed it with almost no sound.

Carl waited. He heard nothing else. Looked at his watch, almost quarter after one. He waited another fifteen minutes, then sat up carefully at the edge of the bed, walked to the door and listened, opened it quietly and now could hear them faintly, their breathing, and see a glow from the living room, a flickering. They had lit a candle. He came around the corner quietly and now he could see her outline, her shape as she sat up and rode Jim, facing away. Carl could see only her dark cutout against the candlelight.