David Vann - Caribou Island

Hey Mark, Gary called from the bedroom.

Are you sick, Mom? Mark came over to the couch.

Just resting.

Holding court, Gary said, passing by to the kitchen.

A crime, I suppose.

You two have to stop fighting, Rhoda said. You’re getting a little cabin fever, I think.

Ha, Irene said.

Don’t start, Irene.

Well it’s nice to have all four of us here, Irene said, and got up off the couch, felt dizzy. When’s the last time that happened? she asked. And when will it ever happen again? This may be the last time we’re all here as a family.

That’s not true, Mom, Rhoda said. You won’t be in the cabin forever.

Ask your father. But we should have something to eat. Some lunch. We should all sit down at the table.

I need to get the sheeting, Gary said. And the joists.

After lunch, Irene said.

I need to go now. I need to get this done.

Irene walked over to the cupboards, found a couple cans of chili. Gary standing beside her at the counter, writing a list. I’ll just heat these up, she said.

Look. I don’t have time.

C’mon Dad, Rhoda said. It’s just lunch.

All the obstacles to a man’s work, Mark said.

Gary walked into the bedroom and came out with his jacket. Angry and impatient as always. I’ll be back in a couple hours, he said. We can have dinner together. And then he walked out, long strides to his truck.

Huh, Mark said. I would have offered to help. And I can’t come back for dinner. I need to return this boat.

Irene gave Mark a hug, but he was uncomfortable, pulling away quickly. I’ll be fine, he said.

Sorry, Irene said.

It’s all good, Mark said, but he was edging for the door. What made the men run? They could have had lunch together. Was that too much to ask? To be a family for an hour?

How’s Karen? Irene asked.

Mark’s lopsided grin, holding back. You never ask about her, Mom. You don’t like her.

That’s not true.

Yeah it is.

He’s right, Mom, Rhoda said. You always avoid her.

This isn’t true. None of it. I only want you to be happy, and if you’re happy with her, then that’s great.

But you don’t actually like her, Mark said. That’s my point. You think she’s dumb.

This isn’t true. Why would you think that?

Whatever, Mark said. It’s fine. I need to go.

Stay for lunch, Rhoda said.

I promised I’d return the boat. I need to get back.

Running away, just like your father, Irene said. Why can’t you stay? It’s just lunch. Why do the men in the family always run?

I don’t know, Mark said. Maybe because we’re creeped out? If I stay even one minute longer, I’ll scream. I don’t know why that is, but that’s just the way it is. Sorry. It’s nothing personal. And he had the door open now, escaping.

Nothing personal? Irene asked.

Later, Mark said, and he shut the door behind him. Irene went to the window, watched him walk away fast to his truck and boat.

She felt Rhoda then behind her, arms around her. It’s okay, Mom.

Irene watched Mark drive away. She didn’t understand what had just happened. I’m a terrible mother, she finally said.

No, Mom.

I don’t think I knew that until now, Irene said.

Mom, it’s just Mark.

But you said yourself that it’s me. I avoid Karen. That’s true. I don’t like her. I do think she’s dumb. And Mark knows that.

Rhoda let go then and sighed. She sat down at the table. Maybe we should have something to eat.

Okay, Irene said, and she went for the can opener, her hand a bit shaky, just a bit. Not something Rhoda would see. She opened up two cans of chili, emptied them into a pot and lit the burner. Then she stood there and stared into the chili, stirred occasionally with a spoon. The sound of the burner. She didn’t want to think of herself as a terrible mother. Not on top of everything else. What if everything going wrong with Gary was her fault, too?

I’m getting married, Rhoda said.

What? Irene turned and Rhoda rose from her seat.

Jim proposed, Rhoda said, and she showed Irene her ring.

Rhoda, Irene said, and pulled her close for a hug. This is wonderful. She held Rhoda close and didn’t want to let go. The beginning of the end for Rhoda, her life given and wasted on a man who didn’t love her. That’s what would happen, a cruel repetition of Irene’s life, and what could Irene say now? But Irene didn’t know anything for certain. That was the thing. Maybe Jim did love Rhoda, and maybe their marriage would be good, and maybe Rhoda would be happy.

Okay Mom, Rhoda finally said. I need to breathe.

Sorry, Irene said, and she let Rhoda go.

I’ll check the chili, Rhoda said, and she turned away from Irene to give a stir, poured it into two bowls.

Irene was surprised by how she felt. She wanted to be happy for Rhoda, but she didn’t feel happy at all. And she couldn’t let Rhoda see that. This is wonderful, she said again as Rhoda placed the two bowls on the table.

Thanks, Mom, Rhoda said. But she sat and looked down at her chili as she ate. She wouldn’t look at Irene. So Irene wasn’t hiding anything here. Rhoda could tell.

I’m sorry, Irene said. I just don’t want anything that’s happened to me to happen to you.

What are you talking about, Mom?

Can you look at me when we’re talking?

Rhoda looked up. Geez, Mom.

I’m sorry. I can’t seem to get along with anyone.

Well you might think about that.

How can I think about anything else? You’re my daughter. Rhoda was looking down again, and Irene hated that. I want you to be happy. That’s all.

Well that’s good, Rhoda said. Thank you.

Your father never loved me.

Rhoda put down her spoon and looked up again, annoyed. Mom, she said. We’ve talked about this before. You know that’s not true. Dad has always loved you.

That’s the thing, Irene said. He never has. He thinks he deserved someone better than me. He’s admitted that now, out in the tent. And he wanted to be left alone. That’s what’s true about him. I was just easy, something that happened, and it would have been a hassle to cut me loose. He’d prefer to be without me, but he’s never bothered to put together the effort to do that.

I’m not listening to this, Rhoda said. It’s just the pain in your head, and maybe this stupid cabin thing, too, having to live out there.

The pain has made everything clearer, Irene said. I can’t sleep, and it feels like I can’t even think, but for some reason, I’m seeing everything more clearly than I ever have before. Irene was leaning forward, both forearms on the table. She felt excited.

That’s really scary, Mom. You should listen to yourself.

Rhoda, you have to pay attention. What I’m telling you is important.

Mom. Rhoda was looking right at her now. You have to stop. Listen to yourself. You sound like a bag lady talking about aliens, like you have the secret and you’ve figured it all out.

A bag lady?

I’m sorry, Mom. It’s just that you sound like you’re going a little crazy. None of what you’re saying about Dad is true. He loves you. He’s always loved you.

Irene stood up. She was trembling. She grabbed her chili bowl and threw it at the window above the sink. A louder sound than she had expected as the glass shattered, but still not enough. Not satisfying at all. She wanted to bring the whole house down. He doesn’t love me, she said. I should know. I’m the one living it.

The window glass jagged, an open view now of trees and snow. The light strange, no clear sense of where the sun was, no direction for light or shadow, the snow reflecting. No sense of time. A day that could stretch on forever.

I don’t feel safe, Rhoda said. I think I need to leave.