David Vann - Caribou Island

Let’s grab the next sheet, he said. Evening, only an hour or so of light, racing against the dark now. No lunch. Only that oatmeal for breakfast. Irene felt dizzy and insubstantial, like she might be able to drift above the ground, float just below the level of the trees. Held another sheet in place while he nailed, and another, cold aluminum. She wore only thin canvas work gloves. The temperature dropping, something below freezing. Shivering now.

As they hoisted the last full sheet, Gary was getting excited, the end in sight. She held while he went inside to nail. His head poking up through the joists, one arm slung around to nail from above.

Only the back row now, he said. We’ll have a roof over our heads tonight.

It’s getting dark, she said.

We’ll do it by flashlight.

So Irene brought out flashlights from her tent. We should have headlamps, Gary said. I wish you would have bought headlamps. And these flashlights are cheap. We’ll be lucky if they last. Irene at fault again. If they didn’t get the roof on tonight, it would be her fault.

Irene brought her stepstool around to the back wall, tried to plant the legs firmly enough so she wouldn’t totter. She stepped up and Gary handed her a sheet. The smaller sheets much lighter, but still difficult to raise over her head. She was tired and hungry and cold and her head was knifing. She pushed upward but wasn’t tall enough to get the sheet to flop over onto the roof. It only pointed into the sky.

Damn it, Gary said. Just drop it.

She let it fall into an alder bush.

I’ll have to do this myself. Bring your stool around front.

Irene went to the front and helped heave the piece onto the roof, then held it in place while he went inside. His head poking up between the joists, he grabbed the sheet and slid it upward. Fucking flashlight, he said. We needed headlamps. I can’t hold the piece and hold a nail and a hammer and a flashlight. I don’t have four fucking hands.

I’ll hold a flashlight from here, Irene said. And if you give me a stick or something, I might be able to keep the piece from slipping.

Fine, Gary said. Just hurry up. I can’t hold this forever.

Irene looked around the woodpile for a stick, trying to hurry, but she didn’t see anything. Starting to feel panicked. Gary waiting.

Just get the boat hook, he shouted. Go to the boat. I can’t fucking hold this much longer.

She walked as fast as she could to the boat, running when possible, the flashlight beam jumping around grass and snow. The boat bumping and scraping in small waves. She climbed over the bow, her flashlight beam bright against all the aluminum, and found the boat hook, hurried back to the cabin.

Here it is, she called out. She used the boat hook to push at the lower edge of the sheet. Other hand holding the flashlight, afraid she might fall, standing on the top step of the stool.

Okay, Gary said. He adjusted the sheet a bit. Now hold it there and keep the light on it.

Gary nailed the sheet along the joists, then asked for the next.

I’ll need help lifting it onto the roof, Irene said.

Fine, Gary said, and he came around, tossed it up by himself. Just hold it now, he said.

He was back inside and nailing, and they did two more sheets, utterly dark, the beam bright off the aluminum, the roof a kind of reflector. They could have been building a spacecraft, Irene thought, something meant to rise up into this night and take them away from the world. A strange thing they were doing out here. A man and his slave, building his machine.

Gary heaved the last piece in place, went around inside, and then wasn’t sure what to do. This one closes the gap, he said. I can’t get my hand outside to hammer. I shouldn’t have put those two-by-fours in yet to block the side gap. Hold it and just wait a minute.

Gary moved his stool outside the back wall, then the side wall. Damn it, he said. Not quite tall enough. The ground’s too low.

The ground’s fault, Irene thought. If they had better ground, it would know to rise up. She held the boat hook and flashlight, tried to stay balanced on the stool. This was her part in the circus.

Gary let out a little grunt-scream thing of frustration. No planning, ever, his entire life. Just throwing himself from one obstacle to the next, blaming the world and Irene.

Fuck, he said. I’m gonna have to climb onto the fucking roof. I can’t do it any other way.

Irene didn’t say anything. Just did her job.

Gary brought his stool beside her and let out another little scream of frustration. Nothing to grab on to, he said. So he took his stool back inside. Give me some room, he said. Move the sheet.

Irene let the sheet slide down toward her.

More, he said, so she let it slide farther, then saw his hands on the joist. He yanked himself upward and got one leg onto the roof. Growling, working that leg out farther, pushing down with his heel, trying to leverage. Finally pulled up sideways and made it.

I need the hammer, he said. It’s inside.

What about the sheet?

I’ll hold it. Just get the hammer.

Irene stepped down, walked around quickly, handed him the hammer, and returned to her station. Gary slid the sheet into place, she held it with the boat hook, and he nailed.

Okay, he said. We have a roof. Then he looked around. Not sure how I’m getting down, he said.

I’ll get out of the way, Irene said, and climbed down off her stool.

Nothing to hold on to, he said. But because of the slant, I should be able to hang off the back. Go around with the flashlight. We have to find a safe place for me to jump down.

Irene ran around quick, shone her light all along the back, moved a pile of garbage bags, their food, and found a mossy patch that seemed soft. This looks good, she said. A bunch of moss.

Okay, keep your light on it. And he lowered himself off the back, hopped down a few feet, easy enough.

Let’s tack up the window, he said, so the wind doesn’t come in. We can leave the back door for now.

Are we spending the night in there?

Yeah, of course.

With all the gaps? Wind and snow are going to come in, right?

It’s not perfect.

Why not use the tents another night?

Why are you like this?

Like what?

Get that light out of my face, he said, slapping it away. And don’t pretend you don’t know what you’re doing.

I’ve been helping you, she said. All day and now at night.

You help, but you’ve also been letting me know what you think of me, every few days, how I’ve destroyed your life, separated you from everyone. So maybe it’s time I let you know what I think of you.

Stop it, Gary. Don’t do this.

No. I’m going to let you have it like you’ve been letting me have it.

Gary, I’m trying here. I’m building your cabin in the dark. I haven’t had any food since the oatmeal this morning.

My cabin, Gary said. See? That’s what I mean. Our whole lives, my fucking fault. No choice of yours. Not your fault you have no friends. You’re a social misfit. That’s why you don’t have any friends.

Stop, Gary. Please.

No, I think I’m enjoying this. I think I’m going to sink my teeth into this.

Irene started crying. She didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t help it.

Cry your fucking eyes out, he said. If it weren’t for you, I would have left this place. I might even have become a professor, finally. But you wanted kids, and then I had to support the kids, and build more rooms on the house. I got trapped in a life that wasn’t really me. Building boats and fishing. I was working on a dissertation. A dissertation. That’s what I was supposed to be doing.

The unfairness was too much for Irene. She couldn’t speak. She kneeled on the ground and cried.