David Vann - Caribou Island

Gary, she called again, but no answer, no other sound in the house. He had left her here, gone out in the boat, no doubt, sticking to the project, the plan.

Gary, she yelled, enraged. Damn you.

She pressed at both eyes, at the sockets, pressed at her forehead, her neck. An animate pain, burrowed inside her head.

She pulled the blankets aside slowly, not wanting to move too abruptly, sat at the edge of the bed, feeling dizzy. Waited until she felt she wouldn’t fall, then walked slowly along the bed, down the hallway into the bathroom, grabbed the open bottle of Advil, took four more, then four aspirin, then NyQuil. She wanted to be knocked out. Wanted to feel nothing. She didn’t care what this would do to her in the long run. All that mattered was now.

She walked back to bed, curled on her side under the covers, and whimpered. Like a dog, she said aloud.

The medications kicked in, and though they couldn’t do anything to the pain, they did make her drowsy, and finally she slept.

Irene woke again after dreams of pressure and panic and called out again for Gary, but still no answer. The clock showed almost five thirty.

So she got up and walked slowly to the kitchen. Could breathe only through her mouth, and it hurt to swallow. But she was starving.

She went for the yogurt. That was fast and would be easy on the throat. Swallowed carefully, worked her way through a bowl of it, a smooth and cooling vanilla, then heard Rhoda’s clunker pulling up. Thank god, she said. She was ready to be cared for.

Rhoda came in fast, still wearing light blue scrubs from Dr. Turin’s. Oh, Mom, she said. You look awful. She straddled the bench seat and scooted closer to Irene, put her lips to Irene’s forehead. You don’t have a fever.

No. The pain is behind my eyes, especially my right eye.

I don’t know what that is, Rhoda said.

Your father has left me alone all day.

What?

Checked on me once and then disappeared.

But he knows you’re sick.

He knows.

Did he try to help? Did he ask if you needed anything?

Irene thought for a moment. I guess he did. He asked if he could take me to a doctor, and asked if I wanted lunch.

So he tried, Mom.

That was about six hours ago. More than six hours.

Well I’m here now, and Frank Bishop is coming out. He’ll be here any minute. I’ve brought some painkillers, too, in case he doesn’t have anything with him.

I’ll take them now, Irene said.

Sorry, Mom. We have to wait.

Irene sighed. Sickness and health, she said. In sickness and health. And if anything ever happens to me, your father goes running.

He loves you, Mom. You’re not feeling well, so you’re not being fair to him.

It’s who he is. He can’t take care of anyone except himself.

Why don’t you lie down again, Mom?

So they walked back to the bedroom, and Rhoda tucked Irene in, then a car pulled up.

Must be Bishop, Rhoda said.

Irene waited in bed absorbed in pain, wanting it just to go away.

Frank Bishop came in with a cheery hello. Howdy, Irene. What did you do now?

You’re only thirty years old, Frank. Don’t condescend to me.

Okay, he said, with a roll of his eyes at Rhoda.

Don’t do that, Irene said.

So he stopped talking. Rummaged around in his bag, sitting in a chair Rhoda had brought to the edge of the bed, and pulled out a thermometer, stuck it in Irene’s mouth. Then he took her pulse.

All three of them waited a minute in silence for the thermometer, and finally he pulled it out. No fever, he said.

Yep, Rhoda said. She doesn’t feel hot.

So what are your symptoms, Irene? he asked.

Terrible pain behind my right eye, in a spiral. My whole head and neck hurt, but the pain behind my eye is unbelievable. Aspirin and Advil don’t do anything to it. I need something stronger. And my throat is raw, my nose completely stuffed. I feel like hell.

Okay, he said. Sounds like a sinus infection.

Yeah, Rhoda said.

I need to bring you in for X rays. I need to see how bad it is.

Can you give me painkillers now?

Tomorrow, he said.

That doesn’t help me much.

Sorry, Irene, that’s all I can do. I have to know what I’m treating. He stood up, gave her a pat on the shoulder, and left.

Rhoda walked him out to his car, a Lexus, muddy all along the bottom. Sorry, she told him. She’s just not feeling well.

Yeah, he said. Bring her in tomorrow morning. Then he got in his car and drove away. Rhoda had gone to high school with him, everything since grade school. And now he was rich and got to play God, while she sewed up dogs and sampled poop.

When Rhoda returned bedside, her mom wanted the painkillers.

Okay, Mom, she said. I have Vicodin. Only one every four hours, though. No more than that or you could have problems. And it may make you feel nauseated. It can have other side effects, too.

Just end this, Irene said. I don’t care if all my skin falls off and I grow a third tit. I just want to sleep and not feel anything.

At the turnoff to the Lower Salmon River Campground, Monique was standing by one of the blue concrete igloos that used to be gift shops, looking like a hitchhiker, or maybe a biker chick. Guilt and fear already riding Jim hard. He considered just driving on by, but she was watching him.

Nice rig, she said as she hopped up onto the seat. Room for twelve.

Yeah, it’s pretty spacious, Jim said. It was just a Chevy Suburban, and he wasn’t sure whether she was making fun of him. How come you’re staying all the way down here? It’s over twenty minutes to Soldotna.

Carl likes to move around and see different places. He has this idea that if he sees everything, it will amount to something.

Carl?

Yeah, Carl.

Who’s Carl?

He’s my boyfriend. We came up here together.

Oh, Jim said, as if the world had just collapsed.

It doesn’t matter, Monique said. It’s not as if I’m married.

No. No, Jim said. That’s true. It’s not as if you’re married. Hey, it’s not as if I’m married, either.

Are you seeing someone?

No, not really.

Hmm, said Monique, and Jim wondered whether she already knew about Rhoda. Then he remembered he had met Monique through Rhoda’s brother, Mark. Monique had certainly heard about Rhoda, then, and may even have met her. They could become good friends soon, for all he knew.

Fuck, Jim said aloud.

What?

Oh, sorry. I just forgot something important today.

I hate that.

Yeah. Jim wondered how he’d get through the next twenty minutes. Somehow he had imagined they’d just flirt a little and then fall into each other’s arms when they got to his place.

So where are you from? he asked.

D.C., Monique said. Where it is not beautiful and there are no mountains.

What do your parents do there? He was hoping to get some idea of her age.

My mother’s a bigwig with the AID.

Ah, Jim said. He couldn’t just admit he didn’t know what the AID was. Probably an organization of some sort, or a government thing. He didn’t keep up with the papers all that well.

What kind of things does she do with them? he asked.

Mostly health programs, Monique said. She was trained as a medical anthropologist. She’s always flying off to places she won’t take me, and coming back with shoes or something. We do travel together sometimes.

And your father?

He’s dead.

Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.

It’s all right, really. It’s not a big deal. We’re happier without him.

Huh, Jim said.

So what about you, darling? And she asked it in some famous actress’s voice, someone he should know. Tell me about yourself.

My father was a dentist also.