Sweet Jesus (11 page)

W
hen the alarm went off at four-thirty in the morning, all Hannah could see was the shape of the window soaked in dark purple light and four stars in the sky. They got up and had flashlights and a kerosene lamp to dress by, and Norm made a fry-up of greasy eggs on thick slices of bread, and there was bacon, which they didn’t eat but made sandwiches with. Norm flicked on the high beams and they drove to a dirt road off the highway an old man at a gas station had told them about yesterday – a popular caribou crossing between the barrens. The road was pitted and they drove slowly. This is why you should never buy a used rental, Norm said, bottoming out again. They’re cars nobody cares about.

They turned off their high beams and the trees tilted back into the darkness. Down the road, two demon eyes of red. There was a pickup truck parked ahead of them and they realized they’d reached the spot on the map. They drove up alongside the truck and rolled down the window. A woman was sitting behind the wheel, holding a 35 mm camera to her chin. See anything?

A man in a green quilted shell came around the back of the truck. Saw two moose about a half-hour ago, he said.

So you’re after moose, Norm said.

There was a sound of nylon being scratched and the alder bushes parted and another man walked out, wearing a trucker’s cap and carrying a rifle on his shoulder. His eyes were wide and he was breathing hard. Jeeze, boy, I almost got him. Would have had the two of them if we’d been here sooner. If you sees ’em, shoot one of ’em for me, will ya?

The guys got into their truck and slammed the doors and drove off down the road. The brake lights came on again after a couple hundred yards, and they got out and rustled back into the bushes.

Man oh man, Norm said.

What?

All that noise.

They walked into the woods where it was darker and they got lost for a little while, cracking their way through a web of spruce boughs, over moss-covered logs, holding the compass ahead of them. There were creaking noises in the velvety darkness and Hannah felt a little afraid. A city girl deep in the woods. This was not one of those moments when you could belt out a happy song either, because they were trying to be as quiet as possible. They checked the map by flashlight. Things looked the same in all directions – receding pillars of black and blue. There was a green sky growing lighter overhead, and finally a tinge of orange above the treetops. They came across a patch of flattened grass in a small arbour. That’s where they slept, Norm whispered.

The forest brightened and ended abruptly and they found their way out onto the open marsh. The ground was soggy and made a soft suction against Hannah’s rubber boots. Then it
changed and became rocky, dry, crunchy with lichen. The sky was now a light grey and a breeze sighed over the land, making the shadows move. Hannah felt as if she was breathing with her eyes. There, one of them would say and then, No. They walked slowly and stopped often to raise the rifle and scan the treeline through the scope.

The day before, after a late start, hungover and shaky, they’d driven out of St. John’s and installed themselves at a friend’s cabin. They set off into the woods half-heartedly, and after several hours of cautious advances, long, searching intervals, they saw a magnificent stag. It was Hannah’s first sighting, and the animal looked magical, something out of Norse mythology or a child’s arctic fairytale. He had a rack of antlers like a huge inverted wishbone and a yoke of white fur. His back must have been five feet off the ground. He pranced out of the woods and sniffed the air, then turned and went back into the trees before walking out again, leading four does and two calves. The herd started to graze, but the stag was skittish. He knew something was up.

Hannah had been trying to find him through the rifle. Norm was whispering, You have to get closer. They were downwind and had crawled and managed to get within a hundred and fifty yards of the caribou.

Kneeling, Hannah held the rifle and caught him in her scope. That stag walked right across it, but all she could do was admire him, so she lost the shot. What would it require to shoot such a beautiful animal? Could she do it? He turned away and never gave her another chance. He must have caught a whiff of them then, because he raised his head and froze. The rest of the herd sprang to attention, and the stag led them at a trot back into the woods – except for one adolescent calf who lingered, who kept looking in Hannah’s direction, curious
and rebellious, defying his patient father at the edge of the forest, waiting.

A few minutes later, there was splashing as the animals crossed a shallow pond out of sight.

You have to be quick, Norm had said, you can’t hesitate, you’ve got a fraction of a second when the caribou is yours. You want it side on. Then aim right behind the front shoulder, through the lungs and heart.

Hannah realized that she had to stop thinking about the consequences and the beauty of the animal. All she could think about was that spot behind the shoulder and the trigger of her gun and matching those two things.

Today they’d been sprawled on the ground, hiding in the scoop of a little hollow for about an hour when a good-sized female appeared about two hundred yards away. Norm and Hannah bent forward at the waist and lifted their feet high and rushed forward as quietly as they could in their plastic rain pants. But the caribou moved soundlessly and without effort, and they couldn’t gain on her.

They’re so fast, Norm said, breathing hard from the exertion. Let’s try those barrens over there.

No, let’s have lunch, Hannah said, and on their way back to the car, Norm spotted some fluorescent pink tape hanging from a branch on the far side of the marsh. They walked the quarter-mile to have a look. The tape marked the end of a trail that led back to the road, not far from where they’d parked. If they could get a caribou near this trail, it would make the job of lugging it out so much easier. There were caribou tracks all over the marsh where the trail led out.

It’s Caribou Highway, Norm said. If we come back here, just before dusk, and sit quietly and wait long enough, a caribou will pass.

They returned to the car and sat inside and ate their sandwiches. Who knew cold bacon could taste so good? Hannah said, and they each drank a thermos cup of lukewarm tea and this, too, was very good.

They had a blanket in the trunk and Hannah lay across the back seat, unable to sleep, while Norm slept soundly under his coat, reclined in the passenger seat. The sky was so white through the windows – the car’s interior sharply grey and metallic as yesterday’s hangover. Hannah was thinking about how it was going to work out, this
living with Norm
business. She had recently moved all her stuff into his apartment. Would she be inclined to defer to his tastes and opinions, or would she find the strength to assert herself in this relationship? She found herself wanting so badly to please him, she may not even have noticed how badly because she hadn’t yet begun to question the impulse. Her stomach rumbled. She was still hungry. The exertion of being outdoors and the adrenalin of seeing the caribou had carved out an appetite, but the sandwiches were all gone.

Norman gave a chuckle and Hannah thought he was laughing at her, then she realized he was still asleep. She’d heard a couple of people laugh in their sleep and always liked it. It was a reassuring sign of a person’s essential character, like someone who was affable when drunk. Then Hannah remembered something that had happened to her mother once. Rose had woken up in the middle of the night because the bed was shaking. Her first thought was, Lord, if you take Tim, take me too! Don’t leave me here alone! Rose thought it was an earthquake, but it was just her husband, sitting up in bed, laughing in his sleep, so hard that tears were streaming down his face. He’d been dreaming about his father, but couldn’t remember the next day, what.

And I thought the house was falling down, Rose had said. She’d told this story over dinner in Toronto years ago. They’d all been there – her parents, Connie, even Zeus. What a pretty boy he’d been, with dark hair and dark lashes. Nothing like the rest of the family – prepubescent and funny and excitable.

If I have it my way, her father had said then, I won’t live a long life. I don’t want to get too old. I’m looking forward to meeting my maker.

Her mother had agreed. This life, she said, is so full of pain and suffering.

Hannah had looked at her sister, wondering what she thought. Connie seemed to be appreciating what they were saying, but Hannah had been depressed by the conversation – this maudlin desire for death, the expectation of a better life to come, and the certainty of their reward. It struck her as ungrateful. Heaven was too easy a scapegoat for the challenge of finding contentment. Okay, she’d said to her parents, so let’s say God
did
create the world and gave us this life, don’t you think we should be happy with it? I mean, it’s what he saw fit to give us. So shouldn’t we love it too? And she’d fixed on her sister for confirmation, but Connie just rolled her eyes, like she was being predictably antagonistic. Zeus was leaning forward, though, giving her a dark, soulful gaze.
Because
, Hannah had said to him, if you don’t enjoy this life, who’s to say you’ll enjoy the next?

When Norm and Hannah got back out on the barrens, the clouds were plum-coloured and it had started to rain. They settled in under some low scrub and waited. Hannah listened to the hypnotic tap of raindrops on her waterproof jacket, felt the hard ground underneath, and the slow leaching of body heat. She fought off the urge to sleep, she had to keep herself
awake. The wind was northerly, and they were downwind from where Norm thought the caribou would appear. And so they waited, like soldiers in the trenches, feeling the cold rain.

Twenty more minutes, Norm said, checking his watch.

Hannah hugged her knees and tucked her head down. She wondered if Norm would ever change his mind about having a baby. Couldn’t he see they were already so clearly a team? They could handle a baby. They would excel at it, even. That’s what she thought. It made her whole body ache with longing. Suddenly, she felt miserable, impatient. She was tired of waiting. She wanted to go home. And then Norm whispered, There he is!

Hannah was on her knees.

Take the shot, he said quietly. Take the fucking shot.

The caribou wasn’t far. About fifty yards. A noble stag, in profile, brown and grey and white. Maybe three years old, a crown of antlers, nose high, princely. But Hannah wasn’t thinking about that. She was thinking – behind the shoulder. Squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull it.

Norm hissed, Take the shot!

Her left foot forward, knee up, elbow on knee, gun to shoulder, fur through scope. Hannah squeezed. That shocking noise, and the animal went down. First his hind legs buckled, then his head whipped back and the front of him went down like a slap. All she could see were his antlers above the bushes.

You got him, baby, you got him!

The stag was pulling his head around in a circular motion, trying to create some momentum to stand up. It was awful to see. Hannah put the rifle down and burst into tears. She wept with an intensity that was both alarming and cathartic. Her hands were on her face and she kept repeating, Oh my God, I’m so sorry, you’re so beautiful. I’m so sorry, you’re so beautiful.
She had shot something that was alive. The caribou had a soul. Hannah saw it in the way he had carried himself a minute earlier. And now that soul was thrashing around inside his broken body. We have to kill him, Hannah said.

Norm crawled over. He hugged her. Hannah could see that he was proud and excited. No, just leave him alone now. He’ll die better on his own. That’s the best thing we can do for him.

But she saw the neck tugging around. Please, she begged. I can’t bear to see him like this. It didn’t look like he was dying. There was too much effort in his struggle. Please!

They walked quickly and cautiously over to the caribou. Hannah crouched, still crying, about twelve feet away. Norm reloaded the gun and approached. The caribou was pulling himself in a circle to get away from him. Norm had to follow him around to get a good shot at the head, then held the rifle low to his hip and fired into the caribou’s ear. All its limbs dropped, and the empty stillness of the foggy, late-afternoon countryside rushed back in from where it had been forgotten and engulfed them. Hannah noticed the rain again, and the vast, lonely spaciousness of the landscape. She felt grateful for the privacy, like the discrete quietude of a church.

Norm got the hunting knife with the six-inch blade from the army surplus bag and, straddling its neck, lifted the stag’s head by the antlers and bent forward and pierced the white fur at its throat. The knife went in with such shocking ease.

You want to sever both jugulars, he said and joggled the knife around forcefully. The blade made a hollow sloshing noise inside the stag’s neck. Steam rose into the air and then the fur was drenched in blood. Norm stretched the throat so the blood would drain out easily, and Hannah willed herself to touch the stag’s body and her fear dissolved. She stroked it and
admired the softness of its hide, the warmth of it, and knelt to touch its velvet muzzle. For an instant before shooting, she had wanted to say a prayer, something formal and ceremonial. But nothing came to mind.

Norm spat on the whetstone and sharpened the blade. Hannah had decided, before they came, to help with the evisceration. If she wasn’t able to do this, or shoot the animal, she would have to give up eating meat. Norm handed her the knife and gave instructions. Careful, he said, it’s sharp. There was the breastbone to cut through, like the side of a plastic bucket, and the windpipe, like a clean white dryer hose, to hook a finger through and pull down towards the belly. They rocked out the pale blue-green stomach and bladders and intestines, encased in their white but semi-transparent and veined sacs, which spilled out like loose water balloons onto the ground. Aggressive whiskeyjacks flew in from nowhere to begin their five-day feast. Which is all it will take, Norm said, for this mass of offal to disappear.