There he is, down
the end of the garden. He’s encased in ice. That’s a good thing, for now; I never
look forward to spring, when he thaws out to bother my mother again.
I don’t know if
it will be the same as last year, or the year before that, when he thawed out
and made life hard.
It’s already
hard, but at least it’s calm at the moment. Ma is watching TV just now, not
saying much, but that’s better than when his trap melts and he gets inside
again. Like I say, I don’t know if it will be the same this year. It’s only
been going on for two years so far. There might not be a pattern. Who knows,
maybe he won’t come in this time, after he’s defrosted I mean. Perhaps the
peaceful now will go on and on, perhaps at least until I’m old enough to leave.
I think fifteen should
be old enough. I’d say I’m mature now. I know that because I know I’m not quite
ready to hack it on my own. It will never be easy to get along out there in the
woods, but I’m practising my survival skills as much as I can. I can light
fires, trap a bunny rabbit, shoot a woodpigeon with my airgun and pitch my tent
in a gale. I’m doing it all just like Huck showed me.
Huck’s my big
brother. He stepped out aged fifteen. Although he was a bit bigger, a bit
smarter than me, I think I could step out come the same age. After all, I’ve
been learning survival skills longer than he did before he left, since he
started teaching me almost straight away.
I loved Huck. He always
watched out for me. He put me in his bedroom closet when the man came inside
and started bothering Ma the first time, near three years ago now. He knew the
best hiding spots up the woods too, for times when the man had Ma turning the
house inside out looking for something. I don’t know what she hunted, but when
Huck and me came back down from the woods, grief, the place was a mess.
After a big hunt
like that, the man would be quiet for a time, usually. Sometimes he’d just
stand by my mother in her easy chair while she looked at the black TV screen. Other
times he’d go back outside and wait in the garden. Not frozen in a big block of
ice like so many fish on a freighter, of course. This was summertime still,
afore he went quiet again and Ma was tranquil.
She would stay
still-ish while was around, some of the time. But there’d always be some
twitching leg, or hand, or else her eyeballs’d be rolling about all over, like
they were zapping the flies that rose up out of the ditch each summer. Most of
the time, he had her moving.
When she wasn’t
hunting, in the house, naturally: Ma didn’t know how to hunt in the wild, not
like Huck and me, he’d have her chopping wood.
They’d be outside
the woodshed, axe falling all day and into the dark, more wood than would fit
in the woodshed, until I’d yell out the door to Ma to get her to come in and
eat some beans or some such supper. The man usually let her, not that I saw him
eat a thing himself.
The man never
chopped any wood himself, in fact I didn’t see him do much of anything except
follow at Ma’s shoulder and a-whisper in her ear. Strange that he had such big arms
and a barrel chest; you could see it in the short-sleeved check shirt he always
wore. He never changed, even when he went down the garden, and he stayed in
that shirt, those blue jeans and those brown boots each winter when he froze
up. I can see just now that he’s got the same clothes. I can see him through
the ice. I can see his face too, real calm, like he knows all the answers, and
nothing’s a mystery to him. I’ve never heard his voice, though. He just talks
to Ma, right in her ear, and if needs be, she tells me what he’s said.
When winter comes
like now, she doesn’t say much of anything. I think she gets so used to hearing
him that when he goes she doesn’t know what to say.
I won’t be like
her, is what I tell myself. I’ll be like Huck, when I get to fifteen. I’ll hit
the woods, live like a proper Wildman. Maybe I will meet a girl one day, in the
woods even. It’s not that I have anything against girls; I just don’t know any,
excepting Ma.
The only thing is
leaving Ma. She’s got no other kids now. And I don’t think the man is going to
help bring along any more. He goes into her room when she goes abed, but I have
never heard any of those uh-ah noises that I heard from time to time, long
before Pa left. You don’t need tell me about baby-making, Huck told me all
about that.
I think Ma’ll do
ok without me. The man’s a big bother; he makes her works so hard at chopping
logs and hunting for things indoors. That’s why she’s like this in winter I think.
She’s having a rest.
Only, sometimes
she forgets about eating, and more than once I’ve had to get a bath drawn for
her.
She’ll be alright
though. She’s a strong lady, and folks don’t argue with her for long. She drove
Huck out, after all, when he got too bold. Huck was my hero, but she did right.
The boy became a bit of a bully, to be sure. I didn’t mind so much, since he
taught me my skills, but a song can’t start telling his Ma what to do in her own
home. Winter was still to come, so the man was still there. He whispered and
whispered to Ma, and that drove Huck crazy. He flung a pan of boiled potatoes
at her, but just got her arm, luck for all of us. That was the last straw, she
said, and the man took her out to the woodpile and she grabbed the axe. She didn’t
need it: Huck wasn’t that dumb or stupid brave. He knew he could live up the
woods, maybe forever, or maybe he’d be able to come home one day.
I don’t think
there’s much likelihood of that. There’re wolves and spooks and all up those woods
and Huck doesn’t have a gun. I’ve been petitioning Ma for a proper gun for some
time, but it looks like I may have to wait for the man to come back to whisper
her instructions on that point. It’s winter, so she doesn’t think so much at present.
Accordingly, I’m just
waiting for the cursed spring, for the man to thaw out, bothersome though he
is. I thought about taking the axe to his frozen tower, but I’m none too skilful
with it, and I don’t want to kill the man. It’s only when he’s around that Ma
can do anything at all, so I’m relying on him now, to petition her with me for
a gun.
So I’ll spend the
rest of winter talking to him out here, hoping he hears through the ice,
working at persuading him that a boy needs a gun in these woods. I won’t say a
word on my leaving when I turn fifteen; the man’d only tell Ma. I’ll say it’s
for hunting rabbits and keeping the wolves away. I’d say he can teach me to
shoot, but the man only talks to Ma. Still, I can handle the airgun and it can’t
be too different.
After that, I’ll
pack my tent and sleeping bag and head up the woods. I can leave Ma with the man.
Maybe I’ll find Huck out there, and we’ll have us a reunion. It’ll be on my
terms, once I have a gun. Me and Huck can be like Ma and the man: a team,
working together.
Huck can live in
me, but I‘ll call the shots this time. I won’t be a bully, like him or the man:
too many bullied become bullies. But I’ll be the leader in the woods. The Wildman
leader. That’ll be fair, and that’ll be truly fine.
