Twenty
Evan, Nicole, and their children dined under the yellow lightbulb that brightened the kitchen table. It was a moose roast with the last of the potatoes mashed for a side and heated canned corn. Evan was careful not to douse his potatoes with too much gravy. He wanted to savour them because no one knew when they’d be able to eat them again. He’d saved a few to plant in the spring, but he wasn’t sure if they’d actually grow.
Cutlery clanked against thin glass plates as the family ate their meal with quiet chatter. They all took their time over the meal without the distraction of TV and homework. After supper, they unfolded worn board games, played cards, or told stories. The pace of their lives was slowing.
“Moozoo, that’s moose,” Nicole said to Maiingan. She took every opportunity to remind them of their Anishinaabemowin words. They had language classes at school, but there had been no regular classes for almost a month. The band couldn’t justify using the fuel to keep the school open. Some teachers still held informal classes in their homes for families who wanted to maintain some kind of normal routine. But even those were happening less often. “Moozoo,” the boy repeated.
“What’s this?” Nicole asked, pointing at the corn on her plate. Maiingan stared at the vegetable, scrunching his face in concentration. “M… ma… man-daa-min?”
“Right! Mandaamin!” she said, holding out her hand for a high five. He slapped it with peak five-year-old force. “And that is?” she asked, pointing at the potatoes.
“Piniik!” he shouted. Nicole smiled and raised her palm for another celebratory slap.
The children were learning their language earlier and better than their parents had. Evan and Nicole had grown up in an era when Ojibwe wasn’t spoken much with the younger generation at home. It was only two generations before Nicole and Evan that speaking Ojibwe was punished at the church-run schools that imprisoned stolen children, and the shame attached to it lingered. Evan and Nicole had vowed to make things different for their kids. They had given them Anishinaabemowin names with pride — Maiingan meant “wolf” and Nangohns “little star.”
Evan gathered the empty plates and dropped them neatly into cold water in the sink. The council had asked everyone to shut off their hot water heaters the week before, and Evan had loyally heeded the request. Water for cooking or bathing was once again heated on the stovetop. Showers were gone, and a bath had become a twice-weekly routine. They’d likely have to reduce that even more if the rez wasn’t going to run out of diesel before winter was over.
He cleared the pots and bowls of food, then put the leftovers into plastic containers and stacked them neatly in the fridge. He promised to wash the dishes when he got home later. He was off to check in on his brother to make sure he and his family had enough wood. Evan knew his little brother could easily become vulnerable and desperate.
He stood at the top of his steps in the dark of the early evening and let out a breath just to see the vapour billow from his mouth. He had done this since he was a kid to gauge the cold.
Thick clouds blocked the bright moon and the stars. The roads were blanketed in a darkness so heavy it was almost tangible. Evan drove along the white road he had recently ploughed. Most homes he passed were dark, save for one light in one window. It appeared the conservation message had finally sunk in: people were now complying — although, Evan felt not enough people understood the extent of their crisis. Perhaps the council should not have protected people so much at first. In recent weeks, he had silently begun to second-guess Terry’s strategies and leadership. People weren’t exactly rallying behind their chief, although most complied with his orders.
Evan pulled up to his brother’s duplex. He noticed more lights on than usual. Smoke swirled out of the chimney. At least he’s burning wood and not using electric heat, Evan thought. He walked up to the front door and knocked, although he usually just walked in. The crisis had put many people on edge, and he didn’t want to alarm his brother. He was already at odds with Cam over his inactivity and lack of initiative. No need to make it worse.
No one came to the door. He heard muffled voices inside but couldn’t tell who it was. He knocked again and waited. Still no one arrived to let him in, so he decided just to open the door and walk in after all.
A thick haze of cigarette smoke assaulted him. He had run out of smokes a few days earlier, and the smoke stung his eyes though the longing remained. He heard loud chatter, the shouts and laughter of a small party. Bass-heavy music thumped from tiny speakers.
Evan was immediately annoyed, knowing that there would be more lights on and more toilet flushes than there should be. He took a deep breath and tried to contain his bubbling anger before walking into the kitchen.
Cam sat at the kitchen table with Nick Jones and his friend Jacob McCloud. Evan was surprised to see Nick, slightly younger than the other two and not generally a partier. “Hey bro!” Cam shouted, rising with arms outstretched. Greasy hair peeked out from under a toque, and his stained white T-shirt hung loosely off his skinny arms. He stumbled as he came towards Evan.
Evan let his younger brother wrap him in a drunken hug and squeezed him back before nudging him away. “How’s it going, brother? Looks like you’re nice and relaxed tonight,” Evan said, barely containing his fury at his brother’s fecklessness.
Cam stumbled back to his chair and shrugged. “Just survivin’, bro,” he said, cracking a wide, toothy smile.
A plastic bottle of rye was the table’s centrepiece, an overflowing ashtray nestled up against it. Evan didn’t recognize the brand of rye. It looked like it had been bought wholesale somewhere. He scanned the table and noticed the young men were drinking it straight. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t want to alienate his brother’s friends, so he moved to shake each of their hands.
“This is the fuckin’ guy that saved my life!” slurred Nick. “These guys found us!”
Evan corrected him: “You guys found us.”
“No way, man. I was so happy when I saw you guys there.”
Evan didn’t want to fall down this soggy, inebriated rabbit hole. “I just came by to check on you guys,” Evan said. He didn’t see Sydney, but he heard more voices in the living room to his left. “You got enough wood?”
“Yep, for the whole winter,” his brother replied, nodding his heavy, drunk head.
“What about food?”
“We just got our box for the week yesterday.”
Evan had prepared it himself. He, Tyler, Isaiah, and a rotation of councillors delivered the food to prevent a pickup point from descending into mayhem as people got hungrier.
“Where’s Jordan?”
“At Syd’s mom’s. We needed a night off. So I invited some people over.”
“I see that. Where’s Syd?”
Cam lifted his chin in the direction of the other room, pointing with his lips.
“Alright, I’ll go in and say hi. Just remember to keep it down, and don’t have too many lights on,” he reminded the table. He knew he was in no position to cast stones about the drinking. He felt like indulging himself, but the sloppiness bothered him tonight, so he walked into the next room instead.
Light from a single lamp in the far corner illuminated the whole space. A tiny boom box beneath it played hip hop music. “Hey, Evan! Come over and have a drink!” shouted Sydney. That was the last thing he heard before blood rushed into his face and ears, drowning out sound.