Grace rocked him a little and went “Shh, shh.”
He sighed again and whispered. “I just wish I could go to sleep and wake up in the spring.”
She said in her halting, unsure way “Think of something else. ”
He continued to stare into the fading glow. He said “It doesn’t matter what I think. Winter comes around, thinking or no thinking. I would get drunk and stay drunk, but I’ve got to be sharp. Langley could come any time.”
Grace stopped rocking him. She stiffened. He took his arm from her shoulder.
In a while she said “Do you ever wish you were someone else?” It seemed as if the whole cold and lightless night beyond her window had entered the room and inhabited her voice.
He turned to her and said “Grace, don’t.”
“Do you ever wish you could be anyone except who you are?”
Somewhere a baby was crying, Mitchell’s child. Frost went onto his knees and leaned toward the fire. There was a pile of peat near the window. He placed a chunk into the bucket. With the scrap of aluminum he delicately poked at the fire. He cleared his throat and said “In the spring I want to travel up the valley. I want to have a look at it in case we have to leave here. Which I think might be best. I know the soil is good up there. I’ve heard there are a lot of trees. Would you like to come to see it with me? I would like you to.”
Some dogs on the bridge started barking. Others close by joined in. It took them a few minutes to settle down. In the quiet he could hear coyotes yipping far away to the south and now, through the wall, a woman sobbing. And again, somewhere, Brandon, outside in the drizzle. “…and I think to myself….”
He looked over his shoulder, saw that Grace was trembling. He said “You’d better come down for a little hooch.”
“Bring it up to me. Would you bring it up to me, Frost? And stay with me tonight. Please?”
18
There was a workbench in front of a plastic-covered window. A two-by-four was clamped vertically in a woodworking vise that was fixed to the bench. Daniel Charlie climbed onto a low platform of concrete blocks. He said “Saw.”
Frost handed it to him.
A straight line running the length of the two-by-four had been scored near one edge. Daniel Charlie started sawing along it. He held the two-by-four steady with his other hand and moved the saw in purposeful strokes. After a minute he stopped and got down from the platform. He left the saw in the groove. There were grains of sawdust in his hair. “My arm’s had it. Need a break.”
Frost said “Want me to have a go?”
“When’s the last time you ever sawed anythin’?”
Frost appeared to be thinking. He looked tired and slumped and haggard.
Daniel Charlie said “Is it bad again? I know it’s that time of year.”
Frost inhaled sharply and drew himself upright but said nothing.
Daniel Charlie said “Try one.”
There was a pile of finished bows, perhaps ten, on the bench. Daniel Charlie took the top one. Its string of yellow twine was loose. Daniel Charlie flexed the bow against the floor and slipped the loose loop of the twine into its notch and handed the strung bow to Frost, who pulled the twine back. “It’s strong.”
“It’ll shoot far.”
Frost slowly released the tension. “You’re a genius, Daniel.” His voice was worn and sandy.
Light came into the shop both from the window that faced the river and from the wide, jagged, plastic-covered crack that ran down the opposite wall.
Daniel Charlie said “We could take Langley up on his offer, you know. We could move over to Wing’s. Nobody dies that way. Not his people. Not our people. You must be worried about Noor and Will.”
Frost shook his head. “Wouldn’t work. He’d just find another way to screw us. My wife and my daughter are buried on this land. If he wants my farm he’ll have to take it.”
“I heard you were thinkin’ about maybe movin’ upriver.”
Frost shook his head. Daniel Charlie reached out and squeezed his arm. He sat on his little platform and said “Do you ever wonder what made him the way he is, where he came from? He just seemed to show up.”
“Langley? No. No more than I wonder where the rats come from that turn up in the spud room, and what made them the way they are.” The venom of the declaration seemed to animate him a little.
Daniel Charlie said “Could you shoot someone, Frost?”
Again Frost seemed to be thinking. He said “Tyrell wants heavier spears. Wooden ones.”
“Fine. Send him over to Town to pick up another vise and another ripsaw. Shouldn’t take him more than a lifetime or two. Then teach him how to use the saw and away we go. Spears up the ass. Spear city.”
“Spear city?” Frost smiled briefly.
Daniel Charlie shrugged. “You choose, Frost. Spears or more bows.”
“Bows. Lots of bows. But I’m sure I saw some smaller lumber. One by twos.”
“I’ll look at it. It could be warped all to hell and probably rotten. But you never answered my question. Could you shoot someone? I’m not sure I could. I’m not even sure I could shoot Langley.”
“I think about that a lot, Daniel. I could kill, yes. I’m almost sure of it. I believe it’s only a matter of choosing to do it beforehand, and then you can do it. Making the choice first.”
There was a rattling of the plastic that hung over the workshop entrance. Frost held the plastic back, and Will pushed in. He was carrying a black plastic bag. He set the bag down at Daniel Charlie’s feet. He said “That’s what Clausewitz says too, Grampa. We must have blind faith in the results of our own earlier reflections, in order to strengthen ourselves against the weakening impressions of the moment.”
Daniel Charlie gaped. He said “God damn. You want to see a real genius, Frost, just take a look at your grandson. He’s got that whole book memorized.”
Will’s dusky face flushed.
Frost said “I’d better make an effort to find more books. Ones not about war.”
Daniel Charlie reached into the bag and slid out a stick about two feet long. He said “I see you’ve already cut the cattail parts off.”
Will said “They took up too much room.”
Frost said “How many did you get?”
“I got two hundred.”
“You must be tired.”
Will nodded and came and leaned against his grandfather.
Daniel Charlie said “They’ll have to dry a little so they’ll be lighter and harder.” He spun the cane in his fingers. He pushed at the bigger end with a fingernail. “The pith is still soft.” There was a papery covering, which he shredded off and let fall among the sawdust on the floor. He stood. “Let’s try it. Bring a few more.”
He took the strung bow, and the three of them went out. It was a crisp, clear day. There was no wind. They walked down to the river. Daniel Charlie said to Will “You got the arrows, so you can have the honour.”
Frost gave Daniel Charlie a look. Daniel Charlie shrugged. “It’s only a stick still, Frost. A cattail stalk. It won’t kill anyone. Let her rip, Will. There are people at the Market, so you’d better aim left a bit.”
Will let out a shrill guffaw. “That’s way the other side of the river.” He took the bow, and Daniel Charlie showed him how to set the arrow on his hand and how to place the thin end on the twine.
Will shook with the effort of drawing the bow.
“Aim high” said Daniel Charlie. “Higher. Watch the string doesn’t snap against your arm. Pull it back more. More.” With a slight hiss the arrow was gone. It darted in a wide erratic spiral. It danced wildly on the air before it veered and dove into the river like a kingfisher.
“Try this one. It’s straighter” said Daniel Charlie.