Читать книгу Tree Fever - Karen Hood-Caddy - Страница 11

Chapter 4

I woke to blackness. There was a noise, a strange noise. Barking. Not Charlie’s resonant, deep-throated barking, but the vicious, snarling yap of an attack dog. Car lights streaked by and a door slammed. This was spooky. Very spooky.

Get out of here. Now!

My hand fumbled with the bicycle lock. Even if I could have remembered the combination, I couldn’t see the numbers on the lock. Desperately, I felt around for the flashlight. The snarling grew louder.

Knowing there was no time, I concentrated on listening. There was another sound now. A cold, metallic jingling. It was a menacing sound and not knowing what it was frightened me. Just don’t let it have anything to do with snakes. I can handle anything but snakes.

Dog tags! That’s what the sound was. Then I heard a dog’s breathy panting. Moving closer.

Teeth. Bared, canine teeth were suddenly inches from my face. Snarling. Yapping. I threw up my arms and covered my head, hopelessly trying to protect myself.

“What’s the matter, Mrs. James? Don’t you like dogs?”

I lowered my arms just enough to see a dark figure standing before me. That voice. Modulated into softness, almost petulant. It was a voice I’d heard many times before. The man stepped closer. The dog’s mouth snapped and foamed.

“Get the dog off!” I shouted.

The man pulled the animal back a few inches. Finding the flashlight, I shone it up at the man. From that angle, the light made grotesque shadows on his face.

“Boyd?!”

He bowed dramatically like an actor in a murder mystery. “So, Mrs. James. You going to save these trees?”

I did not speak. Had he been drinking? Fear gripped at my chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Perhaps you don’t understand the importance of this project, how many jobs it will create. There will be many unhappy townspeople if this venture is … killed. What are a few trees? We can plant more trees.”

“That’s like saying it’s all right to kill people because more can be produced,” I said, finding my voice.

Boyd shook his head. “Spoken like a true fanatic.” He loosened the leash an inch and I felt the moistness of the dog’s breath on my skin. “I know about fanatics. They don’t respond to reason. Only power.” The dog growled. “Like King here. He knows who’s boss. He knows who’s expendable. It would be easy enough to explain. I’d simply tell the police I was out walking my dog when we came across some vagrant sleeping illegally on my property. Is it my fault if the dog attacked in order to protect me? That sounds reasonable to me, Mrs. James. Doesn’t it sound reasonable to you?”

Breathe, Jessie. Nothings going to happen. He’s trying to scare you.

Yes, but he’s been drinking. You know how stupid people get when they’ve been drinking! If Boyd lets go of that leash for even a second, I’ll lose half my face.

I tried to settle myself down. I couldn’t believe this was happening. As if it wasn’t strange enough for me to be out in the middle of the night defending trees, I had to be fighting off Boyd and his dog. If I didn’t have my shaking body to remind me this was real, I would have thought I was in the middle of a bizarre dream. Or nightmare.

The dog jerked his head to the side and burst into a paroxysm of barking. The hair on its neck pointed straight up.

“I smell skunk,” Boyd said. He peered into the darkness nervously.

As if out of thin air, Harley appeared.

Boyd yanked the dog to his side for protection. “Another fanatic. Get off my property.”

Harley bent down and reached out his hand to the dog. King stopped barking and began wagging his tail. “And who’s going to make me, you and this ferocious dog of yours?” King took a friendly step towards Harley.

Boyd snapped the dog’s leash so hard the animal was pulled off its feet. “I’ll have you arrested.”

Harley stood up. “We’ve done that number, remember?”

“Yes, but you don’t learn. How long were you in for last time?” Boyd turned to me. “Did you know this man was a criminal? Convicted of assault?”

I looked at Harley. From the way he treated animals, I doubted Harley could hurt anything unless extremely provoked.

“That’s your name for it,” Harley said. “To me it was slapping the hand of a greedy man who was trying to take what didn’t belong to him.” Harley’s eyes remained steadily on Boyd. “That girl’s still fucked up.”

“That girl was always fucked up.”

Something flickered in Harley’s eyes and Boyd tensed as if expecting Harley to lunge at him. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Harley turned to me. “I’ll be keeping an eye out,” he said, then held out something to the dog who lurched forward and devoured it before Boyd could restrain him.

Boyd watched him go. “You’re keeping bad company, Mrs. James.”

I said nothing.

“Some people think they can break the rules. But there’s a penalty for breaking rules.” His voice was soft and modulated again. “Unless, of course, you’re the one making them.” The corner of his mouth jutted up with sudden pride. “I’m calling the shots on this one.”

The dog snarled, pricking its ears. Hearing something move in the darkness, Boyd and I both turned. A skunk ambled at the edge of the clearing. The dog jumped and spun in midair, bursting into a spasm of yelps.

“One skunk breeds another,” Boyd said.

Instinctively, the skunk turned and raised its tail. Boyd tugged the dog away.

“Think about what I’ve said, Mrs. James,” he said, then walked away, disappearing into the darkness.

I watched them go. After a while I heard a truck start, then drive off. I followed the sound until I could no longer hear it. Heart pounding, I heard the short, sharp noises of someone sawing wood, then realized it was the sound of my own breathing. I made myself take several long, steady breaths, trying to calm myself.

“Hard to believe some people actually like that man,” Harley said, appearing again. In one easy sweep, he reached down and gathered up the skunk. “At least, a skunk acts like a skunk and doesn’t pretend to be anything else.”

Gently he brought the skunk over and placed it on my lap. “Don’t worry. He can’t spray. Though he tries hard enough. Some city people had him as a pet – took his sprayer out. Then they dumped him. I call him ‘Streak’.”

“That’s a good name,” I managed to whisper, feeling overwhelmed. Too much was happening too fast. Slowly I raised my hand and began to pet the skunk. I could feel the heat of Harley’s hand beside mine.

“You’re shaking,” he said, taking my hands in his. A stream of warmth entered my fingers and flooded through my body. The leathery smell of him filled my lungs. Feeling tears, I let my head fall and rest on his shoulder.

Very slowly, he put his hand on the top of my head and drew his palm down my back, rhythmically stroking my hair, my neck, my shoulders and the length of my spine. “My grandmother used to do this when I was a kid. If I was scared.”

“It feels lovely,” I whispered. Reaching over, Harley undid the chain around my waist. His gesture was as intimate as if he were undoing my clothing. My insides rose towards him like a stadium of cheering fans.

Harley edged himself away and regarded me quizzically. He took the skunk from my lap and placed it in a covered basket he’d stashed behind a tree. “I’ll make a fire.” He began gathering twigs.

“Boyd better not come back,” I said, worried about the fire.

“He’d have a long way to walk.”

“What do you mean?”

Harley smiled simply as he arranged a circle of stones for a fire pit. “I left enough gas in his pickup to get him about three blocks from home.”

“You took gas out of Boyd’s truck?”

“A man like that’s safest at home.”

I grinned and watched his large, paw-like hands stroke the skins of the twigs before feeding them to the fire. The flames flickered up, illuminating his body in a warm, golden light.

His face was wide, with a broad, generous forehead and large, very round, black-brown eyes. It was a kind, benevolent face, both old and young. Again I had the feeling of knowing him.

When he turned, I saw the scar. It was a nasty looking thing, a slash of white and gristly skin on his neck, just under his ear. It made me wince to look at it. Whose knife had done that?

Harley rolled his jacket up for me to sit on and settled himself on a stone near the fire.

“What do you do out there in the world?” he asked.

“I counsel people,” I answered, sounding steadier than I felt.

“A shrink? You’re a shrink?” His tone was incredulous.

“No,” I defendeD, “I’m a psychotherapist.”

“What’s the difference?” His tone was challenging, wary.

“Shrinks, as you call them, work more with drugs. I focus on dreams.”

Harley looked into the fire. “My mother had a shrink once. Pumped her so full of drugs she couldn’t see straight. Uppers. Downers. Relaxants. Sleeping pills. He was a drug pusher worse than any I’ve seen.” He stared into the flames without speaking. “He never thought that maybe she was depressed for a reason. Knew nothing about Indians or what it was like for a native woman to marry a white man. And have nine kids. My mom would go in black and blue from a beating and he’d hand her stupid pills.”

I nodded. I knew enough to stay out of the way when someone was gearing up to tell their story.

A mud-slide of words came towards me. Sad, sad words that told of a mother gone crazy, a boy forced to go with a social worker to the mental hospital in order to see her. Then foster families. One after another. All white. Until a brief time when his mother got better. Not well, but better. How he learned to be careful. To help out. No lip. No backtalk. No talk at all for two years after he found her body swinging from the rafters.

More homes. More shrinks. All trying to make him talk about the suicide. Or talk at all. Bring my mother back, he screamed at them inside himself. Then I’ll talk.

He stopped his story and put his finger on the bark of a nearby tree, stroking where someone had cut initials into the wood.

“Too many cuts and you get weakened. The bugs get in. You die slowly. From the outside in. That’s what happened to her.” Harley was quiet, but he was breathing heavily. He closed his eyes. Slowly I felt him calm and the words he’d spoken settled like rubble around him.

“After she died, I stole. Stole everything I could lay my hands on. The cops threw me into reform school.” He touched the scar on his neck. “That’s where I got this thing. Then they threw me into jail. But as soon as I got out, I stole again. So they started beating me. Finally, I got my head straight and came back to the reserve. Learned leather. Got sane.” He paused and grinned. “Or saner.”

“You have to be a little crazy to be sane these days,” I offered softly. Harley grunted gratefully. “How did you know to go back to the reservation?”

Harley smiled. “Same way you knew to chain yourself to a tree. Your body just gets fed up. Starts giving its own orders.”

I nodded. I wanted to go over and hold him.

As if needing to get away from the debris of his words, Harley stood up and made his way down to the water. In a few minutes, I heard a splash. I followed the sound.

Standing near the shore in the dark tree shadows, I watched the moon making a long cone of shimmering silver on the lake. Out of the glittering water swam Harley, his naked body gliding through the water as sleekly as an otter. When he was near the shore, he climbed on a large rock and sat staring at the lake, his long hair making a dark line down the muscles of his back. After a time of stillness, he spoke.

“Come swimming.”

Taken aback that he knew I was watching, I stammered,

“No, I …”

“You want to.”

I smiled. He was right. Even though I knew it would be brutally cold, I wanted to. Or, at least part of me wanted to. But there were other, more restrictive parts of myself to contend with. What if someone saw you? Swimming with a half breed? The voices of my socialization never stopped, even in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere.

In a moment’s determination, I took off my clothes and the incessant inner chatter seemed to drop away with the falling fabric. I’d been denied this pleasure too often as a child and had vowed never to pass by such opportunities when I was old enough to choose for myself. Unfortunately, for years I’d kept such a tight leash on my life, the choice hadn’t even been possible. Until tonight. I dove into the water.

The coldness took my breath away. The water pressed itself against my body, sliding over every part of me with erotic intimacy, entering me in my most private places. Exploding with sensations, I soared out of the water like a fish. When I could hold the lunge no more, I splashed down into the black, black water.

When I came out of the lake, my teeth were chattering. Harley held his jacket out to me. Wrapping it around me, I felt myself tip forward into his arms. His body was like a slow, strong drumbeat of heat. I waited for him to let me go, but he kept hold of me. Warm droplets of water from his skin slid into my hands.

Was he going to kiss me? He pulled his head back. With the angle of the moon, one part of his face was bathed in light, the other dark in shadow. As I looked at him, I sensed the pain and beauty of his whole life.

Our mouths found each other. His lips tasted as fresh as the lake, but warmer, sweeter.

What are you doing? Stop this at once. But my mouth was lost in his lips. The scolding voice inside my head was very far away and I could hardly hear it over the lovely feelings rising in my body.

After the kiss, Harley eased himself away and walked back to the fire.

Shivering in his jacket, I stood still. My God, what was happening to me? Who was this person standing naked in the forest kissing a man she had just met? Self-conscious and confused, I made myself get dressed and moved towards my sleeping bag. Harley, back in his clothes, came and sat beside me near the fire.

Harley rearranged some of the burning logs with his boot. “We better get this out,” he said. The logs, removed from the intensity of the flames, smoked thickly. Before putting the fire out completely, Harley reached into his pocket and tossed something on the last of the flames. The strong smell of cedar filled the air. Drawing a feather from his hat, he swept the billows of white smoke around my body in a ritual he seemed to know well.

Sensing the sacredness of the act, I shut my eyes. The smoke felt strong and smelled lovely.

“A little Indian protection,” Harley explained. He dispersed the embers and the blackness of the night swooped down around us. We sat in the dark without speaking for a long time. Slowly, the dim light of day crept around us.

“Scared?” Harley finally asked. I nodded. “You know what my grandfather used to say about fear?” He lifted his open hand to face me and parodied, “Fear, big horse. Learn ride, go anywhere.”

I smiled. Words were beyond me now and in the gathering quiet, the situation I was about to face loomed over me. Shortly, I was going to be arrested. Arrested. Put in jail like a common criminal. I, who had never even had a speeding violation. How had all this happened? Suddenly I felt completely hopeless.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I whispered.

Harley looked at me with calm understanding. His face was broad and open, as though it had room for many things. It made me feel peaceful just looking into it.

“Life is more sudden than we think sometimes,” he said softly. “Changes grow underground and we don’t know they’re there until they burst out.”

“I just wish there was some other way. Something not so public. Like a petition.” I was trying to convince myself of other options.

Harley scowled. “You’d keep your hands clean that way, sure. But there’s nothing wrong with digging into the dirt. These trees of yours have as much of themselves in the dirt as in the sky.”

“But being arrested is so humiliating.”

He shrugged. “Some of the world’s greatest people have spent time in the clinker. Gandhi, Martin Luther King, and who was that woman who fought for the vote, Pank—”

“Pankhurst. Emmeline Pankhurst.”

“I’ve spent a few days in there myself. Probably will spend more too, before I’m done. Sometimes you’ve got to put your body where your heart is and say no’.” Seeing the worry on my face, he added, “Trust yourself. Don’t let that mind of yours analyse everything upside-down and sideways. A person’s thinking can make anything right. Or anything wrong. You can’t think your way through this one. The point is, you did something. Even if nothing happens, you took action. That’s better than what the rest of this town is doing right now.”

“Will you stay with me when the police come?”