Etta and Otto and Russell and James (5 page)

M
ore than seventy years earlier, a few months before the banks had died and taken Russell’s father with them, it had been Russell’s sixth birthday. To celebrate, his father had taken him downtown to the family store, to pick out one thing, anything at all, to have and keep, as he had every year since the boy turned two. On his second birthday Russell had chosen a lemon candy. On his third, a beautifully shiny roll of aluminum foil. On his fourth, a shovel that was too big for him but that his mother promised he could use when he was eight. On his fifth, he chose another lemon candy. This time, on his sixth birthday, Russell found a book tucked in between the recipes and the newspapers. It was hard-backed and heavy, with a group of animals, a wolf and a bird and a deer and a snake on the cover, all together, like friends. The cover was cloth; Russell ran his fingers up and down, against the grain and with it. This, he said.

Tracking and Hunting the Animals of Western Canada
? said his father. You’re sure?

Russell ran his fingers over the wolf, bird, deer, and snake. Yes, he said. I’m sure.

That evening he sat on his father’s lap as they looked through the book together. It was mostly words, but in the middle there was a section of black-and-white drawings depicting the various types of animal tracks in alphabetical order by species. I like those ones, said Russell, pointing. They’re like faces of rabbits. But without mouths.

Deer tracks, said his father. The whole deer family has similar tracks, all rabbit faces. See? He pointed down the list: Caribou, Elk, Moose, Roe, White-tail . . .

And if you find those and follow those you find a deer? asked Russell.

If you’re very quiet and gentle and patient, then you just might.

Wow, said Russell.

Though there aren’t many in town, I shouldn’t think, said his father.

But maybe one or two?

Maybe one or two.

Wow, said Russell. Wow wow wow.

O
tto walked home carefully and slowly across the dark field that night. Too dark to see the best path through the grain. It reminded him of walking home drunk, either through the Vogel field with Russell, or else through troublingly quiet French villages with near strangers, or, just the once, with Owen. He didn’t drink much after, with Etta.

Otto went straight to bed; it was later than usual. He slept for three hours and then

Otto!

Banging wood. Kicked wood. And yelling.

Otto!

He sat up. Established where he was, what time it was. In bed, just after three a.m.

Otto!

It was Russell. Russell’s voice yelling, Russell’s boots kicking the door. Russell drunk? Maybe. Because of his bad leg he had to lean into the frame before each kick. Otto could hear the soft creak of his lean. Creak and bang. Otto! Creak and bang. Otto drew the curtains and opened the window by the bed. It faced out, in the same direction as the door. He leaned through it.

Russell. My God. Three in the morning.

We need to go! said Russell. I’m not drunk. Don’t think that I’m drunk, Otto. I’m here and we need to go! Now! We need to go find her. Otto. Otto! She could die out there! She could be dead already! Put your boots on. I’ve brought the truck around. We can make the Manitoba border by morning.

Otto leaned his torso across the wooden window frame. White paint flaked onto his stomach. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. It’s a huge country, Russell, he said.

I know, I know, that’s why, Otto. That’s why!

No, said Otto.

Otto! said Russell.

No, said Otto.

But, goddamn, Otto!

No, said Otto. No, Russell, I’m not going.

Some husband, said Russell. Some fucking husband. He kicked the door again, harder. The force of it knocked him off balance and he stumbled back, toward his truck. I’ll go alone then. Right now, alone. Some fucking husband. He turned around, away from Otto.

It’s not what she wants, Russell, said Otto, but quietly. Too quietly for Russell, who had already waltzed himself back to his truck, turning the lights on so they lit up the porch like morning, to hear.

O
ne late night, with ears squished to sock-worn floorboards, the Vogels listened to their parents, directly below, in the kitchen. They heard:

. . . you can’t throw away the radio! It was expensive.

It wasn’t, you made it from scrap, mostly.

Yes, but, radios are expensive in general, most of the time. . . . You know it can’t stop anything, throwing it away, not really.

The boys will hear and then—

The boys will hear regardless.

Maybe not.

They will.

Maybe not so soon.

They’re hardly boys now, some of them. Amos, Walter, Otto. . . . You can’t stop them growing.

But I can stop them going.

Maybe.

The Schiffs in Kenaston only have one. Just skinny Benedict. Sixteen. And he’s gone.

Well, we’ve certainly got more than one . . .

. . .

It was a joke.

I know.

You know I don’t want them to go either.

Yes, I know.

The sound of a cup stacked on another cup.

Let’s see if we can find some music . . .

There’s no music, only news.

Let’s try.

The fuzz and stutter of channels, until, finally, fading in from static, the slow-motion swing of clarinets, muted horns, piano. This, under the sound of carefully stepping feet, in time, together.

As his brothers and sisters dispersed to their beds, one side of their faces red with the grain of the floorboards, Otto, coldly and suddenly, realized it was him. The thing his mother was so afraid of was him, or undeniably within him. Was why he’d been so afraid himself. Otto realized that, sometime not too far from now, he would go. And, although he didn’t tell anyone, not even Russell, it made him terribly sad and terribly excited.

T
he next day was Otto’s turn to go to school, walking in a shuffling, sleepy gang with the others who were off chores that day. When they arrived, however, the school’s front door was closed, and all the other students were standing about outside in the dusty yard. The door’s locked, said a thin girl with dull yellow braids. We all tried, but nobody can get in.

Where’s Mister Lancaster? asked Walter. He was the oldest, the biggest, by years, by a head. The girl closed her mouth tight, shrugged, and ran back to her friends.

Another girl, from a bigger, older group, one that spent a fair amount of time talking about and looking at Walter, shouted across the yard, The dust. It’s gotta be the dust, Walter. Then she spit.

Nobody was very surprised that Mr. Lancaster had gone. He had been teaching in silence for the past three weeks. He had taught, always, with the door to the schoolroom open, for air and for light, and had done so for his entire career at Gopherlands school. This
meant that, every day, all day, the prevailing northwest wind would blow dust up off the fields for miles and miles, straight into the teacher’s mouth, which was most often open with teaching. Mr. Lancaster had come from a city; he didn’t know about spitting. He would sleep, at night, curled against his wife’s back, breathing dust like a dragon, so she would have to bang out her hair like a chalkboard eraser each morning. Over the ten years he taught at Gopherlands, Mr. Lancaster’s voice got quieter and quieter until one day it was just gone. He taught with gestures and chalk drawings as long as he could until the school board found out.

So the students sat teacherless in little clubs and clusters on the dry grass, backs of necks burning in the sun, keeping themselves entertained with chats and games and naps for the hour or so until a sweating man in a full navy blue suit trod heavily toward them from the same direction as the sun. Yes, hello, sorry, sorry, he said. He let them into the school with a key on a ring with dozens of keys. It made a lot of noise. Please sit down, please don’t fuss, he said. He wrote five number problems on the board. There, he said. I will explain everything in a moment. But first, please, numbers! Numbers. He had the students work on the problems with their heads down in silence while he frantically pulled and pillaged through the drawers and papers of Mr. Lancaster’s desk, still sweating.

Otto found numbers quite easy. He had been counting siblings all his life, dividing chores, multiplying portions. He was finished, with nothing to do, when Owen passed him a folded piece of paper. Otto unfolded it.

What is your name?

Owen had written this at the top of the paper, leaving lots of
space underneath. Otto wrote his full name and folded and passed the paper back to Owen. Owen unfolded it, wrote something new, and passed it back. And so on:

What is your name?

OTTO VOGEL

Are you well?

I AM
BOARED
(bored)

Me too. This man is disgusting. Like an animal.

MAY-BE
A DOG OR A HORSE. (maybe)

I am afraid of horses.

I KNOW.

Can I walk home with you today after school?

YOU LIVE WEST(erly), WE LIVE EAST(erly), SO IT
DOE’SNT
MAKE SENSE. (Doesn’t)

I like walking.

WE WALK VERY SLOW ME AND RUSSELL. YOU WILL BE COME
FUR FRESTE FURESTR

Owen took the pen from Otto’s hand.
FRUSTERATED,
he wrote.

At the front of the class, the man in the suit had found what he was looking for and was now hastily scribbling something on the back of an assignment a student had handed in about what-is-the-true-meaning-of-God-Save-the-King? When he finished, he stood up. Students! he said. I hope you have finished your sums. I have sad news. You may have noticed that Mr. Lancaster is not here. Mr. Lancaster will not be here anymore, ever. As you may have suspected was the case, his voice has turned to dust, and he is now unfit to teach and has gone to fight the war instead. I’m sure this is troubling for you and I
am sorry for that. Now, can I please have a strong-legged volunteer?

Winnie, whose legs were cramped under her desk and whose stomach always got squirrels and butterflies in it when she sat in one place for more than ten minutes, shot her hand up into the air. She was the only one. So, the sweating man from the school board sent her to run the eight kilometers into town with a notice to deliver to the college there. Winnie was out the door before he even finished the directions. There was only one road, anyway.

Halfway, after about thirty minutes, Winnie stopped for a break and to eat the apple that was giving her left hand a cramp. The notice was in her right hand. While she ate, she opened the not-terribly-well-sealed envelope to read what she was delivering. Mr. Lancaster had told them the story of Hamlet; she thought she’d better find out what the notice said, just to be sure. It was in dark thick ink, written hastily,

IMPORTANT/URGENT:

it said,

Gopherlands General School Immediately Requires:

One Teacher. (For all levels.)

Must:

• Have appropriate training.

• Be willing to live on-site.

• Teach with the door closed. (Certain south- or east-facing windows optional)

Applicants please contact WILLARD GODFREE,* Larger Area Super-Intendent, ASAP.

*To be contacted either by telegram, written letter, or else in-person at either the Civic and Meta-Civic Bureau Office (143, Main) or else at the third house on the left-hand side as you come into town (yellow door). Please do not call after 9 p.m.

Winnie, assured of her safety, refolded the notice and resealed the envelope using the stickiness left on her fingers from her apple. She kicked a hole in the earth to drop the core into, kicked soil back over it, and ran the remaining four kilometers down the road.

The girl who answered the door at the college looked about the same age as Winnie, but cleaner, and with braided hair. Yes? she said.

A notice, said Winnie. She handed the notice to her with her right, less sticky, hand.

Thank you, said the girl. A young woman, really. Some others, all dressed the same as the girl at the door, walked by, trying to look like they weren’t looking.

Would you like—started the girl. But Winnie made like she didn’t hear and started back, running down the road out of town, toward the school. She didn’t know whether she would like or not.

The next day, Russell’s turn for school, classes were canceled. A notice on the door.

Sorry—

Classes canceled today. Please call tomorrow.

Thank you. Sorry.

The day after that, Otto’s turn, the school was open again. There was a woman no one had ever seen before standing at the front of the class. Once all the too-tiny desks were full with too-big legs, she walked to the back of the class and firmly shut the door. As she marched back up to the front, Otto watched her calf muscles. Great calf muscles. She couldn’t be much older than him. Younger than Amos or Marie for sure. Back at the front she clapped her hands together, once, twice, and cleared her throat. Well, she said, hello, everyone. I trust you’re well and ready to learn. I’m going to help you with that. I am Miss Kinnick, Miss Etta Kinnick. And I am your new teacher. Then she smiled.