Nola, however, was reassured by her daughter’s compulsion to tear aside the plastic wrap that divides the universes. It was only natural, thought Nola, to live in both. When you could see one world from the other world, the world for instance of the living from the world of the dead, there was a certain comfort. It relaxed Nola to imagine herself in a casket. She dreamed variations on her look much the way, during high school, she’d mentally put together the perfect outfit. The jeans, the tailed shirt, the funny socks, the shoes, heart necklace, hair sprayed up or falling loose. Of course, she couldn’t wear those clothes, so out-of-date, when dead. Or maybe yes . . . what a hoot! When all the steps leading to Nola’s death were assembled, her anxiety faded. On the other hand, a blue buzz took hold of her when she went past her death and imagined everyone, everything, going on as before, only without Nola. All of this made her feel so guilty, though. She rarely allowed herself. It was like when she ate the whole stale cake and the sugar put her straight to sleep.
After she ate the cake that time, everything went still. The evening was deep and pure. The lights went out and Peter wrapped a soft woolen blanket around her. In darkness, she wound herself into the blanket still more tightly. She was swaddled, confined, protected from herself—as in a very exclusive privately run mental hospital devoted solely to the care of one person: Nola. She fell asleep bothered only by the nagging thought that she would have to start all over in the morning. Existence whined in her head like a mosquito. Then she swatted it. Rode the tide of her comfort down into the earth.
ON SNOWSHOES OF ash wood and sinew, Wolfred and the girl made their way south. They would be easy to follow. Wolfred’s story was that they’d decided to travel toward Grand Portage, for help. They had left Mackinnon ill in the cabin with plenty of supplies. If they got lost, wandered, found themselves even farther south, chances were nobody would know or care who Mackinnon was. And so they trekked, making good time, and made their camp at night. The girl tested the currents of the air with her face and hands, then showed Wolfred where to build a lean-to, how to place it just so, how to find dry wood in snow, snapping dead branches out of trees, and where to pile it so that they could easily keep the fire going all night and direct its heat their way. They slept peacefully, curled in their separate blankets, and woke to the wintertime scolding of chickadees.
The girl tuned up the fire, they ate, and were back on the way south when suddenly they heard the awful gasping voice of Mackinnon behind them. He was blundering toward them, cracking twigs, calling out for them, Wait, my children, wait a moment, do not abandon me!
They started forward in terror and loped through the snow. A dog drew near them, one of the trading post’s pathetic curs; it ran alongside them, bounding effortfully through the snow. They thought at first that Mackinnon had sent it to find them, but then the girl stopped and looked hard at the dog. It whined to her. She nodded and pointed the way through the trees to a frozen river, where they would move along more quickly. On the river ice they slid along with a dreamlike velocity. The girl gave the dog a piece of bannock from her pocket, and that night, when they made camp, she set her snares out all around them. She built their fire and the lean-to so that they had to pass through a narrow space between two trees. Here, too, she set a snare. Its loop was large enough for a man’s head, even a horribly swollen one. They fed themselves and the dog, and slept with their knives out, packs and snowshoes close by.
Near morning, when the fire was down to coals, Wolfred woke. He heard Mackinnon’s rasping breath very close. The dog barked. The girl got up and signaled that Wolfred should fasten on his snowshoes and gather their packs and blankets. As the light came up, Wolfred saw that the sinew snare set for Mackinnon was jigging, pulled tight. The dog worried and tore at some invisible shape. The girl showed Wolfred how to climb over the lean-to another way, and made him understand that he should check the snares she’d set, fetch anything they’d caught, and not forget to remove the sinews so she could reset them at their next camp.
Mackinnon’s breathing resounded through the clearing around the fire. As Wolfred left, he saw that the girl was preparing a stick with pine pitch and birchbark. She set it alight. He saw her thrust the flaring stick at the air again, and again. There were muffled grunts of pain. Wolfred was so frightened that he had trouble finding all the snares, and he had to cut the sinew that had choked a frozen rabbit. The girl finished the job and they slid back down to the river with the dog. Behind them, unearthly caterwauls began. Quickly they sped off. To Wolfred’s relief, the girl smiled and skimmed forward, calm, full of confidence. Yet she was still a child.
MISS BEHRING HEARD.
Maggie, please come to the front of the class, she said.
Maggie had poked her head into her desk for a straw sip of apple juice. She had a little box of it for emergencies. She stuck it under her shirt, in her waistband. Humbly, with shy obedience, Maggie walked down the row of desks, dragging her feet for drama.
Right now!
Yes, Miss Behring.
Or is it Miss Boring? asked Miss Behring.
What, Miss Behring?
Maggie! You will walk to the corner and stand there with your face to the wall.
The children tittered with excitement. Maggie turned and smiled, too nice. They stopped. She walked to the corner and stood there, next to the watercooler, with her face to the wall.