Where Are You Tonight?
Juliet Hope is alone and lonely and the moon is the light of ache and if-only. I want a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby. Even with my eyes closed I want one. To be full. To never be alone again. To raise and hold. To be one with someone. The world will leave me alone then. And it can be just us. We can play all day and I can watch you grow. It will be just us and I’ll never have to share my love with anyone else again. With babies, you can start over, and I already love you, she thinks. I already do. She thinks of Darcy. That was a mistake. One day out of my life. One time and I’ve got him if I need him. There’s Larry, the puppy dog. Always watching me. Always wondering, I am sure, what I’d be like. And then there’s the new boy: Johnny. God, he’s gorgeous. He’s beautiful. That face. Those eyes. Those hands. He’s kind. I can tell. A girl knows. He’s almost the one.
Why have I never had a girlfriend? she wonders. Oh. I know. It’s because I’m a threat. Always have been. Even when I was little, I could tell women hated me. How their husbands watched me grow. How the principal and gym teacher and Mr. Harris watch me now.
She touches her tummy, sweeps her hands slowly over herself. Soon, my baby. Soon.
Junior races home from pumping gas at Norm’s, the only gas station in Fort Simmer. This is it, he thinks. This is it! For the past two months, someone’s been playing with his stereo and cranking his tunes. He knows it’s Karen. Just knows it. He’s hidden his speaker cables in his room but they’re never put back the way he’d left them. He’s given his sister heck, but she denies, denies, denies. “You’re gonna blow my speakers!” he yells at her, but she swears it isn’t her. Junior’s been making money on the side at the teen dances as a DJ. Two hundred bucks cash on the dash every Friday and he knows what packs the dance floor. He’s got a system: Hip Hop, Dance, Techno, Country—repeat—
He races home an hour earlier than he told his family he’d be because tonight’s the night: he’s going to catch her doing this. She’s been spending too much time at home now that she got barred from the Pinebough. Halfway up Ptarmigan, he kills the lights on his truck and coasts two houses down. He slams it in park and gets out, starts running. Sure enough, he can hear the house shaking with the bass! Karen’s cranking the tunes so much the house is booming and bumping. She’s gonna blow my speakers!
Junior picks up the pace. He can’t place the song, but it’s drum thunder and brutally loud. This is it! he thinks. This is finally it. I’m gonna catch her and she’s gonna get it! But what is that song?
He races into his house and opens the door with a “Jeezus, Karen!” when he catches his dad, Reggie, dancing with his shirt off. Reggie is in his blue long johns and dancing up a storm, hopping up and down with his eyes closed, his arms twirling, and it’s not a song Junior owns. It’s his dad’s music. It’s Hand games music.
"Whoe whoe whoe whoe whoe whoe
yah yah yah yah
whoe whoe whoe whoe whoe
yah yah yah yah…
"
His dad’s supposed to be hunting but he’s home. Junior freezes and sees his dad hopping around to the Hand games music. He can hear the hypnotic drumming of twelve men hammering twelve caribou drums all singing in this rhythm that staggers Junior’s breathing because it’s so powerful and loaded with medicine. His blood roars and his eyes cross with the feelings he gets when he watches his dad play Hand games.
Reggie has this move where he flutters his hands like ptarmigan wings in front of the opposing team as he makes a “hass” sound to confuse them, and he’s doing it now: “Hass, hass, hass.”
The drums boom over and over. He can hear the spruce drum sticks pound the skins and his dad, topless and free, is singing along, eyes closed, wiggling his hips, hopping up and down with his big grown arms up like Hulk Hogan after a body slam. Man, Junior thinks as he switches from outrage to shock. Dad can really move.
When he first started to play last year, he looked like a big baby wearing water wings hopping up and down in a Jolly Jumper. As soon as Junior thinks that, his dad opens his eyes, drops his arms and covers his nipples, his little belly, back and forth, back and forth.
“Dad?” Junior mouths.
The drumming and singing are still blaring. It’s a live recording and Junior can hear people whoop it up as they watch the drum competition. His dad has a little moustache now and the shadow of a goatee. His hair has grown and his cheeks are burnt from the wind.
Junior looks down out of respect and doesn’t know if he should leave or what. His dad scrambles out of the kitchen and races into Mom’s sewing room. Junior stands there and closes his eyes. What did I just see? He tries to find lyrics to the chanting and singing but it’s that “Whoe whoe whoe whoe whoe whoe yah yah yah yah whoe whoe whoe whoe whoe yah yah yah yah…” times a hundred.
Junior has never seen his dad dance and he marvels at what a strong body his dad has. It’s been forever since they shared anything. His dad’s been hard on him this past year: more chores, more expectations, more demands. And here he is: Dad’s the one! I’ve gone after Karen all this time for cranking my tunes, but it’s been Dad?
Reggie comes out of the sewing room with his favourite red AC/DC T-shirt on, blushing and laughing, before going into Junior’s room to kill the tunes.
Junior stands there in the porch and sees his dad out of breath and embarrassed. He’s actually blushing when he says, “Uh, hi.” He starts laughing again and claps his hands once—as if to clear the air.
“I thought you were hunting,” Junior says.
“I was, but we got called home. Our team made it to the Dene Hand games Competition in Rae.”
“Wow.”
“You should come with me,” his dad says. “I could teach you.” He’s trying to be serious but bursts out laughing again and Junior can see that his dad’s ears are purple. It’s been years since his dad has laughed out of embarrassment and Junior starts laughing with him. He starts laughing so hard and can see his dad walking towards him. His dad’s still wearing his blue long johns and a gonch underneath, thank God. His dad hugs him and they laugh together. “That’s your grandfather’s song,” his dad says and Junior holds his father, feels his whiskers against him. “Come with me.” His dad smells of smoke and the land. He’s smoking again, Junior thinks. I won’t tell Mom. He closes his eyes and grabs his dad with a hug and a wish and a Thank you, God, for this.
“Okay,” he says to his father and he can still hear that song: the song of his grandfather.
Kevin Garner is trying to listen to his Granny as she spreads her Bingo sheets out. She’s talking. More stories. Half English. Half Dogrib. She’s got two Bingo dabbers ready to go and her lucky statue of the Virgin Mary that glows in the dark. As a kid, he used to watch the statue when he’d sleep on the couch, and he was convinced it levitated towards him ever so slowly throughout the night. It used to scare him so much that he’d half pray and half blubber to her, “Let me live, Virgin Mary! Let me live. Do it for Jesus. Please. My Granny needs me. She needs me. Who’ll take care of her if I die young? Plus you’re a virgin and holy. Don’t be cheap and kill me. If you kill me you’re cheap, okay?”
As much as his Granny loved the church, Kevin never trusted it. He still didn’t understand The Trinity and he did not believe that Jesus died for his sins. He thought the classic northern baptism was having your bike stolen; he thought the classic Confirmation was when you got your first hickey. He also thought Grandma’s bannock fresh out of the oven was his Communion.
He shakes his head thinking about this and, now, here he is: older, with his Granny talking and trusting him with stories about the old ways, about how a bear always knows what you’re thinking, about how it’s the dragonfly who can move through the four worlds. Her English is getting better as his Dogrib limps along. He’s listening and sees she’s been using her Bingo dabber to mark her days on the calendar. What is she waiting for? he wonders.
She is talking about how she used beaver castors to save his uncle’s leg. How she cut each one into four under the full moon before doctoring him.
He’s listening and wonders what he’s missing tonight. There’s a party at The Maze, for sure. Maybe Juliet will be there, maybe not. She’s already got eyes for Johnny, he thinks. I can’t believe she and Darcy McMannus humped. How cheap. Darcy “McAnus”? What a lump!
His Granny has twenty sheets out and he sees that she’s offering him to play four, for luck. “Nah,” she says.
“Ehtsi,” he says. “I’m going out.”
He’s made her tea. She has her bannock and jam and butter. He’s boiled three eggs for her and set aside salt and pepper, the big spoon for cracking, the knife for sawing and the little spoon for eating. He’s boiled the eggs for four minutes exactly and now they’re cooling in a bowl. She eats them cold with a pile of salt and pepper. She’ll be fine tonight. He’s made her a pot of tea, which she’ll sip with a ton of sugar and cream from a can.
“Nah,” she offers him her Bingo dabber again. “Ho.”
“In leh,” he says. “I gotta go, Ehtsi.”
“Where?” she says. “To another party?”
He can’t lie to her. “Granny, don’t be like that. I’m young. I wanna go out.”
“I dreamt of a white dragonfly last night,” she says.
“Oh?” he asks. This is new.
“It’s you,” she says. “It’s good luck. We’ll win tonight. I can feel it.”
“How?” Kevin asks. There’s his coat. His shoes. He’s got forty bucks. Enough to go Bazook.
“Itchy palms,” she says and holds them up. “Come on, you. We’ll split the jackpot and eat Cheezies.”
Kevin grins. “Ehtsi,” he says. “You keep it.”
“Twenty grand,” his Granny looks at him and beams.
“What?”
She nods. “They’re raising money for the Handi Bus. Some moonyow crashed it and now they need a new door for the wheelchair lift.”
“Twenty grand,” he says. “Seriously?”
She nods. “Heh eh. Sombah cho. We’ll split it. Come you, my white dragonfly.”
Twenty grand, Kevin thinks. Ten thousand reasons to stay in. He looks out the window and sees the cars and trucks whizzing by. You can feel it, Kevin thinks. Friday night. This town loves to party and I can feel it.
His Granny holds out her Bingo dabber to him. She’s lonely, he thinks. All her friends are gone.
He goes to her, takes the Bingo dabber, kisses the top of her forehead and smiles. “Okay, Granny. I’ll stay, but if I win, you have to let me buy you breakfast tomorrow at the café.”
“Deal,” she smiles.
Kevin sits beside her and touches her hand as he takes the Bingo dabber. A white dragonfly, huh? he thinks. And ten grand? That’s a lot of booze, a lot of pot. Maybe a truck. Maybe a trip to Edmonton, to West Ed. That’s a lot of action. Maybe my new Amazement Plan starts tonight.
“I love you, Granny,” he says. “Even if we don’t win.”
“Oh we’ll win. These itchy palms never lie. They were itchy the night I met Alphonse and they were itchy the night you were born.” She wrinkles her nose at him and pushes him lightly. “You grew up so fast.”
He looks at his four sheets as the local town station switches from Fort Simmer community announcements to the live broadcast of the Bingo. Kevin thinks about how he and the TV are his Granny’s only friends. She turns it on first thing every day for company. She hardly goes out anymore and her only visitor now is the nurse, to check up on her.
Kevin’s palms start to itch and burn and he looks at them, marvels at them.
“See?” his Granny says. “Feel them?”
He looks at his hands and then he looks at her. “Yes. Yes! I feel them.”
“I told you,” she says and smiles. “Good luck.”
Johnny Beck is in awe of his looks as he works out, and he loves the aroma of his own musk. It’s the smell of his uncles after they hunt and the memory of his father carrying him when he used to pretend to be asleep. Johnny’s arms are tight after seven reps of preacher curls, and he loves how he looks in the mirror. He flexes and hears Donny stir and call for him in his sleep. Johnny makes sure his little brother is okay before taking another moment to admire himself in his mother’s full-length mirror. Is it my eyes? Is it my smile? A thought hits him, a realization: You know what I need? he thinks. I need an “in.” Someone to get me closer to Juliet Hope, past the mugwumps. I need an apostle, so who’s the sucker? Who’s it gonna be? Donny stirs again and Johnny watches, listens. He’s had way too much sugar tonight. “I will do better tomorrow, buddy,” he whispers. Johnny surveys his mother’s bedroom. It’s filthy. What a pig, he thinks. And all of a sudden it comes to him: Larry Sole. That lost little boy of a man who always sits alone and is always watching Juliet. Yes, let it be him who gets me to her. He catches his reflection in the mirror again and smiles. Ladies, he thinks. It’s not even fair what I have. Not. Even. Fair.
Darcy McMannus is spinning. His thoughts are slow and looming as he watches the red glow of the hot knives die.
“Do you want me to?” Jazz asks.
“What?”
“Do you want me to?”
“No.” He sits up—or tries to. He’s so tired, so wasted, so done.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, don’t.”
“But it’s fun.”
“Don’t,” Darcy commands Jazz with his eyes, or tries to. Who does Jazz think he is? There was a time I never had to repeat myself.
“I’m gonna,” Jazz says, rolling up his sleeve.
“What did I just say?” Darcy says again. Who the eff does Jazz think he is? Since last summer, Jazz has become more cunning, more …sinister.
“Try and stop me,” Jazz grins.
Darcy tries to stand but he’s too stoned. He slurs something that sounds like it came from somebody behind him.
Jazz starts to giggle. Then he starts to bray.
The Jackal, Darcy thinks. They call Jazz the Jackal because of that laugh. It’s a half screech or half howl, like something wild and on fire running through the night.
“I can’t,” Darcy wheezes. “I can’t stand.”
“That was more than a joint,” Jazz says. “I put a little magic in there. A little—how you say—hibiscus?”
“What?” Darcy realizes. “What did we just smoke?”
Jazz reaches into the fish tank and grabs Fishy, the pregnant fish—Darcy’s favourite. “Watch,” he says.
“Don’t!” Darcy reaches. He sees his own hand. It’s meant for power and to punish and crush. Now it can only reach. He feels little. Jazz squeezes Fishy hard. Fishy explodes into a pink fleshy mist and hundreds of pink somethings are born through Jazz’s fingers.
“I’m a god,” Jazz says and roars with laughter. “I just made a million babies in my name. They were born through me and already sing my name.”
Darcy focuses on what’s left of the mother. Her mouth moves, gasping once. One of her eyes has pushed out sideways and is looking right at him.
“Jesus!” Darcy flushes and sinks into the couch. I will never tell anyone about this, especially Juliet. What would she say? What would she think of me? Juliet, where are you? he wonders. Help me!
“What you’re thinking about, D?” Jazz asks as he examines his dripping hand. Things are moving between his fingers. Baby fish. They either have tails or long fins. “Hey. They tickle.”
Darcy weaves. “When I get up—”
“What are you gonna do?” Jazz approaches him. “Here. Smell this.”
Jazz smears his fingers all over and inside Darcy’s nose and nostrils. Darcy’s skull is filled with an ocean he’s only seen in pictures and on TV. It’s sweet and sour and his nostrils are moving. From the inside. Those babies—the living tissue of them—are inside his nose and crawling up!
Jazz scream-laughs in Darcy’s face as Darcy pinches his nose to snuff it out. It’s moving, wriggling, but he can’t even lift his arms. He’s stoned. Body stoned. And now sleepy. The baby fish are crawling up his nose: they’re inside his skull.
He realizes he’s crying, sobbing. Why can’t I move?
Jazz flips the fish tank over, and the other fish Darcy loves spill onto the carpet. Jazz starts jumping up and down on each one as it tries to wriggle away. “Juliet was mine!” he screams. “She was supposed to be all mine!”
God, Darcy prays. Get me out of here!
Larry Sole has wings but only he can see them. Wait. That’s not true. Maybe Juliet can see them when she catches me watching her, he thinks. She watches me, too. I can feel it. She must know that I am the Ambassador of Love. I am a soldier of passion. He is out past the highway, standing quietly in the middle of a dog team. Huskies. Some of them are half wolf. All of them are sleeping. He’s slipped through them all. He’s learned to put his spirit into the back pocket of his jeans so no one or nothing can sense him. Jed told him about how the Slavey used to be able to do this before battle and he’s doing it now. What is the new kid Johnny doing right now? he wonders. What is Juliet up to tonight? Or Darcy and Jazz—I wonder who’s the most dangerous of them all? The husky to his right stirs and quiets. When will Jed come home? There was a trapper who came by an hour ago but it wasn’t Jed. Jed’s Tundra doesn’t have a rifle rack. Mom’s studying. I’ll make her bannock when I go home. That always cheers her up. Oh, but then she’ll see my tattoo.
Larry had spent the afternoon drawing a love spell on his right hand: for Juliet Hope.
She will fall in love with me tonight, he thinks. She will. Even from this distance, this distance between us. It’s shrinking. I know you can feel it, Juliet. With invisible ink and a raven feather, I have created love medicine for us. I have a triangle on my palm to show the three emotions you feel when you find love: faith, hope and attraction. There’s a leaf with roots underneath the triangle because it represents growth, and I drew two hearts with a line joining them and that’s a star above the triangle because it represents beauty. There’s three throwing stars to defend us because this town loves to tear happy couples apart. There’s a peace sign because we should feel peace when we’re in love and there’s a box coloured in because love is like winning Black Out Bingo when it’s shared. There’s a boomerang so our love will always come back stronger, and I drew a heart alone so if anyone tries to take Juliet away from me it won’t work for them, and I drew an infinity circle and an amethyst to capture the light of the world and even the northern lights, and I drew a baby raven to honour the feather of this spell because I heard ravens can grow to be a hundred years old so our love will last a hundred years easy. Even if Juliet can’t see my hand, I know she can feel it. Juliet, when you and I kiss, the night will explode into fire and angels. Even if I never have the chance to make love to you, I will always praise you. I will always adore you. I will always cherish you in everything I do from this moment on. You are the reason I was born. Where God’s hands never went, I can reach that place for you. They say love is a thunder and I feel it in my everything for you. My love for you is so loud that it’s practically bubonic. I raise my fist and swear it.
And that’s when the huskies wake up.