Part 14 (1/2)
Joe's run off to Fire Lake.
THE FOURTH.
INTRODUCING:.
Sarah, Soon and w.i.l.l.y and the Ghosts of Gauguin
31.
Mason was sitting on the deck amongst the debris of nests, surrounded by dead baby birds, when Sarah showed up. She was carrying a beach towel. She didn't say anything, just sat down next to him. Every so often a mourning swallow dove at Mason. He watched it coming, trying to stay steady. Eventually he turned to Sarah. ”Why aren't you at the lake?” he said.
She shrugged. ”It got boring.”
”I'm having a rough day.”
”I can tell. It's time to stand up now.” She helped him to his feet.
He looked at her. ”Have you been crying?”
”No,” said Sarah. ”Come on. Let's go inside.”
”My boots ...”
”Don't look down. Not just yet.” She led him into the kitchen and put a beer in his hand.
”Thanks.”
”I'm going to go clean that up, okay, before the others come home. Then we'll go for a walk.”
Mason nodded.
Sarah was his favourite cousin, named after his mother. He'd gone out of his way to be nice to her in the past and today she was making up for it. He had a beer ready for her when she came back in.
”Thanks,” he said. ”I lost it there for a moment.”
”No problem.” She took the beer. ”That was pretty gruesome.” She tipped her head back and glugged half the bottle.
”Slow down there, cuz.”
She wiped her mouth. ”You're a fine one to talk.”
”Are you even old enough to drink?”
”In some provinces.” She finished the bottle. ”I hear you broke up with Katya.”
”Come on,” said Mason. ”Let's take that walk.”
They got two more beers from the fridge and headed back outside, swallows diving at both of them. They walked alongside the paddocks, Warren and Zevon trotting along next to them. ”Does Zevon like beer?” said Sarah.
”I'd a.s.sume so.”
She gave the horse a slurp, and laughed. ”Can we go for a ride later?”
”Maybe.”
They walked through the trees for a while, came to a clearing, then a cliff that looked out over the pasture. ”Check it out,” said Mason. ”What does it remind you of?”
Sarah walked to the edge and peered down the steep slope. ”The prize colt,” she said.
”Ha! I knew you'd know.” He took a swig of beer. Sarah did the same. They both looked down.
THE B BOOK OF S SOBRIETYI don't know To talk, to walk My feet from a flower in a vacant lot In the lap of a woman Her long hair, a blue dress I don't know rippling From the sky, its cool, safe breath.
”What do you know, baby?” she asks And waits.
I know babies' bodies don't rot in back alleys under trash.
Eighty-five-year-old men don't jump out of hospital windows.
Soldiers don't hold gypsy children by the ankles And swing them against pillars Until their heads break off.
Sightseers don't videotape drowning mothers.
Gunmen don't stage ma.s.sacres at funerals Or in quiet Indian villages.
People don't starve to death Or beat you for your boots.And I will never leave This summer field of flowers.
But I don't know To talk To write To say all this.Her hand strokes my head.
”You'll know some day,” she says And smiles The kindest smile I don't know from my eyes Scares me For the first time in my life.