Jonah's Scan PDF

# LOSS THAT NIGHT WE slept in the clearing. We chose to stay outside. Inside seemed too claustrophobic, and besides, we were more than happy to be close to the lodge. "Son, plenty of room in my place." I'd helped my dad to his place and had waited in the main living space while he went behind a sc...

# LOSS THAT NIGHT WE slept in the clearing. We chose to stay outside. Inside seemed too claustrophobic, and besides, we were more than happy to be close to the lodge. "Son, plenty of room in my place." I'd helped my dad to his place and had waited in the main living space while he went behind a screen to change and get ready for bed. His spot backed into a natural corner in the cave so that two of the four walls were stone. The other two had been crafted with a wooden frame hung with wool blankets. The structure had a roof, an old hospital blanket that sealed in the idea of privacy if nothing else. In the space was a cot and a small shelf made from planks of wood separated with cut logs and filled with books, folded clothes, papers, and some braided and bunched herbs. His rosary beads hung from a corner of the shelf, and in between a pile of sweaters and a stack of spineless books was a framed plastic ID card. I went in close, checking that he was still busy behind the screen first. It was my mother's health card. The green plastic embedded with white letters that spelled out her name: MARY E. DUSOME, SEX: F, DOB: 03/15/2027, ISSUED: 04/11/2049. The rectangle for her picture was harder to make out. It was dark with age and wear, like she was standing in the shadows even then. He returned, his eyes half closed even as he spoke, leaning on a carved crutch that curved under his arm like a smooth cradle. The reunion, the sweat, the long day had all taken their toll. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants and a droopy wife beater that showed the sagging skin on his arms and the strength still hard in his chest. It also revealed a series of scars knotted like bark up his side, around to his back, and climbing up his neck into the back of his hairline. "Nah, I'm okay. Just gonna help the crew with their stuff. Maybe I'll sneak in after?" He nodded, pulled me in with one ropey arm for another hug, and patted me hard on the back, digging his chin into the crook of my collarbone so that I knew he was working out the reality of my physical presence. I turned to leave, pausing at the exit. “Dad?" "Yeah?" He was lowering himself onto a cot. "Mitch gave himself to them, so that I could get away. Mom, well, Mom couldn't ..." Dad hung his head, perched on the edge of his cot, knuckles flat against the mattress like a resting gorilla so that his shoulders sat high by his ears. He didn't say anything. It was too much right now. “Maybe soon we can talk about them, eh?" "Real soon, French." He kept his face tilted towards the floor. "Real soon." I was exhausted, but we needed to talk. The others knew it. When I returned they were already sitting at the fire. Someone had thoughtfully helped Slopper with his tent, and he was already passed out inside of it. I could hear his reedy snore through the canvas. "You staying out here?" Tree seemed surprised, but also a bit relieved. "Yeah, I'm still a part of this family, aren't I?" "Yeah," Zheegwon answered. "It's just that you have a real family now." "Real? What's that supposed to mean? You're not real?" I picked up a stone by my foot. "So this won't hurt, then?" I chucked it at him through the fire. "Oww, jeez." He rubbed his shin where it had bounced off his shin. "All right, all right, we're real." We laughed. "So, we need to figure some things out then, I guess." I addressed Miig, who was sitting up very straight, staring into the low flames. "No, not really." I was surprised by his answer. "What do you mean?" It was Rose. "Don't we need a plan?" "Sure we do," he replied. "But the end is the same. We are going to get Minerva. French was led here by that belief, and it turned out to be a good one. Minerva is close by, and he found his dad. That's a pretty overwhelming sign we're on the right path." I think we expected more hesitation, and maybe a story or seven about what happened at the schools. Not that Miig was weak or cowardly. Not at all. Just that we expected him to be more skeptical, to calm our feverish ambition. To be the voice of steadfast reason. Instead we found a tired old man and a cooperative soldier all wrapped up in one Indian. It was like he had faded, somehow. "I just mean the dreams. The words. Don't we need to talk about Minerva finding the key?" "She didn't find anything. She always had it. Maybe we just need to be better listeners." I pressed him, "What about strategy? A plan? Shouldn't we be mounting an attack now? While it's dark?" "This isn't my territory. Tomorrow we can meet with the Council and figure things out from there." He yawned and walked out of the ring of light thrown by the fire. "Right now, I need sleep." "We're off too." I wasn't sure Tree and his brother had picked up on the subtle shift in Miig. They stood and made their way over to their tent, more in unison when they were tired than any other time. I noticed their cap was on neither head. Maybe that was it. Maybe we were all just exhausted. It'd been another day on the run, another day being woken up by strangers in our space, and then, at the same time, a day unlike any other we'd had. Hell, I was tired. Wab started the work of putting out the fire safely, but she had an odd serenity in her movements. Chi-Boy began his usual end-of-the-night patrol. I turned towards the steady drone of Slopper's snore before Rose grabbed my arm, just above the elbow. "Can you come to my place for a minute?" The invitation knocked some of my anxiety out of my limbs. I rarely got to spend time with Rose. We were a sad, rushed bunch these days. But the slightest touch and I was right back to being a teenage boy with the biggest crush in the world. I thought maybe it might be more than a crush, what with that afternoon by the river. But I couldn't be sure. Everything was hot and cold and horrifying and hopeful. Terror is an odd bedfellow. "Sure." I crawled in the tent after her and was immediately struck by how empty it was. There was one bedroll in the middle of the space. Against the back wall were her bags, one open with a couple pieces of clothing pulled out. Beside her bed was a small solar-powered lamp that cast a moon glow that didn't quite reach the corners. In here I could smell the angst and earth and awkward of my own body, and I was embarrassed. I stayed by the door while she crawled to the back wall. "You okay?" I wasn't sure I was. "Yeah." “That's crazy, eh? Finding your dad.” "Yup." She examined my face for a moment before continuing. "I think Miig is a bit worried." "About rescuing Minerva?" I started to pull off my sweater. It was warm in here. "No." She tilted her head in thought. “No, I don't think so. I think it's more about you." "Me?" I paused, my sweater halfway over my head. "What about me?" “Well, you've changed." I was quiet. Had I really changed, after all? I didn't feel changed. I just felt ... less. Or maybe it was more. Not changed so much as living at a different volume. "And I think, even though it's great that we found your dad, well, you know what happens when we find family." Now she sounded worried. She dropped her beautiful face so that the waves of her hair covered half of it. I wanted so badly to move it aside. I wanted so badly to kiss her again. And I wanted to tell her I wouldn't leave. That I would never leave. But I couldn't. The memories I carried from the days I'd had with my parents were kept in cradleboards in my mind, situated in complete safety, even the bad ones. In them, there is always this feeling, an understanding more than an emotion, of protection. It didn't matter what was happening in the world, my job was to be Francis. That was all. Just remain myself. And now? Well, now I had a different family to take care of. My job was to hunt, and scout, and build camp, and break camp, to protect the others. I winced even thinking of it. My failure. I'd failed at protecting, and now, as a result, I failed at remaining myself. Maybe I would stay. Maybe it would be the only way I could keep my sanity, to stay with my dad and inch my way back to Francis. She made her way, on hands and knees, across her bed and over to me. "I won't ask you to come with us, French. I wouldn't do that to you." She was right in front of me now, her face an inch from mine. She smelled like sweetgrass and a deeper smoke. Despite the shock of finding my dad, the odd behavior of Miig, the confusion of the new place and how we arrived, the stress of Minerva's impending rescue, all I wanted to do was kiss this girl. So I did. She didn't pull away, and so I leaned in until we were pushed back onto the layers of blankets that made up her bed. I pulled back to look at her, to make sure she was good. She smiled, grabbed my braid, and brought me back to her. I can't say how long we were there before the song interrupted us, but when I caught my breath and came out into the bowl of the valley, it was full dark. It was impossible to ignore for a few reasons. For one, any sort of noise could bring the predators, so we tried to stay quiet. And then there was the song itself. That's what sent me out of the tent. "Do you hear that?" she'd whispered through my hair. I'd listened. There it was. "Yeah," I'd responded against her neck. We'd stayed still, just listening to the shake of a dry seed rattle, alert to danger, until the singing began. Miigwans. Now I stood near the firepit and set my feet in the direction of his voice. It was a low, moaning voice, the kind the body used to travel through pain, the kind a child uses when they've realized the higher pitched tone used for bringing their mothers isn't working and they are alone after all. From the back entrance of the cave I saw several guards. They too were listening. But since they stayed there by the doorway, I guessed they weren't too concerned and we weren't in any imminent danger. I found Miig by the southwest wall. He'd lit a smudge and a candle so that his face was clear in the handful of light and obscured by the handfuls of smoke. I stood back a bit while he sang, knocking his rattle against the air and rocking on his heels where he rested. It was warmer outside now, and the wind in this valley was minimal. Miig wore a T-shirt and black jeans without the burden of coats, and I was reminded of his life outside of us. The scars from his school stay, the tattoo of a feather below his collarbone, the outline of the buffalo on the back of his hand. His hair was longer than usual, and the sides had grown in so that he seemed younger, less severe. His duct-taped boots were pulled off his feet and placed at the edge of the light where he sat. I waited until he was done singing, until after he had mumbled some words and smudged himself. I waited still, while he settled into a more relaxed cross-legged position, and even when he packed up his rattle and a docked feather. I waited. "Well, come here then." He didn't look up as he put away his bundle. I came into the light and sat opposite him, mimicking his cross-legged pose. "You still up?" It was an odd question that he didn't mean, since, obviously, I was still up. What he meant was, why was I still up. "Haven't made it to my tent yet." I meant it to sound nonchalant, but his return smile made me blush. "Rose must be lonely in that tent by herself." I squirmed a bit. "It's okay, boy. All I'm gonna say is babies are the most important thing we have to move ahead. So when they come, they need to come to families that want them and are ready to take responsibility." "It's not like ... I mean, we're not ..." He held up his hand. “Don't worry. No need to explain to me. You're a good man, French. I already know that." We sat in silence for a minute before I switched gears, the uncomfortable subject making it easier to ask what I really wanted to. "Miig, are you okay?" "Are any of us okay?" "No, really." I leaned in to touch his knee. I needed him to know I was serious. "You seem weird since we got here." "Just since we got here?" He smirked, then waved away his own lightheartedness. "I know what you mean, French." He gathered the edges of his buckskin bundle and tied them off. "Just tired, I guess." "Yeah, all this running..." "No, I'm more tired of missing Isaac, is all. Just an old man with an old love, I guess." All this talk about Minerva and the schools must have brought up a lot of unresolved feelings for him. I thought about him pouring a hundred vials into the ground, one by one, mourning his partner. “Well." I wasn't sure what to say. "We'll get Minerva. And then we'll shut them down. All of them." He looked me in the eyes, the first time since I'd sat down. "I know you will, Francis. I know you will." # THE CIRCLE WE WERE UP early the next day, unsure of where to begin a day without running. Very quickly, though, the work of the main camp took over. We spent the morning in assigned chores: gathering water from the rain barrels to boil, coaxing the small vegetables in the garden to stay alive, washing clothes, checking the trap lines. Soon it was lunch and everyone came together in the clearing to eat. "You guys planning a rescue for your Elder?" Clarence had sat beside me in a spot where the grass was soft. He was eating dried meat. I had made him promise earlier to teach me how to dry and smoke meat so we could keep it longer when the hunt wasn't so good. I nodded, not wanting to talk anymore since the asshole from yesterday had sauntered over. Clarence followed my gaze to the boy. "This is my nephew, Derrick," he told me. "We travelled together from out west. He's a good hunter." By then he was standing in front of us. I had to put my hand up along my brow to block out the sun to see him. I didn't like it, looking up at him. I wanted to stand, but didn't want him to think I needed to get up to prove anything. "The best, Uncle. I'm the best hunter." He smirked and lightly kicked the bottom of Clarence's boot with the toe of his own. "Yeah, yeah. And he's real humble, too." Clarence laughed. "Derrick, you know Jean's boy, Francis, eh?" "French," I corrected. "Yeah, sure, I know Francis. I, ah, escorted him over here yesterday. He made air quotes around the word escorted. "Whatever. Big man with a gun." I decided to ignore him, looking back down at my bowl of salted potatoes. He didn't deserve my attention. "No, Francis. I'm a big man always. Don't need a gun, though I am capable of using one when I have to.” Clarence cut the boy off. "Okay, Derrick, why don't you get yourself some food over there." "Yeah, I think I will go get some food, Uncle. I have to check the lines this afternoon. Someone has to feed the women." He stretched out his arm and puffed out his chest before leaving, blocking out the sun so that I was thrown into his shadow. "Don't mind him. He's just looking for something to rub his antlers on, you know what I mean?" Clarence clapped me on the back. "Plus you have girls in your group. He's just looking to prove himself." He ripped off another hunk of meat and chewed it thoughtfully, looking around the clearing. Suddenly I wasn't hungry anymore. I swallowed what was in my mouth and excused myself. I handed my bowl off to Slopper and a smaller boy his age named Sam, who were the designated dishwashers for the meal, and wandered over by the lodge, planning to walk the perimeter of the clearing just to check things out. I still felt uneasy. Maybe I just needed to get a better handle on where we were and what was ahead of us. I sure as hell didn't want to think about where we'd been and what I'd done. And now we were here with his group, and there was this ass who was trying to impress the girls by being a dick to me. What was up with that? I walked at a brisk pace to avoid the others. I needed to think. "Hey, wait for me." Rose jogged over. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun that bounced like a pompom on a toque as she ran. I kept walking, a little slower than before. "Where ya going?" She caught up and walked beside me. "Thanks for waiting, geez." "Nowhere." She walked at my pace, swinging her arms and kicking at rocks along the way. I made my way over to where the hill started its incline, dotted with low shrubs and a thin veil of elm trees. "Well, what are you doing?" "Nothing." "Nothing?" I just nodded, making my way through the bush but still behind the trees so I had a better view of the green bowl of the clearing. Why did things still feel so uncertain even after I'd found my dad? It had been years since I'd even allowed myself the fantasy of imagining he was still alive, and yet here we were, together. And still ... I didn't realize until I had walked a few feet that Rose was no longer with me. I turned and saw her there at the bottom, arms crossed, hip thrown out. "You coming?" "Well, do you want me to?" I shrugged. "Up to you." She unfolded her arms and placed them on her hips. Then she turned on a heel and stomped away. I shrugged again and walked in the opposite direction. "TONIGHT'S SOCIAL NIGHT over in the cave." General was visiting with Miigwans when I returned to our group's circle of tents. They were chatting in the last moments of daylight. General was a pleasant looking man who wore his grey hair at shoulder length and had a neck hung with beaded ropes. He smiled a lot, the kind of smile that went right up into his eyes, and maybe for this reason alone I agreed to follow them over to the cave to check out the festivities. When we got there they were still cleaning up and placing seating in a circle, facing inward towards the center of the space. I excused myself from the two men and made my way over to my father's room. Since the door was a blanket and the walls were mostly fabric, I knocked on the wooden frame around the draped doorway. "Dad?" "Come in.” He was sitting on his bed, wrapping his damaged legina tensor bandage. He smiled when I entered. He was wearing a long undershirt that had been black at one time, but was now faded to grey, and what looked like a pair of tropical print swimming trunks that hung wide on his thighs. His damp hair was freshly cut, and he smelled like good soap. "Boy, I could get used to hearing Dad again, let me tell you." He patted the mattress beside him, and I sat down, sighing as I did. We sat there for a minute, in silence. "Boy, what's the matter?" I couldn't answer. Instead I shrugged again, slumping my shoulders after so I could put my elbows on my knees and hold my face in my hands. "You sure look like something's the matter." I couldn't answer him because I really wasn't sure what was wrong. On top of that, I felt guilty that I wasn't happier. We'd found Minerva, now all we had to do was get her from the Recruiters. And I'd found my dad after all this time. It was really two miracles in one, and all I could do was feel sad and confused. Dad finished wrapping his stump and leaned back on his elbows. "French, can you tell me something?" "Sure, Dad." "What is it you're hoping to find out here?" I answered too quickly. "Minerva." "No, no. I mean, why Minerva?" I was getting irritated. "What do you mean, why? Because she was taken. I spent the first two years in the bush trying to find Mitch after he was taken. Because that's what we do. We look for each other. Didn't you bother to look for us?" I regretted it as soon as I'd said it. "I did, son." His voice was low, but calm. "Every day." He rubbed a memory of an injury on the side of his ribs. "No matter what. I didn't set up this camp to be my community, Francis. I brought these people together so that we could find our community. But, eventually, that's what we became in the absence of the other. But it doesn't mean we stop searching." I didn't understand until he said it that part of my ennui had been resentment. Resentment that my father was out here being all revolutionary while his kids were left with an unstable mother who eventually left us all alone. That I hated him for leaving Mitch to sacrifice himself for me. That I was angry about my childhood left to wither and starve in the woods. He put an arm around my shoulders and shook me a bit as he spoke. "No one could have guessed the speed and cruelty of this machine once it started up. No one knew what was coming. If I had, I never would have left that day. I would have taken you and your brother and your ma and run north as fast as I could, while I still had both legs." I leaned into his side and just lay there for a minute, listening to the pull and thump of his broken heart against my hard head. "I've done things, Dad." He hummed, low in his chest so that it filled my ear with cotton. "We all have, son." He kissed the top of my head like he used to when I was little, and I felt that good sense of safety once more, even just for a minute. The blanket at the door was pulled back. "Hey, you guys coming or what?" A young man I hadn't seen before popped his head into the room, then popped back out. We heard his feet hurry away, and then there was a sound I hadn't heard since I was young so young that all I remember is the sound and not where I was or who I was with when I heard it. It was the sound of a drum. They hit the drum tentatively at first, checking for tone and pitch. When we passed the food prep area, I saw Clarence holding it over the homemade element they simmered with, a hole in the dirt ground filled with heated rocks from the fire outside. It was a hand drum, and he held it by the sinew ties crisscrossing the back, tilting it towards the heat to tighten the skin over the front. We made our way to the circle of seats, and my father took one beside Bullet. I stood on the other side of Dad and looked around. Most of the seats were taken. Half a dozen little kids chased each other in and around the adults, who watched with smiles. Bullet seemed to be the oldest one here, and she couldn't have been more than sixty-five. There were about fifty people in total, a big enough group that invisibility the way we enjoyed it was out of the question. So they had to live differently, carving out communities in the spaces they felt they could defend. It was a precarious existence, to say the least. Finally, Clarence walked into the center of the circle, clearing his throat in sharp breaths. I liked Clarence and was happy to see him. But then he motioned to someone in the crowd with his drumstick. I looked over to see Derrick, also holding a drum. "Dammit." Even worse, standing beside him was Rose. He smiled at her, and she returned the smile before he joined his uncle. The cave darkened as my eyes narrowed. What in the hell was she doing with that jerk? And why was she smiling so big? I puffed out my chest a bit, remembering that I still had the longest braids, even in this larger group. That made me a better Indian, after all. But then the drumming started. Double beat, high and sweet, round dance style. Clarence busted a lead and then Derrick joined in, and damn it all to hell, his voice was amazing. I crossed my arms, refusing to be impacted. My dad tapped his hand on his mangled knee and Bullet rocked forward and back to the beat. A few of the younger adults stood right away and joined hands, circling the singers in a chain. Some others joined in, and soon the circle was filled with dancers. I kept my arms folded when the clapping and hollering started after that first song. I felt a jealous twitch in my midsection when Wab and Chi-Boy and Slopper and everyone else for that matter joined in. The twitch turned into a wrench when Clarence raised his voice to declare the next one was two-step and Derrick handed his drum to Tree. That elicited oohs and ahhs from the twins, who put their heads together to examine and admire the instrument. It twisted and yanked on my stomach when I saw Derrick weave through the audience to extend a hand towards Rose, who shook her head at first and giggled but who eventually put her hand in his and allowed herself to be led out into the center. And finally, the jealousy turned to full-blown murder stomping about my guts when I saw them dance, hand in hand, around the circle. By the time they were facing me, Derrick looked me straight in the eyes and smiled the biggest smirk of self-satisfaction you ever could imagine. I turned and left the warmth of the circle, jogging down the corridor and retreating into the dark corner of our camp. # WORD ARRIVES IN BLACK I WOKE UP early the next morning still in my clothes from the day before. As was my habit, I slung my rifle onto my back before leaving the tent. Before I could stop myself, I crept over to Rose's tent, unzipped the doorway not more than an inch, and peeked inside. She was alone, curled in her fetal sleeping position on her bedroll. I sighed. Thank God. I tiptoed out of the camp, not wanting to run into anyone yet and have to answer the “where were you last night” or “why'd you storm away" questions. "Hey, French. Over here." Halfway up the incline of the westward-facing hill Clarence held his hand up above his head to get my attention. He was with Miig and General and a few other men I didn't recognize. They were all wearing shades of green and brown, and two of them had leafy branches stuck through their hats. I waved and made my way over. "You gotcher gun on ya?" Clarence shook my hand and nodded at the gun barrel over my shoulder. I nodded. “All right then. let's go. Hunting day.” Miig clapped me on the back and smiled, happy to see me there so early. I didn't want to tell him it had been a fluke. That I'd fallen asleep in fits and spurts and gotten up when I couldn't force my wandering mind to stay stationary anymore. I spent the day in complete silence, trying to emulate the grace of the older men through the woods. Out here there was water, you could smell it in the air. The more north we got, the more life was left in the woods. I inhaled big. "Closer you get to the coasts," Clarence whispered, pointing east, west, and then north, "the more water's left that can be drunk. The middle grounds?" He made his hand stiff and made a striking motion. "Nothing. It's like where the bomb landed and the poison's leeched into the banks, everything's gone in all directions till you get further out." I didn't know what to say. I knew that had been Clarence's traditional territory. "Sorry," was all I could manage. If he heard me, he didn't let on. "All we need is the safety to return to our homelands. Then we can start the process of healing." I was confused. "How can you return home when it's gone? Can't you just heal out here?" Miig and General gave each other knowing looks, and Clarence was patient in his answer. "I mean we can start healing the land. We have the knowledge, kept through the first round of these blasted schools, from before that, when these visitors first made their way over here like angry children throwing tantrums. When we heal our land, we are healed also." Then he added, "We'll get there. Maybe not soon, but eventually." A high whistle came through the trees, and General pulled me to the ground with him. I was frantic. Was it the Recruiters? I tried to claw my gun strap to pull the weapon into my hands and to the ready. On the other side of me, Miig turned around and put a finger to his lips, shushing my small noises. I heard footsteps, a deep echo in the ground, and then branches breaking. Finally, there was silence and then another whistle, this one shorter. From around me came the sudden sounds of breath, and I realized we'd all been holding ours, then movement, as everyone scrambled to their feet. "Was it Recruiters?" I asked out loud. "Did they get anyone? General answered, “No, no, little brother. That was the scouts letting us know they had an animal in sight, one that was the right age to be taken. Sounds like they got it, too." I coaxed my heart back into normal rhythm and followed the group to where they had, indeed, taken down a good-sized buck. Miig was preparing the ceremony when I got there to send it off in a good way. We allowed the deer to take his dreams with him so he had all the magic he would need to find the next world. We returned mid-afternoon as heroes. I was more than a little smug, trundling down the hill, helping to maneuver the weight of a full-grown buck on the travois we'd strapped together out of branches and sinew. Even though I'd done nothing but tag along and then panic when the kill was actually made. Still, I was there. I was damn near giddy when I saw the look on Derrick's face as we passed by where he was leg wrestling with his friends. He had his shirt off and tucked into his back pocket, and I couldn't help but notice the definition of his muscles. I flexed under my sweater. "Uncle, I told you to wake me up," he whined, jogging alongside us to speak. "I shouldn't have to wake you up. You should be awake and ready like the rest of the men. Like French, here." I tipped an imaginary hat in his direction and watched the color blossom in his cheeks. He stopped following us, and we made our way to the outdoor kitchen near the mouth of the cave. "Oh, French, that's a beautiful buck." It was Rose. She ran over from the clothes-washing area and put her hand on my arm. It made me shiver, and I had to try real hard to remember why I was angry with her. But once I had that image of her and Derrick the Dink two-stepping right in front of me, I pulled away from her. "Yeah. Why don't you go watch Derrick wrestle over there." I pointed with my lips. "I'm sure he'd love to have a cheerleader.” Her face fell, and I started to feel flustered. "What are you doing, Francis?" She said it low since there were others around. "Why don't you just call me French? Only people I respect can call me Francis." I couldn't stop myself. I wasn't even sure how much of this I meant. She grabbed me by my elbow and led me through the kitchen and around the perimeter of the hill, back over towards our camp. When we reached the first tent I shook loose and she turned on me. "What in the hell is your problem?" She was only six inches from my face, and I could see anger flash in her dark eyes. "What do you mean, what's my problem? I'm not the one who's mooning after some jerk with a drum." It was louder than I'd meant it to be, and she flinched. "You're the jerk around here. You wouldn't even talk to me yesterday and you expect me to just follow you around or something?" She pursed her lips together when she was done, like she had to struggle to keep back some words. “Oh, I'm sorry I can't be at your beck and call all the time.” I wasn't sure why I'd said it. It's not like she actually expected that. I even screwed up my face and flounced my hands about, as if imitating her snobby behavior. Well, this managed to un-purse her lips. “You know what, French? You're different. At first I thought it was because of RiRi and Minerva, but no, you're even more different here.” Her voice broke on the names a bit, but she took a breath and kept going. “I should just leave. After we find Minerva, I should just go. I don't want to stay around here when you're being such an ass." I'd regret this next line forever. "What, and leave your new boyfriend, Derrick, behind? Whatever. Don't expect me to chase after you." Her eyes filled with tears, and I was ashamed. So ashamed I dropped my head and looked at the ground so that all I saw of her retreat was the movement of her shoes as she took off, sobbing. I waited until I couldn't hear her, until I was able to move my heavy limbs and drooping head. I couldn't go to my tent. I was scared to be alone in there right now. So I trudged the path back to the cave, past the celebrations in the outdoor kitchen, up the corridor and into my father's room. I flopped face first on his bed and stayed that way until he came in an hour or so later. He rustled about for a few minutes and then, satisfied that I was awake, began to speak. "Did I ever tell you about how I ended up in the city?" I shook my head. I couldn't remember even hearing stories about my dad outside of him being my dad. I hadn't really considered him anything other than that. "I ran away." I should have sat up, showed some interest. But I just couldn't. I heard his calloused palm rub at his moustache, an old habit. The sound made me feel safe and very young. "Yup. I was thirteen when I decided.” “That young?” “Uh-huh. I remember that day, too. It had rained in the morning, but the sun came out after lunch.” I tilted my head towards his voice, so that I held my face in the palm of one hand, listening. "Painted wood, when you leave it alone, works itself out. Like needs to get back to an honest shade. It'll fade blue to skinny green. The church where I went that day, it had rubbed itself grey. It made the birch around it seem real stark by comparison, like bone splinters sticking out of the ground like that." He settled his weight on the bed beside me and continued. "I remember the old people used to say that the church was a medicine house. I sat there that day on top of my backpack in the aisle between two rows of pews so rough they'd cut your legs if you wore shorts to service and thought, this doesn't look like no medicine house to me. They used to say that men who came in left as something entirely different, something with hands that wouldn't obey natural law and hearts heavy and empty at the same time.