Son of a Trickster - PDF

# NANAS I HAVE LOVED His tiny, tightly permed maternal grandmother, Anita Moody, had never liked him. As far back as Jared could remember, she'd watched him suspiciously with her clear black eyes. She never let him come closer than an arm's length from her, making him sit on the ratty blue couch whi...

# NANAS I HAVE LOVED His tiny, tightly permed maternal grandmother, Anita Moody, had never liked him. As far back as Jared could remember, she'd watched him suspiciously with her clear black eyes. She never let him come closer than an arm's length from her, making him sit on the ratty blue couch while she sat in the kitchen of her small house near the Bella Bella Band Store. Once, when she was chatting with someone, she stopped when she noticed him, tensing as if she expected him to go haywire. "Wee'git," she'd say if his parents left them alone. "If you hurt her, I will kill you and bury you where no one can resurrect you. Get, you dirty dog's arse." "I'm Jared," he'd said. "Trickster," she'd said. "You still smell like lightning." She was a cuddly grandma with his cousins, sitting them at the kitchen table and giving them popcorn balls, homemade fudge and caramel apples. She knitted mittens with their names embroidered on the back. The last birthday present she'd given him was a jar of blood with little animal teeth rolling around the bottom. "Fucking cuntosaurus," his mom had said, snatching it from him. "She doesn't believe me, does she? No faith. None." # SON OF A TRICKSTER "Jared, buddy, this isn't about you," his dad had said. "She doesn't like me," Jared said. "She doesn't mean it," his dad said. His mother spat. "Sonny boy, it's got nothing to do with you and everything to do with what a fuck-up she thinks I am." "She'd never hurt you," his dad said. "Because I will fuck her up one side and down the other if she lays a single finger on you," his mom said. "I will fuck her up good." When Jared was almost five, his mother decided they should move so his dad found work at Eurocan, a pulp-and-paper mill in a town called Kitimat. His mom showed it to him on the map, tracing his finger over the ferry route they were going to take up the Inside Passage. They packed up their townhouse in one weekend, forfeiting their damage deposit. As they were loading the last boxes late in the evening, his grandmother came and stood in front of the moving truck. Jared ducked behind his mother. "Don't," his dad said, grabbing her arm. "Maggie. Think." His mom jerked her arm away. His dad lifted Jared and propped him on his hip. His mom got into the driver's side. She revved the engine. His grandmother stared at his mother, waiting. "Maggie," his dad said. "Momma," Jared said. His mom turned the engine off. She got out and went to stand nose to nose with her mother. His dad slid behind the wheel. "I've lost all patience with you, old woman. Don't push me." "Be careful," his grandmother said. "You know what he did to me. That isn't your son. It's the damn Trickster. He's wearing a human face, but he's not human." "You're one to talk." # SIMULTANEOUSITY Think of magic as a tree. The root of supernatural ability is simply the realization that all time exists simultaneously. Humans experience time as a progression of sequential events in much the same way we see the horizon as flat: our reality is shaped by our limitations. If you blasted off in a rocket and achieved a low, stable orbit, you would see the planet's horizon curving into a sphere. But how, you may be wondering, can you blast yourself out of time? We don't know how to build those machines yet. Close your eyes. Concentrate on your breath. Remember that you were not always earthbound. Every living creature, every drop of water and every sombre mountain is the by-blow of some bloated, dying star. Deep down, we remember wriggling through the universe as beams of light. # THE FOOD OF WORMS Jared hadn't realized he loved his dog until they decided to put her down. His mom and the vet agreed on a time, like her euthanasia was just a regular appointment. While he went to school, Baby would stay at the vet's, sedated. In a way, he wanted them to do it right now, so it wouldn't be hanging over them all day, but he was kind of glad there were rules to follow. Jared scratched Baby's head. She was the result of a pit bull mixed with a boxer, a heavy, deep-chested dog with scraggly ears from a fight with her brother. Her fur was mottled orange, black and grey, a squiggly pattern like a toddler had coloured her with fading markers. Her face looked like it had been flattened by a shovel. She farted constantly from a diet of cheap dog food and a tendency to eat whatever landed on the floor. She had once shat marbles. Baby wheezed like a hardened smoker and then coughed. Jared's throat tightened. The room blurred as his eyes watered. He swallowed loudly. Baby roused from the exam table and licked his arm. Jared leaned his head against hers. "I'll give you folks a moment," the vet said. After he left, Jared's mom sat, shoving her hands deep in the pockets of her leather jacket. The fluorescent lights hummed. His mom's left leg jiggled impatiently. Jared wiped his nose on his sleeve. The harder he tried not to cry, the more he cried. The painted concrete walls echoed his sniffling back at him. "I'm going for a smoke," his mom said. Baby thumped her tail when his mom came over to squeeze Jared's shoulder. His mom's eyes darted around the room, but she avoided meeting his. Normally, she'd be telling him sixteen was way too old to be acting like a big fucking wuss, but they could hear the vet and the receptionist talking in the front room, so she stayed quiet. She patted her jeans as she walked out. Probably forgot her lighter in the truck. The world is hard, his mom liked to say. You have to be harder. Baby licked his cheek. "Gonna miss you,” Jared whispered in her ear. Baby lifted a leg and farted. Jared laughed, and then it turned into crying that faded into more sniffling. His heart was a bruise because Baby's heart was full of worms. The X-rays showed them curled in its chambers like glowing balls of wool. Time stretched and folded so it went both too fast and too slow. After his mom finished smoking, she'd come back and drive him to school. He hugged Baby hard and she grumbled. He wasn't going to be alone after she died, but the world was going to be a lonelier place without her. # SON OF A TRICKSTER A few years earlier, Jared's mom had been dating a rebound guy nicknamed Death Threat, who'd left Kitimat suddenly, pushed out by a biker gang that moved to town at the start of the oil and gas boom. The gang had announced their intentions with a series of violent home invasions of the local drug-dealing community. Death had left a trail of debts that one guy in particular expected his mom to pay. The guy'd dropped by the North Star when it was her shift and then left freaky-ass messages on their machine. One morning, he'd pinned a note to their front door with a buck knife. His mom yanked the knife out of their door and examined the note, rolling her eyes. She crumpled the paper and casually tossed it off the porch. "Some fucktard sure laid a monster hex on us. Bastards don't know who they're dealing with. Karma's a witch." "Later," Jared said. He walked away from her down to the bus stop and huddled into himself, stamping his feet against the cold. His mom stood on the porch, watching him. He'd caught her tracking him a lot lately. She lifted the buck knife in a salute before she went inside. The curtains twitched. He sighed, then cranked his iPod touch until his headphones vibrated. That was the year the cats in their neighbourhood started disappearing because a family of wolverines had moved onto the nearby golf course and started snacking on them. Sad, crayon-printed signs offering rewards for finding Mr. Fluffy or Kat Mandu fluttered and faded on telephone poles. His mom had claimed she was watching him because she was worried when the wolverines ran out of cats they'd move up to kids, but the animals seemed to have migrated south for the winter. He knew she was really worried about the buck-knife freak but didn't want to admit it. She'd had a tight circle of friends before she and his dad got divorced, but they'd all moved away when Eurocan shut down. His parents used to have something going on every weekend- barbecues or hockey parties or campground parties and the kids would watch movies in the basement or in someone's SUV and the parents would get increasingly loud and sloshed upstairs or in the backyard or around the campfire. Now they were struggling to make the mortgage, and their fridge was filled with scraps from her job at the North Star. They had a four-bedroom house, but when they were alone it felt like a one-room shack. She'd talk to him through the door when he was on the can. The red glow of her cigarette was his night light as she sat beside his bed in the darkness. He smelled her Craven Ms in his dreams. A trail of her texts followed him through his day. Death Threat had been a temporary break from her one-hundred-percent attention. Jared heard dogs barking loud enough that they penetrated his headphones and he looked up and across the street in time to see a tall, swaggering man pause and stare back at him. The man wore a leather jacket too light for the weather and had two pit bulls straining at their chains. His face was burnt brown and his head was shaved and unshapely, bumpy and folded. His nose had a crooked, off-kilter look, like it had been broken then reset in the dark. His mom had described Richie just in case he showed up when she wasn't around, but Jared had never seen him before that moment. Richie dropped the chains. The orange, black and grey pit bull leapt up and its legs skittered in excitement as it took off down the street, biting at the snowbanks. The other dog, the larger one with dark fur and a yellowed eye, leapt over the ditch and took two bounds to cross the road. Jared experienced the subjective nature of time. "Party Rock Anthem" played on his iTouch, a cheerful and jittery song dedicated to the party lifestyle. You should run, he thought, noticing the pit bull had surprising flecks of gold in its dark fur. You should run now. But he knew it was too late. Jared dropped his backpack off his shoulder and flung it. The momentum made his headphones slip and dangle around his neck. Richie wore a big shit-eating grin as he followed his dog across the road to get a close-up view of the action. The pit bull was locked on the backpack when Jared's mother hit it with her truck. The dog bounced off the grille and smacked the pavement, yelping. Jared's algebra assignments broke free of the backpack and swirled down the street. His mom turned to look behind her, backed up a few feet and then calmly shifted gears again and squashed the pit bull under the front passenger tire. The unmistakable crunch of bones ended the yelping. As her tires spun, blood sprayed the snow and steamed in clots. His mom rolled down the driver's window. "Kindly leave my boy alone," she said. Richie stared at her like she'd surprised him with a lovely present. His mom backed up, holding Richie's gaze. She revved the engine. "This is grown-up business, wouldn't you say? Something that should be kept between a man and a woman." "Yeah," Richie agreed. They smiled at each other. Passing cars slowed to gawk. A police siren grew steadily louder. "Sorry 'bout your dog," she said. "I got another," he said. A police car parked behind his mother's truck and shut off the sirens but left the red and blue lights twirling. His mom put her hand to her mouth and her eyes welled with tears. Richie apologized and apologized and they lied like they'd been practising for years: Damn, mutt's been acting up since he got that infection. Oh, God, I feel so horrible! No, I'm the one who's sorry. I was so scared! Yeah, I know they need muzzles, but my boys needed a piss in the worst way. The cop tilted his head skeptically. Jared shook with fading adrenalin. His bus pulled up and let people off. He automatically tried to get on, but the cop put a hand on his shoulder, saying, "You might want to change your pants." He looked down. Blood and chunks had turned the front of his jeans red. And of course his homework was blowing down the street and he didn't want to arrive late, get stared at for his dog-splattered jeans and not have his homework done. His mom wrapped him in her arms while the cop asked Richie to describe his other pit bull. She squeezed him until his ribs creaked. "Richie could be the answer to a lot of our problems," she whispered in his ear. "If you keep your cool and don't take this personally." He choked on his answer, trying to pull out of her grip. "I'd kill and die for you, Jelly Bean," she said. "Don't ever forget that." While the other students were running basketball drills, Jared ran around the track in the rain, feeling his chest burn. His track coach was also his PE teacher and let him skip classes to train. "This is your year,” his coach had said. "If you want it bad enough." Jared didn't miss any practices, but he wasn't the most dedicated team player. He did like running, though. The rain stung. His windbreaker was sopping wet. Snowflakes streaked white in the grey downpour. Looming in the background, higher than the other mountains, the sharp peak of Mount Elizabeth was draped in a bridal-white blanket of new snow. The snowline had been creeping down the mountains in the valley all week and Jared's friends were psyched about the fresh powder. He stopped to check the time. Friday afternoon and school was almost out. The days you want to last go the quickest, he thought. He could go inside if he wanted, but his eyes were swollen and kids had been staring. He didn't want to explain his mood or the reason for it. Richie's other pit bull had turned out to be as dumb as the day was long. Intruders had been greeted with tail wags and sticks to throw. Once Richie'd moved in with Jared and his mom, Baby Killer's feeding and poop disposal had fallen to Jared. He'd done those chores quickly and without eye contact. Baby Killer, however, had managed to crawl into Jared's bed one night and he woke snuggling the pit bull. When Jared'd tried to carefully move away, Baby'd nuzzled in and lazily licked his face. Baby had cried for him every time he left for school and had waited anxiously at the end of her chain for him to come back. If Jared sat down, Baby tried to get in his lap. After a month, his mom had renamed her Baby Ka'o, a pet name for a demanding, needy child. Richie had been plain disgusted that his expensive weapon of intimidation was now Jared's lapdog. Jared's legs started to wobble, so he slowed to a walk. He'd never heard of heartworm. Baby had become a little lazy, but Jared thought she was getting old, that's all, until she horked up blood. By the time they brought her to the vet, her heart, lungs and kidneys were too far gone to start any treatment. He bent over, panting, and then went and stretched on the concrete dividers near the doors. Dylan Wilkinson came and stood beside him, hunching into a blue ski jacket with the hood flipped up. Dylan was Native too, but from the nearby reserve, Kitamaat Village. He was also a jock who hung with the sporty crowd, not a random town Native like Jared. "I heard you're selling," Dylan said. "My mom's boyfriend sells." Dylan blew in his hands. "I heard it was you." "Wrong guy," Jared said. "Sorry. Want Richie's number?" "Your cookies are 'da bomb,' I was told." "Cool. Yeah, I fundraise for the track team," Jared said. "Our next bake sale is on Halloween." "Special cookies," Dylan said. "We make chocolate chip cookies with real butter," Jared said slowly. "And the track team would appreciate your support." Dylan frowned. "Are you shitting me?" "I shit you not." "I'm not a narc." "Okay." "I'm good for it." "Look, dude, people talk out their asses all the time, right? Hasn't anyone ever made shit up about you?" Dylan glared at him. He moved in close and their breath steamed together. Jared blinked rain out of his eyes and coughed, maintaining eye contact. Normally, he'd say something sarcastic to get rid of Dylan faster, but he'd just started dating Ebony Stewart. Jared remembered her from grade school. She knew how to hold a grudge. "Whatever," Dylan said. He turned and went back inside. The end-of-day buzzer blared and kids poured out all the exits. Jared knew he should go and get his stuff before his mom came and brought him back to the vet's office. He didn't want to say goodbye to Baby. He tilted his head up, letting the rain hit it until his face was numb. He was afraid he was going to blubber like a dumb-ass again. After they put Baby down, his mom stopped at the liquor store and got them a six-pack. Baby was covered with a tarp in the bed of the truck. When they got home, they sat in the basement drinking quietly. "You should move back upstairs," his mom said, looking around. "It's fucking depressing as hell down here." "Yeah," he agreed. He'd suggested his move into the basement with Baby because he wanted some privacy. She was renting out two rooms to cover the mortgage and he told her, if he moved downstairs, she could also rent his room to cover hydro. Paying the electricity was an excuse, but it was valid. Even with the rental market as tight as it was, the most they could charge for a room in their house was five hundred dollars a month and the tenants were not keen on chipping in for utilities on top of that. Richie had resentfully put up a wall separating Jared's side of the basement from the laundry machines. They'd dragged his mattress down, along with a toaster oven, a hot plate, and random pots and utensils. Until he got a dresser, he had his clothes separated into blue totes. His mom popped open another beer and handed it to him. She leaned back and put her beer can on her chest, closing her eyes. Jared could hear one of the tenants on the other side of the wall stuffing the washer and pushing the buttons. The water hissed through the pipes. The laundry room had the stairs that came down from the kitchen. Jared's side had the utility tub, the toilet without a seat and a door that led outside with its own lock. Maybe, when he got more money, he'd spring for his own Internet service. Their wi-fi router was so overloaded, the Internet ran like molasses. Downloading a song could take all night. His paper route money had bought a dented Canucks mini-fridge at a garage sale. He'd also bought the orange couch they were sitting on that smelled like Baby Killer because she'd used it as a dog bed. "We should paint," his mother said. No amount of paint was going to make the basement less depressing. It was damp, dingy and cold. Baby Killer had added a mix of wet fur and stale dog farts. The utility sink dripped. The laundry machine on the other side of the wall chugged. "Just spend the night upstairs," she said. Yeah, Richie would be thrilled if he was booted to the couch so his mom could cuddle her giant-ass crybaby. And the tenants would never let him hear the end of it. "I'm good, Mom. I'm okay.” "I never saw you as a dog person." "Me neither." "Baby was such a dumb-ass." "Yeah, she really was." They finished the six-pack. His mom went upstairs and got a bottle of vodka and they did shots. Later, Richie drove them up a logging road. Leaves fell on the windshield, curled, gold paper boats sailing to the ground. The truck wiggled through mud troughs soggy from the solid week of rain. The air had a bite that promised serious snow. Their breath frosted above their heads in thin clouds. Jared dug a grave and put a blanket down and they laid Baby on top of it. He was pretty sure he was crying, but his mom said later he was singing "Like a G6." "Real Irish wake, haha," Richie said on the drive back.