By Way of Water Read online

  “It ain’t wrong.”

  Justy turned her back on them and waited for the silent wrestling of bodies. The deer finally stopped swinging, and all Justy heard was Jake’s breathing. She walked to the porch, listening for the fight to turn physical. Her stomach hurt beyond her hunger as she wished for the violence to come, just so it would be over.

  Justy swam the emerald Eel, sliding through the bends to the ocean. The water filled her senses and she tasted the faint tang of salt as the river flattened out, getting ready to join the Pacific. Like a salmon, she left the clear water and dreamed herself free. Standing at the mouth of the river was the doe, leaning to take a drink. As the deer looked at her, Justy broke the surface, suddenly out of breath.

  “Justy. Wake up.”

  Jake’s voice pulled her from the water and she slid out from under the covers. She still wore the clothes from the night before, and the penny was clenched in her right palm. The space next to her where Lacee slept was empty; so was Micah’s bed across the room. She heard no sound in the small house.

  “I want to go to town.” Jake leaned against the doorframe, looking at the ceiling. “Meet me at the truck. Food for you on the stove.”

  She nodded and he left. She found tennis shoes under the bed and went into the living room. The can of pennies still sat on the kitchen table. The snow had stopped, but the world outside glared.

  She squinted while she laced the shoes and then slipped the coin inside her right one. It was Sunday, and Dale had gone to meeting with the others. Joella Mills must have driven the extra twenty miles to pick them up again. Justy’s stomach somersaulted and she looked to the woodstove. Two plates, one inverted over the other. When she lifted the top plate, she saw venison steak. Her thoughts flickered back to the deer dream and then to the real deer hanging upside down in the night. She heard the truck start and reached for the steak, sinking her teeth into it while sensing that Dale had not eaten, that she sat at the meeting with a week-empty belly, trying to pay attention to the public talk.

  Justy chewed and wondered whether Jehovah begrudged her this food. She closed her eyes, knowing most Witnesses felt Him deep in their hearts. All Justy could feel was hunger and Jake waiting in the truck and Dale waiting at meeting. Maybe there wasn’t any room inside her for Him to grow. She opened her eyes to the glare and blinked. Twenty feet from the house, the dormant garden drooped. Black-and-white chickadees hopped in the snow, picking at the dead plants Dale had sown last spring. The biggest bird flew to a beanpole stake, its little body sentinel to the morning. The stakes leaned into one another, forming a row of triangles—a perfect tunnel to get away from the summer sun. Beyond the garden, the valley lay covered in melting snow, a wandering ribbon of black creek water breaking up all the white, moving to join the Rattlesnake. Oaks, firs, madrones and pines stood heavy in the snow, their branches bowing to the ground like devoted followers of the weather.

  Jake honked and Justy went to the door, venison in one hand and his logging jacket in the other. She liked wearing his jacket; it made her feel closer to the trees he felled. She moved to the truck, feeling the penny in her shoe. After getting in, she saw the body of the deer, looking barely like an animal anymore. It was wrapped in the deer bag, and the only parts she could recognize were the hind legs attached to the ropes. The head was gone, and Justy wondered what the eyes looked like now. She chewed carefully as Jake backed the truck up. A foil package on the dash caught her eye, and she knew meat from the deer was inside.

  As they drove down the road, Justy looked at the land to push out the image of the deer. Jake tapped his fingers on the wheel, a song surging through his thoughts. They crossed a ditch and the land changed, the soil now red and dark. It bled into the puddles of snow creating water the color of pumpkin innards. They left the dirt road, and Jake took the old highway into town, still angry over the freeway, even though it had been finished more than ten years before. The old road curved along the Eel, following her lines from hundreds of feet above. Thick fog hung over the river canyon, and Justy pretended it was cotton candy, pillows of spun sugar she could reach out and eat. The steep hills were covered with white-layered trees. It looks like Christmas, Justy thought, and smiled, even though she wasn’t supposed to want Christmas or any other holiday.

  Not wanting Christmas made her think of Dale, who was at the moment trying to pay attention to the brother’s words while part of her stretched out to Jake and Justy in the truck. Dale had hoped her decision to leave her youngest with Jake would anchor him home. She looked at Micah and Lacee, seeing her son lean forward in his seat, a small smile pressed to his lips; Lacee slouched in the wrinkled skirt that she hated, her eyes roaming the corners of the Kingdom Hall. Dale frowned at Lacee’s thumbs playing leapfrog. The other people in the room seemed to have no problem focusing on the talk, and Dale sat up straighter.

  ***

  Jake pulled up in front of the Hilltop Tavern. Off to the right of the building, a snowy shoulder waited. Sometimes he parked there, and when he did, Justy both loved and feared it. She loved that she could see the river far below, the canyon walls reaching skyward. As the afternoons passed, the canyon darkened and she began to feel like she might fall into the shadows. Even though she cherished the river, she also knew it could be dangerous. She knew it had taken some of Jake’s classmates, had heard that water was the reason Dale didn’t graduate from high school.

  Jake eased off the white straw cowboy hat and checked his hair in the rearview mirror. Justy thought again how strange it was for him to wear that hat when he’d sold his horse two years ago. She thought maybe he was just staying ready for when the four riders showed up. He replaced the hat and turned to her. “Let’s go.”

  As they walked to the door, snow stained the canvas of Justy’s tennis shoes dark, and the penny slid forward under her sock. The parking lot was empty, and they weren’t surprised to see only Helen Martinez in the bar, smoking while she swept near the pool table.

  She looked up when they entered. “Jake Colby.” She spoke around the cigarette. “And Justy. Hello there.” Helen placed a hand on Justy’s head for an instant, then she blew smoke toward the ceiling. Her curly brown hair framed her wrinkled brown face. Justy liked the gentle weight of Helen’s hand, knowing it was this same one that sometimes telephoned Dale to warn her about Jake’s moods.

  “Ay, Jake, it’s been a while.”

  “Well,” he said.

  “Could have used some of your music here last night.”

  He remained silent, mindful of where the fiddle lay in the hunter’s cabin, the cold air warping the instrument. Justy looked at the picture on the left wall and smiled a hello to Helen’s son, Francisco. Helen went behind the bar and snapped on the radio. A man sang about Daddy Frank, the blind guitar player, and his family—the music their only means of survival. Sometimes Justy pretended this song was about Jake and Dale.

  Justy sat on a stool in the dark room, watching the Hamm’s beer sign above the cash register with its eternal waterfall. Her face looked tired in the huge mirror next to the sign, black circles under her eyes. She kicked her legs against the counter and felt the heat coming from the woodstove in the corner. On the door that led downstairs to Helen and Juan’s house, a Tucker’s Logging Supply calendar read 1977. The New Year had come and gone since she’d been here last with Jake. He stood next to her, fingertips worrying the seams of his back pockets. “How you been?” Helen asked and lit another cigarette from the remains of the first.

  “Surviving.”

  “I hear that.”

  “How’s Juan?” Jake placed a boot on the bottom rung of the stool.

  Helen shrugged. “This year, this weather.”

  Jake nodded. Justy ran her hands over the lacquered surface of the redwood bar, feeling the grooved names and initials. She wanted Helen to talk more; she liked listening for the hint of the woman’s accent.

 
“You got something against sitting down today?” Helen gestured with her cigarette. The song ended and the announcer spoke from the mill town of Eureka, sixty miles up the coast. His smooth voice commented on the snow, and then he said something about it being God’s dandruff. When he stopped talking, a woman began singing about a crumbling relationship, spelling out her troubles in the form of a crossword puzzle.

  Jake took his foot from the stool. “You in a trading mood?”

  “It’s been years since you asked me that, Colby. Your dad back in town?”

  Jake shook his head and smiled in the corner of his mouth.

  “Well,” she said. “It depends on the trade.”

  “Let’s just say I came across some venison and now I’ve got a thirst.”

  Helen studied the cigarette. Justy felt the letters D.J.—Dwayne James. She knew him from when he came into Hilltop, friendly at first, happy for company since he lived in the backwoods. As the hours passed, he’d start talking about ‘Nam, and the villages he’d bulldozed with a Cat tractor. When the stories and the whiskey ran thick, something would snap and he’d start a fight with whoever sat next to him, and if the person moved, he’d continue to fight with the air. Justy had watched Jake step into that space and fight D.J. back more than once.

  Reflected in the bar mirror, Jake’s body looked tense, his shoulders drawn into his chest, both hands gripping the cowboy hat. Helen smiled at Justy, who returned it, knowing her child’s face sometimes helped. Helen slowly shook her head and said, “I sure do like the taste of fresh venison.”

  Jake smiled and his shoulders eased. “Justy,” he said. “Run on out and get that package.”

  She slid off the stool. As the day neared noon, the canyon looked less menacing, and she imagined the river full and muddy now. She grabbed the package and walked back to the bar. The sun cast a warm glow on the trees and mountains. She tried to make out Jake and Helen through the bar’s front window, but the contrast from the bright day to the dark bar didn’t allow her to see them. Then, like the moments in dreams when the river became real, she saw herself peering, a small face shaded and searching through the glass.

  Justy reentered the bar, her eyes stinging from the smoke. As she walked across the faded linoleum, she watched Francisco watching her. The picture was signed, she knew, “To Mom, with love, Paco.” A rosary hung from the right corner. Justy knew he was missing, in a place that D.J. said was greener than even Mendocino County. Jake now sat, a shot of whiskey and a bottle of Coors in front of him, and Helen held a Coors instead of a cigarette. Justy placed the cold package on the bar and climbed back on the stool. Jake slid the meat over to Helen.

  “To trades,” she said, and raised her bottle. Jake raised his and they both drank. Justy returned to exploring the bar’s letters, and a man on the radio sang about how by the time he reaches Phoenix, she’ll be rising.

  “I’ll take this to Juan,” Helen said. The calendar on the door swung when she shut it. Jake downed the shot and took a swig of beer. Justy watched his reflection and the way his Adams apple galloped in his throat. He stared into his own brown eyes as he swallowed. She tried to scratch a line in the bar with her fingernail, to mark his first shot. The bottle hit the bar with a clink and he ran his fingers through his hair, adjusted the cowboy hat on the bar to his right, then pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his pinkie. Without taking his eyes from his own face, he reached out his hand and clamped it around the back of Justy’s neck. She braced herself against the bar.

  “Look,” he said. The pressure of his hand increased while the Phoenix song ended and the familiar strands of “The Streets of Laredo” began. Jake stared at his reflection, his eyes tunnels to a faraway place. Justy slid forward on the stool.

  “Look.” He drank. And her eyes traveled the room, seeing the Budweiser light above the pool table, Paco’s young face, the wood rosary, the cobwebs tucked into the corners of the room. The radio sang to them, telling them to play the fife lowly and beat the drum slowly, and promising to sing them a sad song about a cowboy who’d done wrong. Justy looked, away from her own sharp face, brown stringy hair, green eyes open wide. Her gaze was caught by the waterfall in the Hamm’s sign, by the way the water seemed to forever move though nothing really changed.

  “This is all you get,” Jake said, and released her. She almost fell off the stool. He moved to the radio, switched it off and walked to the stove. She watched his reflection open the stove door, saw how the flames cast him in a glow she imagined the Devil might wear. Keeping her eyes on him, she reached over and brought the bottle to her lips.

  She swallowed the beer, letting the harsh taste fill her mouth. Her eyes watered, but she kept drinking. Three long pulls, wanting to taste what made him see the world the way he did. She set the bottle down and wiped her mouth like she’d watched him do before. Her head felt light and the room suddenly seemed much hotter.

  He added more wood and closed the stove door just as Helen came back with a plate in her hands. On top was a towel folded over what Justy knew from the smell was a pile of fresh flour tortillas. Helen set the plate down and pulled back the towel. Steam rose from the white circles. Justy’s stomach lurched at the smell of the butter and cinnamon.

  “Thought some food should remain in the deal, and Juan, he likes to cook.” Helen nodded and her brown hands rolled the top tortilla in a tight curl. She held it out to Justy, who took it, smelling cigarette smoke on Helen’s fingers. Justy flicked a look at Jake in the mirror, but he was smiling at Helen. She bit into the splurge of tastes and sensed Dale rising to sing with the others in the Kingdom Hall. Justy chewed and chewed her first bite, willing Dale to feel the glory in the warm tortilla.

  Helen rolled another and offered it to Jake. He took it with a whispered thanks while Helen rolled a third for herself. “Juan doesn’t do half bad,” she said, holding the tortilla as if it were a cigarette. Jake and Justy nodded. The fire swelled, and Jake took off his jacket.

  “Dale at her meeting?” Helen asked.

  Jake nodded. “I never should have let them JWs come around in the first place.” He finished the tortilla and drank the rest of his beer. “That Luke Mills coming to the house every month is what took Dale in.”

  “A woman of faith is a good thing,” Helen said, lighting another cigarette. Helen looked at Paco, and her face rearranged itself around her sadness, lines near her mouth puckering. She crossed herself took a deep breath and looked back at Jake and Justy. The quiet swelled, and she walked to the radio and switched it on. Another singer told them about the something in the Sunday-morning air that makes a body feel alone.

  “You heard about the petition, Jake?”

  “No.”

  “Some people are protesting the mine.”

  Jake placed both hands tight around the beer bottle. “Who’s protesting?”

  “Started out with some of those new teachers at the school, you know, wanting to save the trees and all that.” Helen rolled her eyes.

  “Any locals?” Jake took a swig, watching himself in the mirror, fingers tapping a fast rhythm on the bottle.

  “Only Lefty Fry, but you know him. He’d join anything that’d have him.”

  Jake let this new information settle. Justy thought about Lefty and his river-green eyes. She felt his first name carved into the bar, big and blocky on her far right. She’d heard he lived on crazy money, doing one officially insane thing each year to keep his government check. Last summer he’d driven his truck into the post office, telling people the voices told him to do it. Justy liked Lefty because sometimes he bought her a soda and a bag of chips when he saw her in Hilltop. She couldn’t see anything crazy in his warm smile or his missing teeth.

  When the song ended, Helen cleared her throat. “Gaines was in here last night.”

  “You say?” Jake sat up straight. It was unlike Gaines to come to Hilltop unless he had work
for somebody.

  “Yeah, he was in here, talking about that mare of his like he does.”

  Jake snorted.

  “When he finally shut up about her, he said he’s looking for two men.”

  Jake nodded. Justy finished her tortilla, then returned to the carved letters. Leaning over the bar’s ancient surface to see the whirled reflections of Jake’s face and beer bottle and the tip of Helen’s cigarette, she wished she’d seen the tree when it had been standing.

  “He mean falling jobs?”

  Helen shook her head and leaned to fetch Jake another beer.

  “Graves,” she said.

  “The bastard’s finally buckling.” Jake drank from the new beer.

  “The water’s getting close to his family.”

  Helen drank also, and Justy realized Helen drank with her customers only on the first sip.

  “Justy.”

  She looked up to see Helen offering her another tortilla. At Justy’s nod, Helen handed it over. “Gaines said he’d guarantee crew jobs to whoever did the graves,” she said.

  “The coast job? Falling?”

  Helen nodded. Justy chewed, watching her face in the mirror, sensing the quickening of Jake’s pulse. “Juan got any interest?”

  “Ay, we may be hard up, but Juan, he don’t dig up bodies, no matter what.” Jake took a drink. Helen ran a rough palm through her hair and said, “But it’s paying work.”

  Jake cleared his throat and asked, “Gaines need two men?”

  “Yep.”

  “Do his work now, falling jobs come spring?”

  Helen laughed and said, “As long as you don’t get near his precious horse.”

  Jake smiled. Wood shifted in the stove and the fire burned louder. Justy watched the waterfall, wave after wave, as her fingers slid the surface of the bar.

  ***