that this was exactly what he was not supposed to do. Bysome agreement he had never been witness to, he was supposed to hear it at night and then by day not only forget but somehow make it not have happened. He began to dread their nights together, though they had had only two.
His father was cheery again in the morning and cooking eggs and hash browns and bacon. Roy pretended to be sleepier than he was and having a harder time awakening because he wanted to think and he wasn’t ready yet to join in on the cheer and the forgetting.
The smell of the food cooking, though, got him up finally, and he asked, So are we doing the radio today?
Sure, and the wood shed and smoker and why don’t we build a little summer cottage?
Roy laughed. It’s true there are a lot of things.
More than eggs in a salmon.
They ate on the porch again, Roy thinking it would be a lot harder in bad weather, when they’d have to sit cramped in that little room inside. This morning was overcast as it was, though it was still warm enough for only a sweatshirt. He remembered it had been gray like this or drizzling most of the time in Ketchikan. He liked how it looked on the water, how the water became a molten gray, the sea heavier than anything and impossible to see into, and how the salmon and halibut rose up out of this.
After breakfast, they set about installing the antenna but could not find a way onto the roof. They didn’t have a ladder, and there was no lip at the edge, nothing to hold on to, no high rails or other walls to brace against. His father stepped away from the cabin and walked around it several times.
Well, he said, without a ladder, I guess we’re not going up there. And even then, I’m not sure how high a ladder is going to get us.
So they strung the antenna along the edge of the roof. It turned out that the antenna was only a long cord on a spool anyway, so the solution seemed fine. But when his father set up the radio and tried the reception, they couldn’t hear anything clearly. It was only static and ticking and odd warped sounds that reminded Roy of old science fiction, of black-and-white TV, Ultraman and Flash Gordon. And this was supposed to be their only contact with anyone else.
Are we going to be able to talk with anyone? Roy asked.
I’m working on it, his father said, impatient. Hold it down for a sec.
It doesn’t seem like it’s changing at all, Roy added after another few minutes of warping.
His father turned and looked at him tight-lipped. Go do something else for a little while, okay? You can work on sawing the shingles.
Roy went around back and looked at the shingles and started in on one, but he didn’t feel in the mood, so he found an elbow in one of the larger branches that came out at forty-five degrees. He sawed about eight inches from either end of the elbow and started carving the piece down with his pocketknife to make a throwing stick. He wondered if there were any rabbits or squirrels up here. He couldn’t remember. He’d make a fish spear, too, and a bow and arrows and a rock hatchet.
He worked on the throwing stick, flattening the sides androunding the ends, until his father came out, saying, I can’t get the damn thing to work, and then saw what Roy was doing and stopped. What’s that?
I’m making a throwing stick.
A throwing stick? His father turned away and then turned back. Okay. That’s fine. Never mind. You know, I’m losing it here already, and the whole point was to relax and find a different way of living, so fine. Let’s quit this project and just take a break.
He looked at Roy, who was wondering whether his father was really speaking to him.
Why don’t we go for a hike? he said. Get out your rifle and shells. We’re gonna take a look around today.
Roy didn’t say anything, because the whole arrangement felt too shaky. He wasn’t sure they wouldn’t have a different plan in a few more minutes. But his father went inside, and when Roy followed him, his father
His father was cheery again in the morning and cooking eggs and hash browns and bacon. Roy pretended to be sleepier than he was and having a harder time awakening because he wanted to think and he wasn’t ready yet to join in on the cheer and the forgetting.
The smell of the food cooking, though, got him up finally, and he asked, So are we doing the radio today?
Sure, and the wood shed and smoker and why don’t we build a little summer cottage?
Roy laughed. It’s true there are a lot of things.
More than eggs in a salmon.
They ate on the porch again, Roy thinking it would be a lot harder in bad weather, when they’d have to sit cramped in that little room inside. This morning was overcast as it was, though it was still warm enough for only a sweatshirt. He remembered it had been gray like this or drizzling most of the time in Ketchikan. He liked how it looked on the water, how the water became a molten gray, the sea heavier than anything and impossible to see into, and how the salmon and halibut rose up out of this.
After breakfast, they set about installing the antenna but could not find a way onto the roof. They didn’t have a ladder, and there was no lip at the edge, nothing to hold on to, no high rails or other walls to brace against. His father stepped away from the cabin and walked around it several times.
Well, he said, without a ladder, I guess we’re not going up there. And even then, I’m not sure how high a ladder is going to get us.
So they strung the antenna along the edge of the roof. It turned out that the antenna was only a long cord on a spool anyway, so the solution seemed fine. But when his father set up the radio and tried the reception, they couldn’t hear anything clearly. It was only static and ticking and odd warped sounds that reminded Roy of old science fiction, of black-and-white TV, Ultraman and Flash Gordon. And this was supposed to be their only contact with anyone else.
Are we going to be able to talk with anyone? Roy asked.
I’m working on it, his father said, impatient. Hold it down for a sec.
It doesn’t seem like it’s changing at all, Roy added after another few minutes of warping.
His father turned and looked at him tight-lipped. Go do something else for a little while, okay? You can work on sawing the shingles.
Roy went around back and looked at the shingles and started in on one, but he didn’t feel in the mood, so he found an elbow in one of the larger branches that came out at forty-five degrees. He sawed about eight inches from either end of the elbow and started carving the piece down with his pocketknife to make a throwing stick. He wondered if there were any rabbits or squirrels up here. He couldn’t remember. He’d make a fish spear, too, and a bow and arrows and a rock hatchet.
He worked on the throwing stick, flattening the sides androunding the ends, until his father came out, saying, I can’t get the damn thing to work, and then saw what Roy was doing and stopped. What’s that?
I’m making a throwing stick.
A throwing stick? His father turned away and then turned back. Okay. That’s fine. Never mind. You know, I’m losing it here already, and the whole point was to relax and find a different way of living, so fine. Let’s quit this project and just take a break.
He looked at Roy, who was wondering whether his father was really speaking to him.
Why don’t we go for a hike? he said. Get out your rifle and shells. We’re gonna take a look around today.
Roy didn’t say anything, because the whole arrangement felt too shaky. He wasn’t sure they wouldn’t have a different plan in a few more minutes. But his father went inside, and when Roy followed him, his father
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