Read Online Martin Marten (9781466843691) by Brian Doyle - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Brian Doyle
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expose yourself to damage. You know what my friend did after the war?
Afraid to ask.
Accountant. I kept telling him that he should be a professional ironist or absurdist, but he said he liked to eat.
* * *
Dave and Maria slept upstairs in the cabin, Maria in the bear den, the half of the room with the roof slanting down sharply, and Dave in a sort of loft on his half of the room. Dave and his dad had discussed walling off the bear den with cedar planks or even building a wall of cedar down the middle of the room to give each child privacy, but Dave voted against both, as he liked puttering around with Maria, and Maria voted both down, on account of she liked talking to Dave and wandering into the bear den. Also, the den had the only upstairs window, which sometimes was obscured by snow so that the room had a gentle silvery cast to it. Dave and his dad did wall off the bottom of Maria’s bunk bed with cedar, so she had a tiny wooden room for doing homework, which she loved, even though her homework to date had been mostly art projects and elementary alphabet stuff. Dave thought Maria actually liked the homeworkness of homework, so to speak, rather than the actual or ostensible learning effect of homework—she liked rulers and graph paper, pencils and pencil sharpeners, the old calculator she had purchased from their mom for ten dishwashing nights, the old compass she found at Miss Moss’s for fifty cents, the Rapidograph pens she’d been given by an aunt or a godmother, the colored pens she wheedled whenever anyone went to the dentist or doctor or church or office of any kind whatsoever. She also loved maps and charts and had what their dad called a thoroueclectic collection of them pinned up all over her tiny wooden room: topographic maps of the mountain, of course, but also geologic charts, a map of the Zigzag River, a maritime map of Semiahmoo Bay in Washington that Miss Moss sold to Maria for three jokes about frogs, and a map of the interior of Dave’s brain that she had drawn for a school project and which her mom wanted to frame, but Maria said, no, it was only an accurate map on the day I drew it, and maps that are not accurate are only curiosities, not utilities.
It was upstairs in the bear den that night that Dave told Maria about seeing the marten in the tree canopy near the river. She was fascinated, and they pored over everything Dave could find online and in his wildlife atlases.
You wouldn’t believe how fast it whipped through the branches, said Dave. It was shocking fast. Faster than any squirrel, that’s for sure. I was going pretty fast, as fast as I can go downhill, and it was flying through the branches, and it didn’t even look like it was trying hard. And when I stopped, he stopped.
Or she.
Or she. Seemed like a guy, though.
Can I see it tomorrow?
If I see it again and you are nearby, I will signal to you, and you can come over without a sound.
Okay.
Okay.
Same signal as usual?
Yes.
The year Maria turned three years old, she and Dave had hatched a series of private signals, their own silent language, as Dave said. Left hand up meant pay attention ; left hand balled meant caution ; left hand flat meant come over without a sound . Signals with the right hand mostly meant people , and there were a whole array of these, mostly having to do with their parents: tension in the kitchen; Give Dad a break—he’s weary; Be careful—Mom is worried about something; Don’t say anything about money . There were two signals made with both hands: one meant I love you , although neither Dave nor Maria used that phrase and instead would say something like You are slightly better to have around than a bad cold if they had to put the message into words; and the other meant, essentially, Let me be alone for a while . The first signal was two open hands placed against your chest; the second was two closed hands huddled against your chest like two tiny locked rooms.
14
AS JULY
Afraid to ask.
Accountant. I kept telling him that he should be a professional ironist or absurdist, but he said he liked to eat.
* * *
Dave and Maria slept upstairs in the cabin, Maria in the bear den, the half of the room with the roof slanting down sharply, and Dave in a sort of loft on his half of the room. Dave and his dad had discussed walling off the bear den with cedar planks or even building a wall of cedar down the middle of the room to give each child privacy, but Dave voted against both, as he liked puttering around with Maria, and Maria voted both down, on account of she liked talking to Dave and wandering into the bear den. Also, the den had the only upstairs window, which sometimes was obscured by snow so that the room had a gentle silvery cast to it. Dave and his dad did wall off the bottom of Maria’s bunk bed with cedar, so she had a tiny wooden room for doing homework, which she loved, even though her homework to date had been mostly art projects and elementary alphabet stuff. Dave thought Maria actually liked the homeworkness of homework, so to speak, rather than the actual or ostensible learning effect of homework—she liked rulers and graph paper, pencils and pencil sharpeners, the old calculator she had purchased from their mom for ten dishwashing nights, the old compass she found at Miss Moss’s for fifty cents, the Rapidograph pens she’d been given by an aunt or a godmother, the colored pens she wheedled whenever anyone went to the dentist or doctor or church or office of any kind whatsoever. She also loved maps and charts and had what their dad called a thoroueclectic collection of them pinned up all over her tiny wooden room: topographic maps of the mountain, of course, but also geologic charts, a map of the Zigzag River, a maritime map of Semiahmoo Bay in Washington that Miss Moss sold to Maria for three jokes about frogs, and a map of the interior of Dave’s brain that she had drawn for a school project and which her mom wanted to frame, but Maria said, no, it was only an accurate map on the day I drew it, and maps that are not accurate are only curiosities, not utilities.
It was upstairs in the bear den that night that Dave told Maria about seeing the marten in the tree canopy near the river. She was fascinated, and they pored over everything Dave could find online and in his wildlife atlases.
You wouldn’t believe how fast it whipped through the branches, said Dave. It was shocking fast. Faster than any squirrel, that’s for sure. I was going pretty fast, as fast as I can go downhill, and it was flying through the branches, and it didn’t even look like it was trying hard. And when I stopped, he stopped.
Or she.
Or she. Seemed like a guy, though.
Can I see it tomorrow?
If I see it again and you are nearby, I will signal to you, and you can come over without a sound.
Okay.
Okay.
Same signal as usual?
Yes.
The year Maria turned three years old, she and Dave had hatched a series of private signals, their own silent language, as Dave said. Left hand up meant pay attention ; left hand balled meant caution ; left hand flat meant come over without a sound . Signals with the right hand mostly meant people , and there were a whole array of these, mostly having to do with their parents: tension in the kitchen; Give Dad a break—he’s weary; Be careful—Mom is worried about something; Don’t say anything about money . There were two signals made with both hands: one meant I love you , although neither Dave nor Maria used that phrase and instead would say something like You are slightly better to have around than a bad cold if they had to put the message into words; and the other meant, essentially, Let me be alone for a while . The first signal was two open hands placed against your chest; the second was two closed hands huddled against your chest like two tiny locked rooms.
14
AS JULY
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