David Marusek - The Earth Is On The Mend.pdf - David Marusek - margozap

The Earth Is On The Mend

by David Marusek

Asimov's Science Fiction, May 1993

€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€The old man in the squirrel-pelt parka stopped to

pull

the club from his belt. The malemute, harnessed to the small sled,

stopped

behind him. The man stepped off the trail and wallowed through deep

snow

to the thicket of scrub willow. The dog, mindful of her traces, tamped

snow underfoot, made one tight circle, and lay down. Before she could

nap,

the man returned with a frozen snowshoe hare. "Three!" he said to the

dog.

"What does that mean, eh?" He scratched the dog behind an ear. "It

means

the Earth is on the mend, it does. And what does the dog say to that?"

The

dog stood up and wagged her tail. "I see," said the old man, "the dog

says

this time you'd better not piss it all away."

€€€

The next snare lay alongside the trail. The hare was still alive. It

huddled calmly at the end of its tight necklace. "Four," whispered the

old

man as he stepped slowly next to it. "Ah, little bunny," he crooned,

"we

came quick as we could." The hare stared with bright brown eyes. "And

what

does the bunny say?" The man raised his club. "The bunny says, 'I know;

know. Just do it.'"

€€€

Black spruce trees teetered drunkenly under the load of snow. The land

beneath the ridge lay in shadow. There, on the white expanse of a

frozen

lake, moved a black shape. "A moose?" said the old man. "Nah, dream

on."

He studied the shape's movements.

"A man!"

He led the dog down to a rocky promontory overlooking the lake, careful

not to break cover. He watched the man push a mound of snow off a

fishing

hole, chip away the new ice lens, and check the line. Empty. "It's a

fisherman who wears a bearskin parka," he told the dog. "Nice mukluks

too."

The next hole was near their hiding place, so the old man put his arm

around the dog's neck and stroked her muzzle. "I thought we checked

this

lake," he whispered into her ear. After a minute he added, "We did.

It's

dead." When the fisherman pulled a long, black fish out of the hole,

the

old man craned to see. "Ling cod," he whispered. "My oh my."

The fisherman checked fifteen more holes, adding another fish to his

catch

before leaving the lake. It was dusk when the old man led the dog to

the

nearest hole. He cleared it and pulled up the line. The line was made

from

sinew, except for the leader which was a yard of monofilament. He

showed

it to the dog. "Look at this, will you. And this." The hook was made of

stainless steel and baited with a quarter trout. "Dolly Varden." He

dropped the line back into the hole, changed his mind, and pulled it up

again. "Don't you dare tell anyone," he said as he removed the bait,

bit

off a mouthful, and tossed the remainder to the dog.

€€€

The fisherman's trail weaved among snow-choked hills. When darkness

fell,

the old man let the dog lead the way. The smell of woodsmoke told him

they

were near.

The hut was built of poles and caribou skins and heaped with earth. A

wannigan of arched snow blocks served as entrance. The old man stashed

the

sled behind a pair of birch trees not far from this entrance and

unharnessed the dog. He fastened his parka and hood and sat on the

sled.

The dog curled up at his feet. After an hour or so, the moon came out

and

revealed the yard in pale light. There were drying racks and two small

outbuildings. There was a food cache slung between two giant white

spruce.

There was a woodpile and chopping block. Two pairs of skis leaned

against

the wannigan. Every now and then a voice or laugh could be heard from

inside the hut. "That means he's not alone," said the old man.

He led the dog on a tour around the hut. There were no tracks behind it

and, as best as he could tell, no back door. There was no dog yard or

sign

of dog. One of the outbuildings had a door with leather hinges. Inside

were old tools: a shovel, a scythe, axes, a bow saw, and more. There

were

coils of rope, piles of caribou hide, and a crate of metal scraps.

"Clearly, he's a man of wealth and industry," said the old man. "But

who

invited him? I didn't. Did you?" He eased the door shut. "He's got to

go,

I think. At least that's my take on the situation. What does the dog

say

to that? The dog says it's that whole resource management thing all

over

again."

Someone came out of the hut, a woman leading a child by the hand. The

old

man and dog stood still and watched as she helped the child pee in the

snow next to the wannigan. The woman laughed. She sent the child back

into

the hut, then squatted in the same spot, peed quickly and hurried back

inside.

"Did you see that?" said the old man. "A family. Did you see it? What a

tragedy. What a shame." He went back to the sled and pulled a carbine

from

under the cover. "We don't have many rounds left. I was saving them for

something big we could eat." He pulled off his hood and overmitts. He

cracked his knuckles. "Then again, maybe we should sleep on it. What

does

the dog say?"

The dog's ears went erect, and she snuffled the air. "What is it?" said

the old man. Then he smelled it too, a new odor mixed with the

woodsmoke.

"Jesus," he cried, "cod skin on a hot griddle, getting all crisp and

wonderful." He sat down on the sled. "Yes, and long, fat slabs of cod

liver just dripping with oil. Dripping big greasy drops of oil." He

stood

up. "I've made up my mind." He returned the carbine to the sled and

reached for the game sack.

The old man stood in front of the wannigan. "Hello, the house," he

shouted. When there was no reply, he shouted again, "Hello, the house."

Then he heard a click next to him. The fisherman was aiming a pistol at

his head from ten paces. The dog growled. "Now she growls," said the

old

man. To the fisherman he said, "Where'd you pop up from?"

The fisherman said, "Put your hands where I can see them."

"Glad to oblige." The old man spread his arms out. In each hand he held

snowshoe hare. "I make damn good company," he said. "What do you say to

that?"

- end -

STEAL NOT FROM ME! Contact me for permission to copy my work, either online

hard copy.

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David Marusek - The Earth Is On The Mend.pdf

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