In the morning, no one could remember why two of them had quarreled.

The ambulance is parked in front of Alex’s house. The attendants are carrying out Eddie’s body. Two feet are sticking out from under the red blanket. They are still wearing the big logger’s boots.

Outside, no one is around except for the police, but dark eyes watch from behind the windows.

10

I ROLL MY cigarette nice and tight to save on tobacco. It’s my third one this morning. I close my eyes and lean back to soak up the sun like a lizard on a rock.

Suddenly I hear the grinding gears of William’s old pickup. His family hasn’t been issued a house yet, so he’s moved in with his wife’s family. Lots of people have done the same thing. In some houses there are as many as twenty people sleeping on the floor.

I peer out and see him slowly make his way around Vincent’s dead pickup. The street is busy even though it’s still early. Kids are up and playing with their plastic trucks and tractors in the wet sand.

Now I can make out William’s head and shoulders. He holds himself stiffly, his head upright. He’s wearing his cowboy hat. I get the impression he’s having a hard time driving.

William is a little older than me. We went to residential school together. We’re friends, but we don’t get together often because we remind each other too much of those dark years.

William is on his way home from driving his wife Nancy to the band office, where she works as a secretary. But instead of driving right by, he parks in front of my porch.

His window is open and there’s a strong smell of alcohol coming from the cab. He turns off the engine, and for awhile we don’t say anything.

Then he hands me a small flask wedged between his thighs.

“Here, have a swig,” he says.

I shake my head.

He looks at me, and I notice his eyes are glassy.

“Too good to drink out of the same bottle?”

“No, no! It’s just that hard stuff makes me sick.”

“You don’t drink with me, it means you’re not a true Indian.”

“Sure, okay.”

I take a drink and pass the bottle back to him. He takes a swallow and grins. He seems happy now.

“Know what we should do, Nipishish? Go into the woods this fall. I still have land that belonged to my father. We can hunt…moose, bear, trap some beaver, maybe some otter… My father always told me there’s so many fish in these lakes that they’ll break your nets…”

He stops to take another drink. A long silence goes by.

“It costs money to hunt,” I say. “The canoe, the rifles, ammunition, food. It’s not like the old days…”

“I know! Sometimes I wonder if we weren’t better off in the residential school!”

I don’t know what to say.

He takes another gulp.