“Amak, no. I have to stay. He did this to you!” I turn and head toward their bedroom. “I’ll kill him. I swear I’ll slice his lily-white nuts in half. Right here. Right now!” She grabs my arm tight and spins me around.

“You have to leave now. Here are your keys. He drove me to town to pick up your car and that’s when he did this. Right there in the parking lot. Get outta here! Don’t ever come back—you hear me?”

I can’t stop myself from saying it. I stare hard at her and say, “Well, at least he didn’t break your fucking nose!”

When I open the door, there sit Tom and Lance. They stand and wrap their strong young arms around me. I point to the old Ford. They nod and we all get in. The boys have packed my stuff and theirs. Nobody sings about driving on the Ghost River Road as we drive back to the tiny town with the country moon clear and bright. Lighting our way to freedom.

Kunak

Kunak sat on the sidewalk. His ass ached from the cold that lay inside the concrete. A cold sensation crawled up his spine like maggots chewing their way through his body. He knew if he tried to stand, his knees would creak and crackle. Standing was getting harder these days. His brown hand flapped a Jays ball cap up and down. Panhandling was like jigging for fish. Watching the heels of the people walking past him, Kunak sang, “Come little fish, come little fish. Fill up my hat with loonies. They will make me strong. They will make me happy. Come little fish, come.” The ball cap flopped up and down and from side to side in tune with Kunak’s song.

Plunk! He got one!

“Ma’na ataatattiaq,” Kunak whispered. He always thanked his grandfather when coins dropped into his ball cap. Once, Kunak knew Grandpa was close by him, but these days Gramps seemed far, far away. Kunak longed for him. His Gramps who gave him all he ever needed. When Kunak closed his eyes, he could see the days out on the ice with his Grandpa Chevy. Chevy would come into Kunak’s bedroom early in the day and wake up him up by cupping the sides of Kunak’s face into his old hands. The leathery softness of Chevy’s fingertips stroked Kunak’s face to the beat of his song of expectation. The song that said the fish were waiting for them.

“Irngutaq, my boy, the fish are calling our names. Irngutaq, my boy, iqaluk are singing for us. They want us to catch them and nirijuguk. They will make us strong. Open up your eyes.” Kunak could see the old man hunched over his face, singing the song a little louder each time, his patience sliding away while waiting for his grandson to open his eyes.