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Back The Hiawatha Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Notice
  4. Dedication
  5. PART ONE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. PART TWO
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. PART THREE
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. PART FOUR
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. Also by DAVID TREUER
  46. Copyright

So selfish. The first beautiful day in April and he has to go and ruin it. You want to lift the yellow tape and step close to the body. The man with the five-dollar bill is still wandering nearby and you ignore him, give him the cold shoulder. He, after all, could have asked the jumper why. Why will you jump? So you ignore him and you want to walk up to the body which is leaking blood onto the bubble gum tessera set into the concrete. The body has not moved and when the medics do lift him they will have to use long plastic boards like shovels to keep his body from slipping away like a feed sack. You want to ask, did you really mean it? Did you really mean to do it? But you refrain. It is, after all, a stupid question. He stepped, waved and winked. Rather, would he do it again? But you know the answer to that, too. If he could. If he could stand up and brush off his clothes and bow to the crowd, he would take the elevator and step out again. He would fall and fall. Each time adding a new twist, milling arms maybe. A swan dive, a backward leap. He would do it. You know that. He would jump, and will jump, as long as you close your eyes.

31

Betty is surprised at how slowly spring comes up north. She’d forgotten to notice the turn in the city, left behind memories of how the seasons graded into one another, just as she’d left her old life to start a new one. It is almost May and she inspects the poplars. The leaves haven’t begun to bud yet. She is taken aback and quickly checks the ditches to see if the cattails have risen, and scans the fields and sure enough, no green to be seen anywhere.

She sits in Boo’s kitchen and gauges the changes outside the window. Boo tries to fight her melancholy with suggestions he knows she has already thought of and dismissed.

“Maybe you need to go back to work. Maybe that’d help. You get a job at the school or the clinic, no problem.”

She turns from the window and fixes him with a stare.

“Just cause you feel bad for telling Lincoln the truth don’t mean you gotta try and get me off my ass.”

Boo shakes his head. “Look, Auntie, it ain’t your fault either, so don’t be flickin me shit.” He says it without anger, without blame.

He leaves, walking slowly up the road toward town with a garbage bag over his shoulder, hoping to collect enough cans to sell for a six-pack of beer.