Caribou Island
- Автор: Vann David
- Год: 2011
- Язык: испанский
- Год: Harper
- Жанр: Современная русская и зарубежная проза
Электронная книга - «Caribou Island». Краткое содержание книги:
But this island is not right for Irene. They are building without plans or advice, and when winter comes early, the overwhelming isolation of the prehistoric wilderness threatens their bond to the core. Caught in the emotional maelstrom is their adult daughter, Rhoda, who is wrestling with the hopes and disappointments of her own life. Devoted to her parents, she watches helplessly as they drift further apart.
Brilliantly drawn and fiercely honest, Caribou Island captures the drama and pathos of a husband and wife whose bitter love, failed dreams, and tragic past push them to the edge of destruction. A portrait of desolation, violence, and the darkness of the soul, it is an explosive and unforgettable novel from a writer of limitless possibility.
Because I can’t remember my parents, not even one moment.
No one said anything then for a while, so Irene looked out her side window at rock and trees, the rough flanks of mountains. These rocks tell us as much about ourselves as our memories do, she said.
The rocks a kind of sign of all that was true in the world, Irene thought. In layers and bands, identifiable, organized, but all of it was in fact meaningless. Formed under pressure for millions or billions of years, heaved upward, bent and sheared, all to no effect. The rocks were only what they were. There was nothing awaiting them, and they were not part of a story.
We live and die, Irene said. And it doesn’t matter whether we remember who we are or where we came from. It was another life.
I don’t think that’s true, Mom.
You’re still young.
I’m still trying to remember, Gary said. And all I can remember are the tense moments. Those are the only ones that stay. Playing pinochle, and my dad had a lay-down hand, but I didn’t understand it, so I said something like, Wait, how did that happen, and then my dad said, Are you accusing me of cheating? I remember he said exactly that, and I remember how his face looked, unforgiving. He’d already decided, and whatever I said or my mom said didn’t matter.
You remember, Irene said. You really do remember.
Yeah. And other moments, too, but only tense ones for some reason. My dad offering to pay me five cents per walnut to pick them up out of the front yard, and my mom saying, Doug, that’s too much, and how worried she looked, and how that made me feel afraid for some reason, like something terrible was going to happen. My earliest worry about money, I think. I remember what her face looked like then.
Irene put her hand on Gary’s shoulder. Thank you, she said. I believe those. And I don’t know why I can’t remember even one myself.
You must have at least a few, Gary said.
No. I really don’t.
I have a zillion memories of you guys, Rhoda said. When I think back, it’s like you never shut up.
Gary laughed. Thanks, honey.
Irene smiled. She had never wanted to be a mother, not really, but she had gotten lucky with Rhoda. Not so lucky with Mark.
The road ahead, as they neared Anchorage, was clogged with motor homes, the last of the summer visitors. Some pulled over to look at waterfalls or the inlet. They were gathering back at Anchorage for the long drive down through Canada to the lower forty-eight. Snowbirds, heading back to Arizona and Florida.
What I can’t remember, Gary said, is my father ever talking about being part Cherokee.
He was part Cherokee? Rhoda asked.
Yeah, he was one-fourth. His father was half. You didn’t know that?
I didn’t know either, Irene said. What the hell.
I never said anything?
No, Rhoda and Irene both said.
Well he didn’t either. I found out from my mom.
You’re both freaks, Rhoda said. My parents are freaks. And I’m part Cherokee, apparently.
Only a sixteenth, Gary said. Sorry it isn’t more.
Gary turned on the radio then and they listened to old Beatles songs.
They had planned to stop for lunch before the doctor’s appointment, but with the traffic, they didn’t have time. Irene walked into the office dizzy from hunger as well as the meds. She hadn’t had anything to drink, either.
She was seen immediately, right at her appointment time, which was a new experience. Dr. Romano tall, dark, and handsome, grayed hair, a cleft chin. He had beautiful hands, full lips. Like some Roman statue.
He listened to Irene report her history and symptoms, then he put down his pen.
We’ll figure out what’s wrong, he said. Sometimes an infection in the sphenoid sinuses won’t show up in an X ray. They’re too far back, tucked in under your brain, so they don’t show up easily. I’d like you to do a CAT scan.
When can I do that? Irene asked. I’m guessing I need to come back here to Anchorage. I was really hoping to figure out something today.
I’ve already made the appointment, Dr. Romano said. And they’re next door. You can go right now.
Irene felt herself getting choked up. Not being treated like garbage by a doctor was a new experience for her. Wow, she finally managed to say. Thank you.
Within fifteen minutes, she was lying down in the scanner, trying to keep her head still, trying not to move too much from breathing. She kept her eyes closed so she wouldn’t panic from claustrophobia, but she could feel the cold presence of the machine in close as it whirred and clicked.
Gary drove them to lunch afterward. A greasy diner off the highway. Irene ordered halibut fish and chips.
They sat at a plastic table waiting for their food, looking out at the traffic. That was amazing, Irene said.
Yeah, Rhoda said. I can’t believe how quick it was. What a difference.
Frank should die a slow, painful death.
Irene, Gary said.
He should. He treats everyone like crap, and he’s incompetent. He should die.
Maybe a little extreme, Mom.
Irene smiled. Okay. Frank shall live. But I’m just so happy with Dr. Romano. He’ll figure out what’s happening, and I can get better and move on. At this point, I don’t care how awful the surgery might be. I need this pain to go away.
Did he talk about surgery? Rhoda asked.
Just told me the basics. It’s a week of lying down and having your nose packed, which sounds like hell, but then it’s basically over, just a few follow-up appointments.
Hm, Gary said. He was clearly uncomfortable hearing about this. He’d always been squeamish. Every time something happened to one of the kids, it was Irene on her own, from diapers to broken bones to drugs. Gary always found a way to disappear.
You’d better take care of me if I have the surgery, she said.
What? Gary asked.
You know what I’m saying. You always run when there’s anything unpleasant. But if I have this surgery, you’re going to be at my bedside every morning, noon, and night. I’m going to cough up phlegm and blood into your hand and you’re going to like it.
Geez, Irene.
I’m serious. None of your weak shit this time.
Mom, Rhoda said. I’m sure Dad’ll be there for you, and I will too.
You’ll be there, Irene said. But your dad will run. Hey, our food’s ready. I’ll go get it.
Sorry, Dad, Rhoda said when her mom was gone.
It’s okay. She’s just going a little crazy. Nothing new.
That’s not fair, Dad.
Who cares. Fair never matters. No one’s keeping track, as it turns out.
Dad.
Whatever.
Irene returned with a tray of fish and chips. You’ve been talking about me.
Well yeah, Rhoda said.
Irene dabbed at her fish with a napkin, which soaked through immediately. Enough oil? she asked. Then she took a bite with some ketchup. Frozen, she said. They’re using frozen halibut. Who uses frozen halibut?
It tastes all right, Gary said. Good enough, anyway.
Good enough, Irene said. Good enough. Your mantra through life.
Mom, Rhoda said.
And then they just ate. No one felt like talking more. They drove to a Motel 6, checked in, and went to their room.
I need to lie down, Irene said. She took another codeine and tried to sink into sleep. Rhoda took a nap on the other bed, asleep quickly, her breathing rough and heavy in the small room. Gary had gone off somewhere on a walk, disappearing again.
Irene was afraid of surgery, even the possibility of surgery. She’d asked about risks, and Romano said there was a risk of blindness, of hitting the optic nerve. That and possible death from the general anesthesia. And the bones in her head could become irritated and grow after the surgery, blocking everything off again. She didn’t really understand that, how a bone could grow, but apparently it could. And she wouldn’t be able to breathe through her nose for a week while it was packed. Meanwhile, her throat would be filling with blood. She felt claustrophobia already just thinking about it. Imagine not being able to swallow or breathe.