Hail Mary

The man lay prone on the edge of thick woods sighting down the scope of a thirty-aught six hunting rifle. Snow flurries melted on the back of his neck. For an unknown reason, and mixed with the smell of pine and gun oil, the phrase ‘veil of an endless winter’ entered his mind. He shook his head. Poetry is the vice of fools, he scoffed. 

Through the compressed distance the telescopic lens thickened the falling snow, proving the chalk house a quarter kilometer away a miraged dream. A woman came out on the porch centered in the crosshairs. As if something caught her attention, she glanced quickly in the man’s direction. She studied the woods for a long time. They stared back at one another, she in the glass from opposing distance, he a foreign and ominous presence.

He stripped off his camouflage clothing, his muscles taunt. After switching out to jeans, a black polar tech, and civilian hiking boots, he broke down the rifle, then wrapped the sections carefully in white cloth. He stuffed the bundle into his knapsack. Before he tied up the pack, he pulled out a clear plastic sleeve containing a yellowed file. Within it, he flipped through multiple pages, stopping at an aged copy of a driver’s license, the photo a man with long white hair. He tapped the image, his forefinger protruding from a fingerless leather black glove. He then said out loud, “Gotcha, you son of a bitch.”

“Do you have food?” he asked the woman who answered the oak plank door. She was gaunt and scanned over the man’s head to the woods. She’s beautiful, he thought. Is she thirty-five, or fifty?

She looked the man over. “We can give you food for work, but not long.”

“Ok.”

“What are you?”

“I’m Tavi.”

“No. I mean, what are you?”

“Bannock. I’m Bannock.”

“Did you come from Twin Falls? The reservation?”

“No. No one comes from there anymore.”

“We need you to bury cattle. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

Days went by and the man slept in the barn and spent his time chipping at frozen ground, digging holes, maws in the earth. There were over fifty carcasses in a field, bloated, and gray-white. The work didn’t bother him. It took his mind off remembering the night the white flash struck the horizon, safely at home, a Netflix series on TV. His wife was reading in a pink robe, his son in his bedroom. His first thought was, ‘why didn’t I ever buy a gun?’. The impact wave struck the house, sweeping it away as easy as fine cutlery off a table, and as luck would have it, leaving him without a scratch, but alone. Sooner than he could have ever imagined he was arrested by men coming to his tent in the camps. ‘You’re a terrorist,’ accused the broken and terrified faces, neighbors he’d hugged at Christmas parties. The only way to prove he wasn’t the enemy was learning how to fire a gun, learning how to point a finger at other people, learning how not to feel anything while passing ash laden bodies hanging in nooses. ‘How can I live with myself?’ he’d ask the ghost of his wife. ‘You can’t,’ she’d say. ‘Just come home.’

*

“He cares nothing about us. You’re too young to understand,” the old woman said to the boy. "And why should he care? He’ll slit our throats right here in the kitchen.” The old woman, her daughter Faith, and the boy, were eating dinner. Faith cut ribs, separating the bones by hacking at them with a meat cleaver. The boy’s face glistened badly where on one side his flesh lay in white scared rivulets.

“Just stop.” Faith said to her mother. "He's only twelve."

No one spoke for over a minute while the old woman stared at Faith cutting the meat. “He’s scum, you know. Only an Indian would bury livestock for a living.” With her elbows spread wide, her pincered teeth darted back and forth, pecking small pieces of flesh. A white bone in her greasy skeleton hands.

“What makes you so sure he’s trouble? Maybe he’s been sent to help us.”

“Now you’ve got the sickness to think that.”

“I don’t imagine we need to worry he’ll kill us while we sleep. Do you think that? Really?”

“Damn right I do. That’s exactly what he’ll do if we’re not careful.” Faith’s mother spit out a piece of pink grizzle. “Your brother will be back soon. He’ll tell us what to do.”

*

“What’s that?” the boy called from the porch. Tavi held a football, flipping it in his hands. He threw the leather ball to the boy, who fumbled and dropped it. 

“I’m not very good,” the boy said.

“Sure you are. Pass it to me.” Tavi moved away from the porch. The boy was thin and moved like a young man and Tavi’s face grimaced remembering a day when the sky was blue and fall leaves yellow and red. I only dream in color, he thought. The boy threw him the ball.

“Better. You are good. Now you run out.”

The boy hesitated, moved off the porch, and jogged out ten paces. “Throw it, Tavi!”

“Go way back.” Tavi held the ball high in a poise, like a statue getting ready to launch the ball. Holding the stance, and with a radio announcer's voice, he said, “Listeners, he’s going out for the big play, still two points behind. Will the Saints have a last gasp to win the game? Tavi braced himself. “He’s throwing a Hail Mary! The crowd roars!” 

The boy ran well into the yard and Tavi threw deep, the ball arching through the gray sky. The boy reached his fingers and bobbled the ball, tipping it up into the air. It then fell into his arms.

“Score! The boy hero wins the game!”

The boy’s smile broke broadly and he came back to the porch. He handed the ball to Tavi. “There’s no more football.”

“But there is. We’re the proof, aren’t we?”

“I guess. But it’s not the same.”

Tavi put his arm around the boy’s neck. He pulled him close.

Laughing, the boy hugged Tavi. 

Tavi winced. "I…I…". He burst out crying. “Just go in the house, will you? Godammit!”

The boy cowered, his eyes wide. He ran to the house and slammed the screen door.

Soon Faith came out, but Tavi was nearly retuned to the barn. Is this what it’s come to? she asked herself. Am I so desperate I’d let my son be abused by a stranger who barely talks? No, even with your life stripped away you still have something, your son. He is the only pure honesty left, what keeps you alive.

She plodded to the barn and then leaned against the barn door. Tavi’s shirt was off and he was pumping water into a bucket. Scars covered his back like lost highways on some map no one used anymore. 

“You don’t yell at my son,” Faith said.

Tavi glanced up. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s your problem?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not enough. If you want to stay, you need to tell me.”

“It’s nothing, ok?”

"What? Tell me!"

Tavi put his shirt back on. "Jason reminds me of my son. It's hard for me, that's all." 

A minute passed. “I'm sorry, but that’s still no reason. What did you do before the war?”

“I worked in a fishery near Stanley. We would spawn salmon and release them into the river.”

“Why would you do that?”

“We would count the few that returned. They traveled hundreds of miles from the ocean to get back. The lake is called Redfish for when my people lived there. The lake was red with the fish.”

“Do you think there’s still fish?”

“I don’t know, but I’d like to find out. They say the deer may have returned also, some elk.”

“Life is still out there. People survived.”

“Just luck in my case, Faith. Bad luck.”

“Maybe something else.”

“I don’t believe in anything but luck.”

“But you don’t know, do you? Maybe there’s something else other than luck.”

“That sounds like a stretch, Faith. I used to think we’re meant to leave something better for those to follow. I don’t believe that anymore.”

“Something better for those to follow? We didn’t do such a wonderful job, did we?”

“What about you? Is there anywhere you’d like to go?”

“I’ll stay here. My brother takes care of us, food, fuel. Without him we’d be in a camp I suppose. You’ll like him. He’ll be here in a few days.”

Tavi reached out and touched a place on Faith’s cheek. He caressed her with his fingers, then reached behind her and braced the back of her neck. He showed no emotion, like stroking a cardboard box, his eyes curious, remembering.

Finally, Faith said, “It’s been a long time. I’ve aged... You might not—”

“You don’t know who I am, Faith. My advice is to run.”

They stood facing each other, then Faith began pulling away. Tavi gently held her neck.

Finally, Faith leaned in and grazed Tavi’s ear with her lips. “There’s a place for you in the house. There’s still room, at least for hope, isn’t there?”

*

Tavi woke from a dream where he was wearing snow shoes in thick snow over ice. He was breaking trail and his wife was behind him in a red winter jacket. The sun was bright, and she laughed at something he said. With a grunt, she broke through the ice and then clawed at the edge where the hole had broken through. She soon slipped under. Tavi stripped off his jacket and dove into the hole. As he pulled down with his arms into the ice water, his body felt numb, but he still kicked his legs with everything he had, swimming deeper. At last, the red jacket was just beneath him, his wife reaching to him from below in the pale light. “Swim dammit, swim! Grab my hand.”

Faith lay next to him in the dawn white of winter. She was shoving his shoulder. “There are men on the porch.”

As Faith and Tavi came downstairs, they saw two men talking to the old woman.

One man towered over her. He wore a Kevlar vest and leaned in. “We’ve got him, so this is a simple trade, if you think about it.”

The old woman held a small pistol in her hand. “Jessie, take your boy and get off my property.”

The younger one moved to go. He wore a vest also, but both the vest and the camouflage clothing didn’t fit, more clown-like than threatening.

Jessie scowled down at the old woman. “You telling us you don’t want him?”

“He’s my son. You think I don’t want him?”

The man put his hand on the big revolver on his side. “You give us what Joe told us you have, or we’ll start carving on him. We aren’t in high school anymore.”

The screen door squeaked and Tavi came out of the house. He stood by the old woman’s side. Tavi glanced at the AR-15, auto fed, that the younger man had slung over his shoulder. It dangled on a lanyard. 

Jessie glanced at Tavi. “Who the hell is this?” 

“You get out of here. Now,” the old woman said.

The two men walked away and Tavi and the old woman went back into the house. They gathered in the living room with the boy and Faith. 

“Why didn’t you shoot him, Grandma?” asked the boy. He went to the window and peered through. “That’s Jessie Rollins.”

“Yes, it is,” said the old woman. “Now move away from the window.”

“What did they mean by saying they have Joe?” Faith asked.

The old woman checked the handgun for bullets, a small .22 pistol. “They have our Joe, holding him out there. But I’m not giving them anything. It’s all we have keeping us from a camp. You can’t imagine Faith, what Joe says is going on.”

“He’s family. It’s a trade, isn’t it?”

“I’m just doing what he’d do to us. He’s as dog eat dog as I am and knows how it is.”

Tavi entered the room carrying his pack. It was full, his feet heavy on the wood slats. The scoped rifle was strapped in a sling over his shoulder and he wore camouflaged fatigues. In front of the old woman, he said, “I’ll be needing your pistol.” 

The old woman grabbed for the gun, but Tavi held her wrist while he twisted it out of her hand. He then tucked it in the rear of his pants.

The boy had tears in his eyes. “Tavi?”  

Tavi went to the window. He stared for a long time. And then in a quick motion he turned over the yellow pine table on its side, dishes shattering, and dragged it to the window. He grabbed a chair, crouched on the seat, and lay the rifle barrel on the edge of the table. Leaning into the scope the staked-out man fifty yards away came into focus. It had stopped snowing and the crosshairs remained steady on the man’s head, resolute and sharp. The man’s hair was long, and white.

“There’s your humanity!” the old woman screamed at Faith. “You see it now, don’t you darling?”

Tavi lifted the rifle. “Jason, come here.” He dragged over another chair. “I’m going to go out there and draw those men out of the woods. When you see the smaller man come out with the rifle he intends to kill me. Do you understand that? You shoot him, ok? Don’t think about it, just pull the trigger. Here, place your eye on the scope like this. Do you think you can do it?” He passed the rifle to Jason. 

“Yes, sir.”

*

Tavi slowly crossed the yard to the edge of the clearing. He approached the man on the ground.

The boy crouched at the window. “Come on. Come on. Come on,” he mumbled to himself as he steadied the rifle, bracing the stock with his shoulder. 

The old woman paced behind him. “You can’t shoot squat.” She shoved Jason and put her hands on the barrel. “Give it to me.”

Jason pushed her away and sighted again out the window.

Tavi came to the man staked down. He was moaning in the gray ash snow, his face bleeding and bruised. Long white hair streamed down his back, matted and wet. Tavi stared down at him and prodded him with his boot. “Do you know who I am?”

The man on the snow stared back at Tavi with blank eyes. Tavi reached down and cut him loose and the man rose and staggered towards the house.

Jessie came out of the woods. “What are you doing? Where’s our trade, big man?”

Tavi stood up. “I’m the trade. Me for him.”

“We’ll take you, him, and anything they’ve got,” Jessie said. “Plus, we’ll step in where you left off with Faith, you might say.”

The old woman jostled Jason, tugging on the barrel. “Give me that thing."

Again, Jason pushed his grandmother away, jerked the rifle back, his whole body shaking as he crouched behind the scope. He took his eye off the lens to wipe the sweat out of his eyes.

“Give me the gun, dammit boy!” 

The boy thrust his body against the old woman and she sprawled to the floor. He put his eye to the scope, put the crosshairs on the man, and pulled the trigger. 

Faith heard the CLICK of the gun and with the empty sound her heart thumped, just once, like her insides were collapsing hard in her chest.

Jason dropped the rifle, ran to the door, and then stood on the porch. “Tavi!” His arms flailing, he leaped into the yard.

“No, don’t!” Faith screamed. “Don’t you go!”

Jason ran towards Tavi, his legs driving through the snow, white bursting around him, the ash kicking up underneath.  

The younger man squinted at the lunatic boy whirlpooling his arms coming straight at him, a howling apparition from hell, scars red aflame on his face. He lifted the AR-15 to his shoulder and swung the barrel.

Tavi grabbed the rifle and threw his back into him and with both hands he forced the gun toward Jessie who screamed as jackhammer bullets stitched across his belly. The younger man was behind Tavi now and he felt a blade slide into his back, slick and deep, the pain piercing to his spine. He fell away and turned as he hit the ground and reached the pistol behind his back and fired into the young man.

Tavi dreamed. The water was deep, a pure crystal blue. He pulled with his arms and kicked as hard as he could to fight, to descend. He tasted salt. And then his wife was there in her red jacket and broad-faced smile reaching to him from below. The water was warm as he went deeper, so very warm. She stretched to him, her face with such a smile. “Grab my hand,” she said, and he did. They began swimming against the current.