The Weight of Silence. Heather Gudenkauf

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СКАЧАТЬ hear a rustle of movement and turn to see Ben sitting on the steps. At a quick glance he could be mistaken for Griff, with his broad shoulders and strawberry hair. Except for the eyes. Ben has soft, quiet eyes.

      “Ben,” I say, “Calli and Petra went off somewhere and we need to find them. Where could they have gone?”

      “The woods,” he says simply. “I’m going to go do my paper route. Then I’ll go look for them.”

      “I’ll call to have some officers check out the woods near the backyard. One hour,” Louis says again. “We’ll talk in one hour.”

      BEN

      This morning I woke up real fast, my heart slamming against my chest. I was dreaming that stupid dream again. The one when you and me are climbing the old walnut tree in the woods. The one by Lone Tree Bridge. I’m boosting you up like I always do and you’re reaching up for a branch, your nail-bitten fingers white from holding on so tight. I’m crabbing at you to hurry up because I don’t have all day. You’re up and I’m watching from below. The climb is easier for you now; the branches are closer together, fat sturdy ones. You’re going higher and higher until I can only see your bony knees, then just your tennis shoes. I’m hollering up at you, “You’re too high, Calli, come back down! You’re gonna fall!” Then you’re gone. I can’t see you anymore. And I’m thinking, I am in so much trouble. Then I hear a voice calling down to me, “Climb on up, Ben! You gotta see this! Come on, Ben, come on!”

      And I know it’s you yelling, even though I don’t know what you really sound like anymore. You keep yelling and yelling, and I can’t climb. I want to, but I can’t grab on to the lowest branch, it’s too high. I call back, “Wait for me! Wait for me! What do you see, Calli?” Then I woke up, all sweaty. But not the hot kind of sweaty, the cold kind that makes your head hurt and your stomach knot all up. I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn’t.

      Now you’ve gone off somewhere and somehow I feel guilty, like it’s my fault. You’re okay for a little sister, but a big responsibility. I always have to look after you. Do you remember when I was ten and you were five? Mom had us walk to the bus stop together. She said, “Look after Calli, Ben.” And I said okay, but I didn’t, not really, not at first.

      I was starting fifth grade and I was much too cool to be babysitting a kindergartener. I held your hand to the end of our lane, just to the spot where Mom couldn’t see us from the kitchen window anymore. Then I shook my hand free from yours and ran as fast as I could to where the bus would pick us up. I made sure to look back and to check to see if you were still coming. I have to give you credit, your skinny kindergarten legs were running and your brand-new pink backpack was bouncing on your shoulders, but you couldn’t keep up. You tripped over that big old crack in the gutter in front of the Olson house, and you went crashing down.

      I almost came back for you, I really did. But along came Raymond and I didn’t come back to you, I just didn’t. When you finally got to the bus stop, the bus was just pulling up and your knee was all bloody and the purple barrette that Mom put in your hair was dangling from one little piece of your hair. You budged right in front of all the kids in line for the bus to stand next to me and I pretended you weren’t even there. When we climbed on the bus, I sat down with Raymond. You just stood in the aisle, waiting for me to scootch over and make room for you, but I turned my back on you to talk to Raymond. The kids behind you started yelling, “hurry up” and “sit down,” so you finally slid into the seat across from me and Raymond. You were all nudged up to the window, your legs too short to reach the floor, a little river of blood running down your shin. You wouldn’t even look at me for the rest of the night. Even after supper, when I offered to tell you a story, you just shrugged your shoulders at me and left me sitting at the kitchen table all by myself.

      I know I was pretty rotten to you that day, but on a guy’s first day of fifth grade first impressions are really important. I tried to make it up to you. In case you didn’t know, I was the one who put the Tootsie Rolls under your pillow that night. I’m sorry, not watching out for you those first few weeks of school. But you know all about that, being sorry and having no words to say something when you know you should but you just can’t.

      CALLI

      Griff sat with his back propped up against one of the aged willows, his head lolled forward, eyes closed, his powerful fingers still wrapped around Calli’s wrist. Calli squirmed uncomfortably on the hard, uneven ground beneath the willow. The stench of urine pricked at her nose and a wave of shame washed over her. She should run now, she thought. She was fast and knew every twist and turn of the woods; she could easily lose her father. She slowly tried to pull her arm from his clawlike clasp, but in his light sleep he grasped her even tighter. Calli’s shoulders slumped and she settled back against her side of the tree.

      She liked to imagine what it would be like to stay out in the woods with no supplies, what her brother called “roughin’ it.” Ben knew everything about the Willow Creek Woods. He knew that the woods were over fourteen thousand acres big and extended into two counties. He told her that the forest was made up mostly of limestone and sandstone and was a part of the Paleozoic Plateau, which meant that glaciers had never moved through their part of Iowa. He also showed her where to find the red-shouldered hawk, an endangered bird that not even Ranger Phelps had seen before. She had only been out here a few hours and it was enough for her. Normally the woods were her favorite place to go, a quiet spot where she could think, wander and explore. She and Ben often pretended to set up camp here in Willow Wallow. Ben would lug a thermos of water and Calli would carry the snacks, bags of salty chips and thick ropes of licorice for them to munch on. Ben would arrange sticks and brushwood into a large circular pile and surround them with stones for their bonfire. They never actually lit a fire, but it was fun to pretend. They would stick marshmallows on the end of green twigs and “roast” them over their fire. Ben used to pull out his pocketknife and try to whittle utensils out of thin branches he would find on the ground. He had carved out two spoons and a fork before the blade had slipped and he sliced his hand, needing six stitches. Their mother had taken the knife away after that, saying he could have it back in a few years. Ben handed it over grudgingly. Lately, instead of carving out the silverware, she and Ben smuggled dishes and tableware from their own kitchen. Under the largest of the willows Ben had constructed a small little cupboard out of old boards and hammered it to the tree. They kept their household goods there. Once, trying to plan ahead, they had placed a box of crackers and a package of cookies on the shelf. When they returned a few days later, they found that something had been there before them, probably a raccoon, but Ben said, in a teasing voice, it also could have been a bear. Calli hadn’t really believed that, but it was fun to pretend that a mama bear was out there somewhere, feeding her cubs Chips Ahoy cookies and Wheat Thins.

      She wondered if her mother had noticed that she was gone yet, wondered if she was worried about her, looking for her. Calli’s stomach rumbled and she hastily placed her free hand over it, willing it to silence. Maybe there was something to eat in the cupboard two trees over. Griff snorted, his eyes fluttered open and he settled his gaze on Calli’s face.

      “You reek,” he said meanly, unaware of his own smell, a combination of liquor, perspiration and onions. “Come on, let’s get going. We’ve got a family reunion to attend. Which way do we go?”

      Calli considered this. She could lie, lead him deeper into the forest, and then make a break for it when she had the chance, or she could show him the correct route and get it over with. The second choice prevailed. She was already hungry and tired, and she wanted to go home. She pointed a thin, grubby finger back the way they had come.

      “Get up,” Griff commanded.

      Calli scrambled to her feet, Griff let go of СКАЧАТЬ