Tim OBrien - Northern Lights

One

W ide awake and restless, Paul Milton Perry clawed away the sheets and swung out of bed, blood weak, his fists clenching and closing like a pulse. He hadnt slept. He sat very still. He listened to the July heat, mosquitoes at the screen windows, inchworms eating in the back pines, the old house, a close-seeming flock of loons. What he did not hear, he imagined. Timber wolves and Indians, the chime of the old mans spoon in the spit bucket, the glacial floes, Harvey hammering at the half-finished bomb shelter, ice cracking in great sheets, the deep pond and Graces whispering, and a sobbing sound. He sat still. He was naked and sweating and anaemic and flabby. Thinking first about Harvey, then about the heat, then the mosquitoes, hed been sailing in a gaunt nightlong rush of images and half-dreams, turning, wallowing, listening like a stranger to the sounds of his fathers house.

He sat still.

Harvey was coming home.

There was that, and there was Grace, and there were the mosquitoes crazy for blood against the screen windows.

Lord, now, he moaned, and pushed out of bed, found his glasses, and groped towards the kitchen.

He returned with a black can of insecticide. Then he listened again. The bedroom was sullen and hot, and he was thinking murder. Carefully, he tied the lace curtains to one side. He ignored Graces first whisper. He pushed the nozzle flush against the screen window. Then, grinning and naked, he pressed the nozzle and began to spray, feeling better, and he flushed the night with poison from his black can.

He grinned and pressed the nozzle. His fingers turned wet and cool from condensed poison, and he listened: mosquitoes and june bugs, dawn crickets, dawn birds, dragonflies and larvae and caterpillars, morning moths and sleeping flies, bear and moose, walleyes and carp and northerns and bullheads and tiny salamanders. It was dark everywhere. The black can hissed in the dark, ejaculating sweet chemicals that filled the great forest and his fathers house. He sprayed until the can was empty and light, then he listened, and the odor of poison buoyed him.

He sat on the bed. Harvey was coming home, and he was dizzy.

Bad night, Grace whispered.

Lord.

Poor boy.

Poor mosquitoes.

Shhhhh, she always whispered. Shhhh, just lie back now. Come here, lie back. Youre just excited. Phew, what a stink! Come here now. Lie back.

Killed a billion of them.

Shhhh, lie back.

No use. What a night. Lord, what a crummy awful night.

Relax now. I heard you all night long.

Mosquitoes, the blasted heat, everything. He sat on the bed. He was still holding the defused can of insecticide. Poison drifted through the dark room.

Poor boy. Come here now. Here, lie back. Lie back. Her hand moved to his neck. Here now, she whispered. Lie back and Ill rub you. Poor boy, I heard you tossing all night long. Just lie back and Ill give you a nice rub and you can sleep and sleep.

Im going for a walk.

None of that. You just lie still and Ill rub you. Her hand brushed up his spine and rested on his shoulder. Vaguely through the cloud of poison he heard the hum of returning insects, thousands and millions of them deep in the woods, and he began scratching himself. He was flabby and restless. Im going for a walk.

Poor, poor Paul, she said. She removed his glasses. There now. Just lie back and Ill give you a rub. There. There, hows that now? Better now? Poor boy, youre just excited about Harvey coming home, thats all, thats all. Just lie back and Ill rub you and you can sleep.

What time is it?

Shhhhh. Plenty of time. Still dark, see? You just lie still now.

Lord, he moaned.

A nice rub?

Im going for a walk.

Shhhhh, none of that. Let me rub you.

Damn mosquitoes.

I know.

Scratch. There. He lay back. He grinned. Guess I killed myself some lousy mosquitoes, didnt I?

I guess you did.

Massacred the little buggers.

Hush up. You killed them all. Youre a brave mosquito killer and now you can just go to sleep. Roll on to your tummy and Ill scratch you.