My Name Is Not Easy: Part II

Tiny flecks of snow are falling from the sky.

Part of me wishes we could stay out here forever, but the other part knows this won’t happen, of course, and that part isn’t even surprised when Sister Mary Kate bursts into the garden, squawking like a giant bird and swirling the falling snow into nervous flurries.

Salvaging meat sounds like a frightening thing, the way Sister explains it. She looks at me helplessly, like she wants me to dig something out of the ground that will excuse her from salvaging, but all I can think of is how badly I want to go up onto that highway and see that moose.

“Well, surely it’s an act of Providence,” Sister Sarah says calmly. “We need the meat now.”

“Preparing meat is no different than gardening. This is how we sustain ourselves,” she says.

Sister Mary Kate looks at me, flustered, and says, “Yes, but...”

I plunge my hands into the rose hips, watching Sister Mary Kate bustling off on her mission.

After a while that boxer gets so real, you could almost see the outline of his shadow, right there next to Father, throwing feints. Trying to fool him.

The birch trees shiver their skinny black branches against the sky, a straggling of yellow leaves clinging to them.

Suddenly the bus lurches, and everyone is standing up, trying to see out the window.

It’s the moose, lying alongside the road, looking more like a brown gunnysack full of meat than something that used to run around. It’s not as big as I thought, just long, spindly legs and a ribbed body.

“Let’s not shun Providence.”
I’m not exactly sure what she means by that, but before any of the teachers can worry about shunning Providence, Donna steps up and grabs a leg, which really surprises me.

Sonny gets a funny look on his face like he thinks maybe I’m bluffing but isn’t quite sure.

Bunna leans over, and we read the headline together: “Eskimos in Game Law Revolt,” it says.

Luke and Sonny start to laugh at this one until they suddenly realize they are both laughing at the same thing, which makes them start to frown instead. I swear, those two. Always bristling like dogs over the same bone.

“Just a spot of engine trouble, nothing to fret over.”

“Now, Bunna,” Sister Mary Kate says, “we must not covet what others have. We must be grateful for the Providence the Lord has provided.”

“Oh, Lord,” Amiq says, folding his hands and looking up toward the roof of the bus with what he thinks is a pious look.

“Stay put, girls and boys, stay put,” Sister says, wringing her hands and glancing nervously out the window of the bus.

Sam Pete grabs my diary with his grubby little paws, and just as I’m getting ready to pound him to pieces, he tosses it back to his brother, Leo, but Leo misses it and it hits Junior, hits him right square on the head.

I fly at him like a banshee, hollering my head off. “Bunna, you dirty animal, I’m gonna choke you.”

O’Shay leans down a long arm and starts groping around on the floor for them.

“Jeez, Snowbird, create a ruckus, will you?” Bunna says.

I spin around, ready to deck him, and he raises his hand again.
“Hey! Don’t ruffle your...”

I slink back to my seat.

Sister sets her hands on her hips like she wants us to believe she means business, when of course we all know Sister doesn’t have the slightest idea how to mean business. Especially not with a bunch of kids nearly swinging from the rafters of a rickety old piece of a military-trash bus.

“Children, let’s recite the Twenty-third Psalm,” Sister says, launching into it with fervor.

I snap the book shut, happy in the knowledge that I have recorded a thing for all posterity, as Sister would say—last name and all.

“You’re a soldier in the army’s Cold War.”

And that’s how they ended up on a tour, Sonny and O’Shay and Father Mullen, marching that starred general through the halls of Sacred Heart School like a mismatched battalion from an unnamed war.

The general gazed at the photos, then turned to scrutinize O’Shay.

What the heck does personable mean? Sonny wondered. That the general thinks I could maybe be a person?

What would his mom think if she could see him standing here next to Father Mullen with a big, important general and the son of a prominent Fairbanks lawyer?

“She has to be able to run a trapline this time of year. It’s critical, sir,” Amiq added.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Amiq slumped back into the wall like all his muscles had melted.

“My mom doesn’t even have dogs.”
“I am sorry to hear that, very sorry indeed,” Amiq deadpanned. “Well, we just might have to resort to snowshoes this year, son.”

Flickering in a funny way, Sonny thought suddenly, just as the flickering began to sharpen into a small shaft of bright light.

He gazes down the length of the shadowy gray wall from his uncertain perch, his eyes wary.

“Spare the rod...” Father rattles, swinging hard.

All of them are doomed...Sonny and his uneducated heathen mother along with Amiq...