The Smell of Other People's Hou - Bonnie-Sue Hitchcock Page 0,46
position themselves to lift the three-wheeler off Dumpling in one swift motion, moving together as if they have done this a hundred times. I hope that isn’t true.
Even without the weight pinning her down, nobody dares to move Dumpling. Her father kneels beside her and whispers in her ear, reminding me of the way he sat with her on the merry-go-round and how it made me feel alone. Was it just minutes ago that I hoped she was all scratched up by Ruth’s mother? I want to take that back, along with every other bad and selfish thought I’ve ever had, if she would just sit up.
Someone says something about a plane and a medevac, but mostly it’s now deathly quiet. Even Bunny has stopped wailing. Kids are expected to never be in the way, but now it seems even more important that Bunny and I stand back unnoticed. We watch her father hold Dumpling’s head and neck stable while everyone else runs around talking into radios and zooming back and forth from town, bringing blankets and water and first-aid kits.
Father Connery arrives, driving Bunny’s three-wheeler, which we left behind. For a minute I imagine Bunny flying at him the way she did at that woman, but she’s too busy watching the medical team, who are carefully loading Dumpling onto a stretcher and into a plane.
It appeared like magic—landing on the narrow strip of gravel, bouncing its rubber wheels like basketballs on the ground, and filling the air with dust, making it impossible to see anything. None of us has ever flown on a plane before, and I hope Dumpling will wake up so she can tell us about it later.
Adults usually ignore us kids, so it’s no surprise that nobody pays attention to me and Bunny now, but I wish I could at least get close to Dumpling. If I could just talk to her. Maybe if she heard my voice she’d wake up, but fear of being in the way is stronger and I stay rooted, holding on to Bunny’s shoulder for support.
Father Connery is talking in a hushed voice with Dumpling’s dad. The two seem to know each other. The priest talks, his hands folded; Dumpling’s dad nods a few times, and then Father Connery hugs him and Dumpling’s dad gets into the plane, too. It taxis down the road like a fat goose, then rises precariously into the air, leaving me and Bunny alone.
She pulls herself together first. “We need to tell Mama,” she whispers.
Her mom is back at fish camp, probably watching the wobbly plane, not knowing that her daughter and husband are on it. I picture her looking up at the sound of the engine, shielding her eyes from the sun with the ulu she’s been sharpening, getting ready to fillet another washtub of salmon and hang them in strips to dry.
We’ll need to pack up the whole fish camp early so we can get home to Dumpling. Now there won’t be enough salmon to last all year, but if Dumpling doesn’t wake up, salmon will be the last thing on our minds this winter anyway.
The king salmon opening is almost over, and Dad says he’s heard a rumor about Sam’s brothers. They got off the ferry, but he’s not sure how or where. He’s on the radio all the time now, trying to figure it out without giving Sam away. It’s a tricky dance, and I can tell Sam is nervous. Every time the radio static cackles through the speakers, he jumps.
I’ve lost all track of real time, which is what happens on a boat. You forget everything and everyone that isn’t right here, bobbing around in this small space of forty-six feet. For the most part, I mean. I still sometimes rehearse telling Dad that I’ve got to fly back to Fairbanks soon, because of the dance audition, but only in my head.
The sense of urgency on the boat is electric right now, Dad and Uncle Gorky focused on helping Sam; Sam wondering and worrying about his brothers. I know I should care, too, that he finds them, and I do, but if Dad and Uncle Gorky can get this invested in helping him, why can’t they see that I might have other things in my life, too, besides this boat?
—
At the moment Sam is wearing an old gray sweatshirt of Dad’s and an even older pair of green rain pants that are rolled up three times so he doesn’t trip over