ON A CELL PHONE, THE ADDED FEATURES (PLATFORMS, SHORT STORIES, YEAR AHEAD, ETC.) CAN BE ACCESSED FROM THE TOP LEFT HAND CORNER (STACKED LINES). ALSO, THE ‘TRANSLATE’ & WORLD CLOCK WILL APPEAR AT THE BOTTOM.
在手機上，添加的功能（平臺，短篇小說，提前一年等） 可以從左上角訪問（堆疊線）。
*** All times / dates: Please remember that all time references (e.g., “dawn”) are PDT – Pacific DAYLIGHT Time zone. You can refer to the World Clock in the sidebar for more listings or Google ‘time zone converter’.
Email: suningem@gmail.com
Tim’s YouTube links: Unveiling Astrology
Unveiling Astrology Part 2)
START NOTHING: (ALL TIMES ARE PACIFIC DAYLIGHT): Before 00:46 am Sun., 00:30 am Mon. to 1:38 am Tues., 10:37 am Wed. to 3:18 am Thurs., and 12:24 pm Thurs. to 7:20 am Sat.
PREAMBLE:
You might notice that I’ve changed the sun sign dates for Scorpio and Sagittarius in the forecast messages below. That’s due to what I call “precession creep,” in which the starting point of the zodiac (0 degrees Aries) slowly changes.
WEEKLY FORECAST:
ARIES: March 21-April 19
Your creative, romantic and risk-taking mood continues, Aries. (For two more weeks.) But Tuesday takes some of your fire and directs it to domestic issues such as food and family and security — until September 27. Be gentle with your kids during this phase. Also relatively new this week, and both lasting until September 10: 1) lots more conversation and/or travel connected to romance or a creative project, and 2) Venus in your partnership sign will make the opposite sex more affectionate and gracious, and inclined to accept you. Have fun and make contacts, Aries. That’s what this time is for! Sunday/Monday point you toward home, and confront you with a few obstacles, especially Sunday. Best approach: remain clear-eyed, study the problem before you attack it. Love looks like destiny, a kind of social destiny. Yet the one you want might be a little slow to trust you. Romance and creative urges come in like a wave Tuesday/Wednesday. This interval is packed with good luck and desire. You might have to make a choice between light, friendly love and deep, heavy stuff. The deep and heavy looks more favourable. Tackle chores Thursday to dawn Saturday (PDT). Eat, dress sensibly. This won’t be an easy interval, but it’s not terrible either. Careful with driving or disruptive computers (!) Thursday. Saturday starts a weekend of relationships and opportunities, fresh horizons and new ideas. It is also a heightened time for love, but wait until supper time or later (PDT) to avoid friction or doubts.
TAURUS: April 20-May 20
The accent continues on your domestic sphere, Taurus. (Remember, this is your area of great. Good luck through July 2027.) Here forward, into mid September, you will find lots to talk about in the family and concerning your home. Same time period, co-workers will treat you nicely. Avoid indulging a sweet tooth. Now through September, your secrets might be revealed. Gossip increases – so do errands, trips, communications and paperwork. These (paperwork, et al) fill sunday/Monday. Sunday has practical obstacles and maybe some self-deception, so proceed carefully. Monday is better, but little of consequences is accomplished. Your career is “on track” monday. Tuesday/Wednesday brings that domestic influence mentioned above. It would be hard to find two more fortunate days, so charge ahead with purchases concerning the home – including a whole new home – or with programs for the children, redecorating, renovating, etc.— all are favored. A romantic and creative influence drifts in Thursday/Friday, but has a little to offer enjoy beauty and pleasure, but don’t try too hard to accomplish major things. Saturday is for chores — avoid an argument or accident this morning or afternoon. Computer tasks are favoured.
GEMINI: May 21-June 20
The accent remains on paperwork, casual friends, trips/errands, and communications, Gemini. These will take up a lot of your time, but also contain the seeds of good fortune, perhaps great good fortune. From Tuesday to September 27, extra money will flow to you — bank it, pay debts, be slow to spend. Romance blossoms now to September 11. Your gift of gab is high now, to August 25. Deal with money, possessions, book learning, and casual sexual attractions Sunday/Monday. Sunday is more difficult, especially for practical purposes. Monday does not yield results, yet something else, maybe something destined and love oriented, is brewing. The paperwork, trips and friends mentioned in the first paragraph blossom into Lucky situations Tuesday/Wednesday. This is a great time to make new contacts to voice your dreams and wishes, even to join a new group. Head for home, at least in your heart, Thursday/Friday. This is not an easy interval, and might bring or feature a disruption around midday Thursday (PDT). So don’t expect much, but do putter around and get some rest. Saturday brings love, creativity, adventure, beauty, and a winning streak — but take care until midday, when arguments can occur, maybe based on a misunderstanding.
CANCER: June 21-July 22
The accent on money, income, possessions, book learning and casual sex continues, Cancer. In fact, it deepens for the next two weeks, becomes more talked about. Mars entered your sign on Tuesday and stays there until September 27. This will make you sexually magnetic, courageous, determined, and ambitious. Charge ahead with this attitude, because by October it will bring you to possess what you chased. Your energy and charisma, clout and effectiveness are high Sunday/Monday – but the aspects are not helping. Use this energy to overcome obstacles, especially obstacles of “practical partnerships.” Try to see clearly, especially in home and ambition areas. Mid-week, Tuesday/Wednesday, chase money, collect and pay, buy/sell, and perhaps, depending on your situation, chase a sometime lover, or sit and burrow into a book. This is a very favourable interval, so reach for something significant rather than just following your day. Casual friends, communications and short trips, paperwork, and errands fill Thursday/Friday — approach this calmly, as Thursday can bring some disruptions around midday PDT. Stick to routine, don’t start anything important Friday. Saturday starts a weekend of home, family, nature, contemplation and rest. You luck is really jumbled here, so be flexible. DON’T dominate or argue at home. Your family will somehow help your prestige, perhaps even your career.
LEO: July 23-Aug. 22
You are still on top, Leo, still the star of the show! The optimism and flair you feel now will actually hold up for another 11+ months, making this probably the luckiest year in over a decade. (In addition, it starts a whole decade of favourable conditions for you, especially in relationships.) but from Tuesday to September 27, pretend you’re Donald Trump in Butler, PA – avoid sketchy venues, belligerent people, and the occasional assassin. You’ve been prominent but a little tongue tied the last couple of weeks. Now you find your voice, so state your case this week and next. Casual friends are affectionate now to mid September — these casual acquaintances can be important because one of them might become your spouse someday. Lie low, rest and contemplate Sunday/Monday. Poor conditions on both these days council you to avoid chasing anyone, dealing with the government or entering any competitive situation. Monday’s a bit better than Sunday — best action will occur before noon PDT. Reread the first two sentences above: tuesday/Wednesday, highlight all this — your energy, pizzazz and effectiveness. You will attract a lot of people, flirting or real love/romance can occur. Tuesday’s better. Take care of money issues, pay bills on time, but avoid shopping or seeking casual intimacy. Let caution prevail. Saturday starts a weekend of travel, casual, friends, communicating, and paperwork. Be careful before noon PDT Saturday. Otherwise, a pretty good weekend.
VIRGO: Aug. 23-Sept. 22
Continue to lie low, Virgo. Rest, contemplate and plan, seek advice, be charitable, and liaise with civil servants or management types. Although this might not be the most thrilling area of your life, it can continue to bring you benefits – in some cases, very large benefits — for the 11+ months ahead. The planet that is bringing you this “private luck” also rules your home and family — so now and the months ahead will be a great time to apply for gov’t home grants, to invest in a new home or renovate your present one, to get help for a disabled family member, etc. Pursue the gov’t for information, programs, etc. Six weeks of a heavy-handed or temperamental boss dissolve. (He/she might have been temperamental because he/she subconsciously recognized that you were sexually attracted toward him/her.) Now to September 27, your sexual desires will find a much more appropriate target: a friend or someone in a social group. This is also a good phase for males to make male friends. Your money luck is good now to September 11. Sunday/Monday would usually be great for friends, optimism, celebrating, and flirting. But this time around both days are filled with bad aspects. My advice: have fun and be cautious about anything practical. Read the first two sentences above for Tuesday/Wednesday. You will be tired, but filled with good ideas. This is an excellent time to contact the government, to deal with management at work (or even make a bid to be management) to perform charitable actions, to pursue a health cure, to research and to give comfort to someone else. Your energy and charisma surge upward Thursday/Friday. However, stick to routine both days. Friday might contain a computer glitch or erratic driving. Take care, be patient.
LIBRA: Sept. 23-Oct. 22
Dreams can come true, Libra! Two possibilities: 1) a wish comes true in the next two weeks, or 2) you form wishes now that will come true over the 11 or 12 months ahead. In fact, both apply! Higher-ups can be temperamental and impatient this Tuesday to September 27 — be diplomatic, don’t shirk your duties. You are very attractive now (to Sept. 11) so don’t be surprised by the glances and flirts you might receive. But the biggest thing now and for the entire 11 months ahead is social and group oriented. I urge you to join at least one new group in the months ahead — even this week and next, ESPECIALLY Tuesday/Wednesday, August 11 and 12, when group affairs, flirting, friendly love, optimism, joy of joining and entertainment are super-fortunate. NOT 2 days to stay at home! You will begin receiving (and making) messages of goodwill this week and next. Sunday/Monday are for ambition and career. Several strong obstacles exist, most of them concerning your health or your family or your work performance. All you can do is work hard and keep your head down. Tuesday/Wednesday are described above. Retreat Thursday/Friday, find a quiet place, rest and contemplate, seek advice (or research) and plan your future. But don’t get too heavily into any of these things because Thursday is disruptive, especially around computers, and Friday is rather empty of results. Your energy and charisma soar Saturday. There might be a true partnership fight in the morning or midday, but by late afternoon into this night, love is very available!
SCORPIO: Oct. 23-Nov. 22
The emphasis remains on your ambitions, career, worldly standing and prestige relationships, Scorpio — for two more weeks in a general way, but for over 11 months in a lucky and lucrative way. This week and next give you the ability to speak with and encourage a boss. This is probably your best year for career and income gains in over a decade. This will be highlighted Tuesday/Wednesday, two fortunate days for you and your ambitions. I urge you to approach the boss, or to inquire about a bigger role, especially Tuesday. Earlier, Sunday/Monday brought you profound thoughts, and perhaps gentle thoughts of love. But the aspects these two days are not good – Sunday, especially needs caution around work, health, and communications. Thursday/Friday bring you Hope, optimism and popularity. However, Thursday holds disruption, perhaps in computers, machinery, or driving, or within the family. And late Thursday and Friday caution you to stick to routine. Don’t start a new project. Saturday starts a weekend of quietude and rest, meditation, research and planning. If the option is there, this can be a good time to liaise with government or management. However, the first half of the day (PDT) contains friction and “bad behaviour.” Strictly avoid lawsuits before September 27. Your private life will be sweet, comfortable, at least until September 10.
SAGITTARIUS: Nov. 23-Dec. 21
You’re halfway through a month of travel, intellectual expansion, higher learning, law, philosophy, publishing and gentle love, Sage. If you’re unattached, a new love/friendship might be more significant than it appears. Any of these areas, including love, can expand mightily — and fortunately — over the 11 + months ahead. Your love planet enters your sexual zone Tuesday, to stay until Sept. 27. If married, pregnancy is more easily attainable. Friends are affectionate, supportive until almost mid-Sept. don’t be surprised if someone chases you. Sunday/Monday focus on sex, big finances, medical and lifestyle changes, commitment, and consequence. My advice is: don’t commit, because the aspects are too difficult and results would disappoint. For Tuesday/Wednesday, reread the first sentence above. These two days are very fortunate and will reward you if you step in. Tuesday is better. You might need to come to an agreement with someone over work schedules or divided duties. A great interval to start a project in anything mentioned in that first sentence above. Be ambitious thursday/Friday, but also know when to pull back (which will be most of the time these two days). Computer glitches Thursday morning, noon (PDT) perhaps. Not much gain or result. Saturday brings popularity, optimism, social delights, flirtations, and friendly romance, entertainment and joy. The morning is difficult, but the rest is great. A wish could come true!
CAPRICORN: Dec. 22-Jan. 20
Life is filled with mysteries and secrets, and you’re the one who is supposed to unravel it this week and next, Cap. The general theme covers medical decisions, lifestyle decisions, investments and debt, lust for sex, and/or power. There is great potential here, for Jupiter makes all these areas lucky for you not only this month but for the 11 months following. There are two rules: research before you commit, and be honest/ethical. (That way, your victories will be longer lived.) From this Tuesday to September 27, other people will be impatient and aggressive, so get out your diplomat’s hat. One of these other people might be interested in forming a “platform” with you. (Could be a house or apartment.) bosses favour you now until September 11 — take advantage. Sunday/Monday brings relationships, fresh horizons, opportunities, and opposition. My advice is to do very little and to stay very cautious, as both days have more obstacles than smooth patches. You might, though, Monday, sense or get word of a lucrative potential promotion. Dive into everything mentioned in the first two sentences above with enthusiasm and ambition Tuesday/Wednesday — both days are fortunate, and may hold a money bag for you. Say yes to a project. Your intellectual side awakens Thursday/Friday, but not to a fortunate environment. Thursday morning is disruptive, and after this and Friday, not much happens — better to stick to routine. Be ambitious Saturday, but avoid an argument or showdown at noon or earlier, PDT.
AQUARIUS: Jan. 21-Feb. 18
The emphasis continues on relationships, public appearances, fresh horizons, opportunities and opposition, Aquarius — for two more weeks in a general sense, but for over 11 months ahead in a grandly lucky way. If you’re single, a wish to be married can come true. You have entered seven years of romance a year ago, but it only starts really pumping now. Many wishes will be fulfilled in the next 11 months. A hard but satisfying task confronts you from this Tuesday to September 27 — someone might become jealous of your efforts. Mentally, you are at peace. Sunday/Monday is for work, but think carefully before you attack any chore, to make sure you’re doing the right chore the right way. Routine is your friend. Tuesday/Wednesday brings up everything listed in the first sentence above. Your lock in relationships and opportunities soars sky high. Charge in, make contacts, make commitments, open doors, and shake hands — and tell someone you love how faithful you are. Thursday/Friday awaken your deeper side. Sex, drugs, major, finances, secrets, and mysteries — these are the focus, but failure is the likely result. Be careful driving and with computers Thursday morning (PDT). In general, be cautious and noncommittal. Saturday brings intellectual expansion, international affairs, law, higher learning, media, and all that. Avoid an argument this morning and lunch hour — after this, success tends to welcome you.
PISCES: Feb. 19-March 20
Two more weeks of hard work, Pisces, then your world will get much more interesting. Don’t look down on this work, for it has a lucky seed, and can bring you much good fortune during the 11 months ahead. Mars enters your romance sign Tuesday and stays until September 27. This will make you much more assertive, courageous and determined about romance, creativity and raising/teaching children. (With kids, make sure you remain gentle.) Your home will be a combination of freshness, newness, surprises, and some stress for the next six years. Venus is in your sex sign until September 10 — pregnancy is possible for young couples. Sunday/Monday is romantic, but without much satisfying result. Both practical and emotional/personal obstacles litter the pathway here. Ah, well. Tuesday/Wednesday bring work and health concerns. As promised above, work is a source of very good luck now through next July. Charge into it these two days, especially Tuesday. Show the boss what you can do! If a door opens, step in. Thursday/Friday features relationships and opportunities. But it screws up the first, and has none of the last. Computer or driving problems might occur early Thursday (this influence peaks about 12:30 pm PDT.) both days need caution – routine will be your best protection. Saturday is for sex, investment, medical and lifestyle decisions, research and trying apart mysteries. A good interval, if you wait until after an argumentative morning (PDT) to act.
THE END.
AFTERAMBLE:
A client the other day complained that men were always looking for younger women. I wish I had said, Yeah, because older women won’t put up with them. But I didn’t.
***
Crazy world – May looked like summer in the Pacific Northwest — and now August feels like spring. It was so hot and dry in May that most of my plants tried to set fruit/flowers early — way early. In B.C., you plant in May, after the temperature stays above 10 degrees C. at night, and fruiting starts in late June or July, harvesting in September. The last three July’s, for example, my peonies put out huge, luscious, fragrant blossoms, This year, they bloomed in May, with smaller, more simple flowers that wilted quickly and had little scent. But there was cause for optimism: each plant then put out many buds, and each bud quickly grew to the size of a silver dollar in circumference — then stopped, in mid-late June. The buds grew no larger, nor did any of them open. I gently pried one open: it was filled with powder.
I think the poor plants were getting all the wrong instructions.
***
I’ve got to say this again: the way to solve the immigrant crisis in America is fairly simple: you just tell every alien that they can stay in the country and work if they come forward and register for Social Security and income taxes. This way you increase your tax base. Secondly, you tell them that any illegal immigrant who does not show up and register, if and when caught, will serve a minimum of 15 years in jail or 20 years or whatever would be a deterrent. Sometimes Americans are very slow. It took them a year to follow my advice about sanctuary cities, by which time the immigration influx had already done its damage.
***
I wrote here, when the Ukraine Russia war first started, that it would last forever. We’re now in year five with no resolution in sight. At that time, when Putin had lined up 500 or so tanks along the road either inside or right beside Ukraine, I advised Ukraine to go blow them up. They were sitting ducks all in a row. They could’ve sent guys out at night with some C-bomb stuff to attach to every tank and blow them all. I guess they were thinking Putin was threatening for diplomatic purposes. Obviously not. I also encouraged Ukraine to use drones, and to attack Moscow above all else to bring the war home to the Russians.
To a certain degree, those things followed.
***
Iran has shown the need for the US to re-arm in different ways. It shouldn’t be that hard. After all the US was the one who developed drones and also has high technical capabilities, both with thrones and against them. Trump cannot win the Iran war without them – unless he puts boots on the ground. I suspect there are already American soldiers in Iran, but in a covert way. He will be sorely tempted to drop a small nuke on Tehran.
***
Neptune and Aries for the next 13 years or so will act like karma for a lot of diaries. Recently, Aries’s nation Iran has been attacked, and Anthony Fauci has come to meet his guilt. Fauci may or may not be an Aries. I haven’t looked, but he has an Aries first name.
***
Trump needs to be very careful for the next 18 months: he will be Tempted to say, and do things which are not wise and might impact his reputation.
THE 1969 STORY
by Tim
PART TWO — THE LADY IN THE FOREST.
CHAPTER THREE
After awhile the road’s down slope turned up, and I realized I was heading into the mountains, not away. Who knew where this road went? I’d heard there was a long, looping trail from Gibsons right over to Sechelt. Was this it? But there weren’t any of those yellow metal forestry signs that show every mile. That was strange. After an hour I was befuddled. I didn’t seem to be any closer to anything. I wasn’t really scared, because I was far away from the dead man. If the murderer saw me here, I’d just be another pedestrian. But the road grew more and more lonesome as I walked, and I began to feel unsettled. I’d look around me slowly, then go on.
Maybe there was a community at the end of this old road. With a store or café so I could eat. But I didn’t believe that. This wasn’t a travelled road, at spots it would shrink with boulders on either side, and a vehicle would have to be a 4×4 to go further. Trees overshadowed it with long, luxurious limbs. And what would I do anyway, stuck overnight in some strange community? I should go back. But I knew if I turned back, I would never come here again, down this road. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there could be something, something I wanted to find.
The tree-tunnel over the road seemed almost to assure me, to embrace me and subtly nudge me on. I wasn’t wet or cold anymore. I jerked along with tired, warm legs. I was hungry and tired. My mind drifted, with half-grasped joys, hints, swiftly fleeing images, a whiff of sensations, of glad memories. And under it all was this emotionless tug. It was like that time last Wednesday on our dock, when something had pulled me away from Paul, made me go private, except now it was pulling me down this road.
Suddenly fear struck, without any cause. I was alert, my heart pounded in my ears. I started to run, but not back — I ran further down the narrow road. The fearsome thing wasn’t ahead of me, it was around me, in the trees and the sky and the damp air.
I ran maybe 500 paces until the road dipped, then levelled and ran directly beside a large cut of timber in a flat few acres between the rocky hillsides. Logs, some bucked but most still branched, lay helter-skelter everywhere. Some lay with half their lengths in the black ponds that dotted the clearing. Maybe two hundred logs, big ones, laying everywhere. It looked like a massacre.
If so, it was an old massacre — the cedar and fir spikes had turned orange, which takes half a year or more. Someone had come in with a chainsaw, worked a long time, maybe weeks, and yet hadn’t hauled anything away. He’d left a chaos of slaughter, the downed trees and logs lying like sticks thrown from a giant’s hand. Maybe it was connected to the dead man, Dieter Stoltz. But he was no logger. (No logging clothes, no sawdust on him, no oil on his jeans.) For just a minute, I felt that a strange sorcery had drawn me here.
Or something. These downed trees calmed me; the urgent searching feeling that had gripped my chest on the road, disappeared. Curious to explore, I bandy walked over and along the logs, balancing. You could fall in this kind of mess and break a leg or get stuck ten feet below, or be belly-gutted on a sharp dead branch.
They were handsome logs, straight and thick, you could just wrap your arms around one, with healthy firm bark like wrinkled turtle skin, and red and yellow where the round butts were cut off. The carelessness, the pell-mell slaughter, was one of those strange, inexplicable things you can’t understand, maybe because you don’t know what the motive was.
I slowly made my way to the nearest rock pool, hoping it had no beaver bug in it. That gives you the runs. I had a huge thirst. The pool was really just a big hollow in the granite, maybe where long ago the stone had cracked deep; I knew that before I got there. This high up, the mountain showed through, its flesh was rock, its skin dirt, and the trees were hairs. The deeper hollows stayed filled all year from rainwater. Through the logs and salal below me I could see glimpses of a larger pool as I crawled on all fours along a big fir log that hung in the air over it. I jumped down, onto the rock face, and clung to some branches,
And there she was, her butt on her ankles, on the edge of the pool, staring into its black depths.
“Oh! Hello!” I said.
She didn’t seem to hear. How could she not have, me scrambling over the log, huffing and puffing, dropping to the rock’s cheek?
She was small. I had this sudden urge to touch her. It was like the thing that made me pull away from Paul on the dock, to be alone, but in reverse. She was bundled up in a yellow “space age” jacket with matching puffy yellow pants and expensive new hiking boots. She looked almost elfin, with thick, short black hair and tiny hands. I could see the blue sky and a cloud now, reflected sharper than a photograph on the pond.
“Hey!” I yelled again, friendly.
She looked up. Her mouth twisted the tiniest bit, into the ghost of a smile. She had intense blue eyes, the kind that when you look at them they seem almost shattered — and black eyebrows, set on a soft round face with smooth curves. She really looked elfin now — even her ears stuck out a bit. She was maybe a few years older than me. I can’t tell people’s ages. She appeared delicate but healthy, and clean or rich, clear skin, not like the scarlet-mouthed cigarette sluts my brother and his gang hung around. There was something I didn’t understand in her eyes.
“Have you come to get me?” she said. “Is that your job? If so… I have some bad news.” She smiled, but her eyes were serious, as if judging me.
“No.” I shrugged.
She watched me for a moment, then looked back in the pool, the smile still on her face. I liked being there with her, so I just stayed, standing, waiting.
“Do you live around here?” I asked, to make conversation. She didn’t answer. ”I mean, shouldn’t you be getting home soon? It’s going to get dark. Do you want me to show you the way out? These logs are pretty dicey.”
She looked up at me. I thought her eyes were judging me again, not with bias, just — wanting to be certain. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s all over.”
I didn’t know what that meant, so I stared at her face. She was nine or ten feet from me. Then her gaze left me again; she spoke to the water:
“Have you come to tell me something? Do you see how I’m giving you every chance to answer me?”
I thought and frowned. ”No. I just wandered here.”
We were quiet again. Suddenly I understood what she meant: crouched at the edge of the water and saying it’s all over — I leapt toward her probably the same instant she leaned over and dropped off the rock, splashing head first into that cold black water. By the time I reached her, slamming onto my knees on the stone, only her boots were left near the surface.I grabbed. The water was freezing. My fingers slicked off the boot. I reached into the pool with both arms, a foot down, to grab her boot above the ankle with both hands. I just got it. I pulled. How slowly that body, that weight, moved! I’d always considered myself a sort of semi-superman, like you do when you’re sixteen, and this was one of the few times in my life so far when I was shocked by how puny my strength was against something bigger. The other time was when I was six or so, and my uncle tied me to a telephone pole and went away and I couldn’t bust the rope with my chest or arms. I remember the fear and panic that climbed in me. It was the same now, I was pulling with all my might, and she was only coming inches closer to me. I kept tugging, scared. I yelled at her, swearing. I grabbed her lower down, one hand got behind her knee, I think, and the other grabbed a handful of that space-age material, maybe around her crotch. I huffed and pulled again, my stomach clenching in a knot tighter than mattress coils, my knees pressing with all their might against the rock to keep me anchored, my head bursting with effort.
She kicked, smashing my fingers against the rock. That angered — actually, in truth, excited — me into action. I jumped into the pool to grab her and somehow haul her out. But there was no “purchase,” as they call it, nowhere for my feet to grab and stand. The water was freezing, and I knew now it was over my head. There was no bottom. My balls felt like a hammer had smashed them, and my back and chest burned like fire. I was shaking, gasping, clutching, trying to grab her without sinking myself, I was thrashing around wildly. I felt material slip into my hands and out, that space jacket or ski pant material, and I’m pretty sure I felt a breast, full and rubbery, but I couldn’t seem to grab a firm hold on her, I was too busy thrashing.
I couldn’t get her out. I couldn’t do it. In a minute I’d have to save myself or I’d drown. The cold takes all your strength away, it seeps out of you like juice. By some miracle, my hand swept across a branch that hadn’t been cut from the log above me, and in case you don’t know, there’s no better hold than a fresh sappy branch from a fir or spruce, the sap literally glues your hand to it, and you can’t break a fresh fir branch without twisting and pulling and tearing for an hour.
I grabbed that branch and my hope soared like an exclamation mark. I grabbed and somehow had the cuff of her pant leg in my hand, in a strong hold, my right hand hanging onto the branch for life itself, and I pulled her a bit and then grabbed higher, and pulled and grabbed again, until I had worked my free hand right up to her stomach, where I grabbed her pants, and she was starting to curve in the water from this pulling, I could see her back starting to appear, slipping to the surface. I grabbed at her waist, then made a grab for her jacket, and got it. Jesus, it was cold! Her jacket was looser, easier to grab. I pulled and grabbed again, and again, slowly pulling her upper back, then her shoulders closer – then, I had her collar. I pulled her face out of the water by her black hair. I felt sleepy. I crawled onto the rock, then pulled on her for what seemed like minutes, getting her completely out of the water. First her torso, then her legs were pretty easy.
She lay motionless on the rock. She looked dead, white-faced, beautiful and serene and cold in a strange way.
But I wasn’t cold any longer. My skin burned with fire, my chest and legs burned as hot as matches. She was a sodden mess. Me too. My arms and hands shook uncontrollably as I rolled her over and tried to pump her chest like you see on TV. It didn’t seem to work. My hands would not stay on her chest — I wasn’t sure where to put them — above or below or between her breasts? And my muscles shook, so I ended up pumping with my wrists, then elbows in the middle of her chest, between the mounds.
But now my chest, legs and arms were shaking so violently I couldn’t stay on her chest. I threw myself on her, grabbed her face and head as best I could. I buried my face in her neck to steady my shaking head, then slid my face up to hers, scraping her chin and lips with my teeth until I felt her mouth, and now I clamped it on, grabbing her hair and skull to hold against my shaking head. I breathed in my nose and expelled into her mouth. It wasn’t working.
She looked beautiful, dead and pale like that. I fell to my knees and put a weak hand on her face. My fingers wouldn’t work, so I pulled the skin of her forehead up with the heel of my hand, so her eye half opened. My hands were too cold to tell if she was breathing. I looked at her chest — no indication. “If you’re sleeping,” I yelled, loud, “please wake up!”
Then I lost it; I started crying for only the third time in my life, and I yelled, “God DAMMIT! HELP ME! You damn God. You fucking God! Help me! Get awake! Fuck you! Wake up! Fuck you! Fuck! Fucking fucking fucking – fuck you! Fuck you God! Why won’t you fucking help? — God DAMMIT” I said, and kicked her, the bottom of her boot. I kicked an angel.
I grasped her hand. How small and perfect it was! I knelt at her limpness for a long time, maybe five or ten seconds. Maybe I needed to expel water from her lungs. So I rolled her on her stomach and threw myself on her back and shoulders, so hard we both bounced. I pulled her away from the pool’s edge, and threw myself on her again, so my chest whomped against her, and her head jerked from the impact. I dragged myself up, rolled her onto her back, and and did it again. I did it a few times. The last time, I hit my forehead on the rock; the sharp pound of pain woke me up with those bright little sparks swirling around. But a deep cold was setting into me, a deep tired cold, and I lay half on her and half off, staring horizontally at the cold bright air, the cold grey stone, the pond, at the logs. The air was so bright and the sky was gold above and turning pink, and I just watched. I felt peaceful. The shivering didn’t stop, but it didn’t bother me anymore.
At least that’s what I thought happened. But actually, maybe I knocked myself out.
Because the next thing I knew, someone was handling me, trying to push me around. I was sore and tired all over. I opened my eyes. The day had bent over into twilight. Her eyes shone white in the blue, luminous air.
I thought she said, “Who are you?” or “Where is Disneyland?” but I wasn’t sure she’d even spoken. I felt very comfortable. I smiled, happy.
I felt her slap me and it hurt. I opened my eyes — had they been closed? — and she slapped me again. “Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.” It really hurt. I felt all the cold now, the freezing cold, and my throbbing hands and a terrible ache in my testicles. She grabbed my jacket and pulled me up sitting against her — I was mildly surprised by her strength. It was her icicle-blue eyes, staring at mine, or the cold shock of having my wet clothes pressed against me again, against my chest — something woke me up. My head throbbed. But I was awake. And sitting up. Then I lay down. Maybe I could sleep a bit more.
“Stand up!” she urged.Then she yelled: “Stand up! Stand up!” I felt her grab my hair, pulling it painfully. But the pain disappeared. I thought I saw Paul, my brother. He stood over me, he said “fuck!” between clenched teeth and he started to smash and bully his way into some – thing. I was laughing in my sleep, or my dream – at the same time I saw the beautiful sky, blue, gold and pink, turning the granite pink. I laughed and muttered weakly, “fuck,” and….almost with surprise, I lifted my arms, both at once, straight up. “Hah!” I croaked. After a time, shaking like a leaf in the wind, holding a branch, I was on my feet. I grabbed her for support. How small she was!
CHAPTER FOUR
I must have fallen in love with her at some point beside that cold pool, though I didn’t immediately realize it. I’d never been in love before, except for embarrassing stuff. She was small. She led me along the massacred logs, lurching from one branch to another to keep her balance, until we reached a clearing, a natural gravelly meadow, with a tent at the far side, one of those affairs with wooden floors and walls up to about your waist and then canvas walls and roof.
I didn’t notice it at first — but I did notice — it wasn’t an emotion exactly — it’s that I felt surrounded by her presence, when she was walking in front of me on the logs and when we were in the tent. Before we even reached the tent, I began to realize that this tiny fairy was the most beautiful and wonderful thing that had ever happened to me. By the time we stepped inside and peeled off our sodden clothes, a pleasurable hot “feeling” was racing around my brains and chest. I pulled my boots and pants off.
Then she was naked. She was modest but I still saw everything — the mild swell of her belly, her small bum and breasts like bells. That swarming fire came back, really powerful, and I fainted — embarrassing but true.
When I regained consciousness, she was wearing a large Cowichan sweater and was wiping my face with a wet cloth. She had draped a blanket over my legs and midsection. Which was good, because I saw the tent formed below my stomach.
I think there were many reasons we made love. First, there was only one bed, against the wall. Second, I was in love. Third, I had saved her life and I suppose she felt she owed me something. Fourth, she was consistently sad or thoughtful or depressed, and so I think she didn’t have much energy or drive to push me away. Actually, I didn’t try to seduce her at all. I didn’t know how to. So she warmed me up, and as night was coming she lay on the bed near the wall, facing it, pulled up the blankets and told me I could lie beside her. I was so frightened that I might do something wrong, that I lay awake all night, unmoving, with my hand on her bum. When she did let me in, the second night, I think it was just because she was depressed. In the moonlight filtering through the tent canvas, her flesh shone like a solid ghost. The following nights and days she let me put it in again; she was quiet, but she did let me love her. It was like sliding into paradise. Several times, she hugged me wordlessly, so hard I was afraid she might break. Daytimes, I was often on my knees, leaning against her lower legs as she sat – but sometimes she would simply rise up and step out of the tent.
Her face changed on me, like the clouds playing with sunlight. It was as if her physical face was just a cover for the angel that watched me.
I was certain that if you had sex with someone you had to marry them. So, basically I figured we were married, or would get married soon…
We stayed there five days.
On the second day, she noticed me eyeing a rifle that stood in a corner.
“Do you know how to use that?” She asked.
“Not really…”
“Good.” She lifted the rifle and handed it to me, then pulled a box of bullets from under the sink and put it in my hand. “Take these somewhere and hide them, please.” As I was leaving, she said, holding the canvas flap open, “If you see a big man in a uniform, hide. Make sure you hide.”
I performed my chore gladly, because the fewer rifles around probably the fewer people got shot, including me. I hid them in a crevice halfway up a hill behind the tent.
She told me she was 19. She was depressed most of the time. That Second day, after I had hidden the rifle and bullets, I came back to find her sitting at the little folding table with something clutched in her hand. She had found Dietmar’s locket — it either fell out or she scooped out when she was hanging up my jeans to dry, after I fainted. She sat at the little folding table with it clutched in her hand. She opened her hand to let me see. But she said nothing and did not even look at me.
I don’t know why, I tried to make some stupid joke. She asked me to go away. She said it quietly. Just go away. She kept saying it until I left. I knew I was wrong and she had every right to her privacy. But I still felt rejected, as if the sky was a big dark blanket and it just fell on me. Outside the tent, in the daylight, a sort of transparent blackness shone through everything. Even the sunlight had a black tinge. It scared me.
I tripped on something — the sharp end of a broken branch gouged my forehead and poked my eye. So I went back to the tent. I don’t think she expected me. She was still at the table, and as soon as she saw me, both hands, fingers stiff and extended, went to her brow to cover her eyes. Her face was scarlet, and had crumpled so vividly it looked like a prune. It was wet with tears as she looked up at me. The angels were gone and she was awfully human. When she saw the blood on my face she got up as if to help – but I motioned her away. She had enough problems.
So anyway, my throbbing eye and forehead and her tears joining, we settled into this kind of warm, peaceful place, and she quietly began to ask questions about the locket and all else. So we had this discussion about the man who was shot, and the locket which was obviously hers because her name was Beryl and she held it so greedily.
At first, she told me later, when the pocket fell out of my pants she had thought I killed Dietmar. (She did admit he was her brother.) Then why wasn’t she afraid of me? She didn’t show any fear when I left the tent or when I came back. Maybe her sorrow was too big. But I was also suspicious of her — the rifle, the bullets, these planted the wonder in my mind, like a bit of sand in an oyster, that she had shot her brother, and that her sorrow at finding the locket might just be sorrow that she had killed him. And yet, I loved her and didn’t care, totally. Thinking this, I thought maybe she thought I killed Dietmar, but she, like me, put this aside.
When I detailed how he got shot and what I saw, I felt that I was obviously, to her and everyone else, not the killer. But my telling of everything about the murder had another effect: her whole being seemed to turn into a kind of thin, fragile glass. She didn’t say anything and I didn’t see anything but I thought the glass might shatter.
Afterward, the next morning, she watched me and said, “Don’t trust a big man in uniform… If you see him around here. Maybe hide.”
“What do you mean?”
But she wouldn’t answer.
And I think I slowly cheered her up. A few times, while we were walking outside, or as she stood at the sink, I wiggled my fingers from behind, between her thighs. She would bend and giggle, but push me away. One morning I chased her around the tent on my hands and knees, barking and growling until she started laughing, it sounded like:”Woo! Woo!”
I was erect every day, almost every hour. I told her one afternoon, “I’ll do anything for you. I’ll protect you.”
“You’re only 16, John.”
A whiff of that blackness came back, but I fought it.
“I can get a job.” A little house, I would work for her, to support her, go grocery shopping with her, hold her.
For five days, her sorrow and my paradise drifted together. She was like one of those marble statues yoi see in books, except she was flesh.
On the fifth day, because our food was low, and she had no vehicle (but wouldn’t tell me how she got here) I got ready to hike home and empty the fridge.
But I would never get there, because the inevitable happened: The RCMP came. A man in uniform opened the tent flap and peered in, surprising us. It had been raining and drops spotted his hat, which had a transparent plastic protector on it, like one of those women’s shower caps. His uniform smelled of damp wool. I saw Berry’s eyes widen with sudden terror. It was a heart-breaking terror. I am always slow to react, but I felt an instant, powerful need to protect her. It was like my heart froze or broke.
“Hello,” he said. “How are you folks doing?”
As he spoke his eyes went around the tent cabin, he wasn’t going to miss much. He did it in a quick, calm way that held no hint of suspicion. He wasn’t going to see the mens’ boots — I’d hidden them under the bench bed. But Berry’s breasts were bare, hanging there like fruit. Shocked, she grabbed a towel and turned away from him, and then I saw her handsome back, bent, vulnerable, each of the peas running up it, and the small black pores. (We didn’t get a shower, so bathing was by hand.)
I spread my arms out to prevent him seeing her, though he was taller than me.
“Can you go outside while she’s dressing?” He was bigger, and a cop, but I was angry.
“Of course,” he said in a generous voice. “ would you like to come out here?”
He retreated to let me step through the flap. I glanced back at Berry, wondering about her. I wouldn’t let her be threatened. She stared at me blankly. I had socks on, so I peeled them off as I stepped outside. If you have to fight or run, don’t wear socks. My brother had taught me that.
”What’s going on, son?” he said as I stepped outside and stood.
“Pardon?”
“Is this your family’s property?” He indicated the small valley. I shook my head, no. “Do you know who’s logging up here?”
“No, It’s been there a long time, a month or five of them, maybe. I’m guessing, by the colour of the needles.”
“Have you been here a month, then?”
“Oh no, maybe a few days.”
He took out a small notebook.
“Your name?”
“John Micawber.”
“I see. And the young lady? Is she coming out?”
“I don’t know.”
A big sadness came over me. I don’t think I told you before, but I have cried a few times since I saved Beryl from drowning. I don’t know why. So now I looked at this cop, and I knew a bit more about the crying.
“Is she your sister, son?” I shook my head.
“How old are you? Fifteen?”
“Sixteen.”
“And where do you live?”
I could see this was not going anywhere that would let me breeze out of it. “On Coast Highway.”
“So you’ve been up here awhile. You said a few days. Could it be longer? You know, time’s flexible, right?”
I must have looked half wild and smelled even ranker, no shoes on and standing in the cold May, face unwashed, hair not brushed for a week or more, filthy fingernails. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. His manner wasn’t pushy, and his questions in a way didn’t even seem prying. He asked them with such assurance and casualness that you relaxed. I watched him. It was a pretty clever trick he had, I admired that a little bit. But I didn’t answer. I shrugged.
“Where are your parents, son?”
“You mean my parents?”
“U-huh.”
“I just have one. Bernice Micawber. She lives on the Coast highway.”
“Mmm. Is the lady going to come out?”
“I don’t know,” I said, and that was the truth.
“Will she mind if I go in?”
“Maybe.”
“Why don’t you wait here,” he said.
I didn’t want to leave Berry alone with that policeman. It wasn’t whether he was good or bad. It was if Berry was frightened or not. Far back in my mind there was the weak little memory that she had told me to beware of a man in a police uniform. I didn’t even connect it to this RCMP, who looked to me to be completely innocent. But 1 didn’t want her to be frightened. Because fright is a harm, just like anything else. I didn’t want her to be frightened. I didn’t want her to be shamed. I didn’t want her to be handcuffed or pushed or handled roughly or made to do anything. I didn’t want her to be soiled or destroyed with indignity. I couldn’t stand that.
And so what if she did kill him? Her reasons for doing it must have been stronger than theirs for trying to trap her. Who would kill their brother, unless something was very, very wrong? Evil wrong. Now I saw it in her oddly delicate postures, in her careful movements and consistent, almost frightened alertness. It was like watching a doll, a doll that had better behave or it’s in the trash. What made her like that? Surely she was born like that. Or maybe it was a cloak she could not shuck off, maybe she wasn’t even aware she bore it, a cloak of threat, of delicate guardedness, of — I don’t know. It made me crazy to protect her. I didn’t think all this while I stood outside the tent: instead it was like two or three impressions floating through my chest. The thinking it through, the logic of it all, came to me later, on the ferry ride. But right now it was just the cool air on my face, the tent flap facing me — What if he was touching her breasts?
I left the tent. I ran. I didn’t think. The air was cool on my face. My bare feet danced on the sharp needles, stones and grit. I got there, about a hundred paces up behind the tent where the ground rises into the rock. I rolled an old crumbly log from a crevice, then reached down and pulled the rifle out. I’d wrapped the box of ammunition in a plastic bread bag. The box fell out, onto the rock. I picked it up and opened it. I took a bullet in my hand. It felt solid and cold. I fiddled with the sliding bar, and discovered she was right, it seemed to be already loaded.
Now I had to hurry back to the tent, or everything would be wrong. If he’d touched her, I’d blow his brains out. Or whatever. I didn’t know what I would do.
I knew there were such things as safeties, and as I walked fast, I found a little sliding knob without any purpose, so I pushed and it clicked forward. Now, either the safety was on, or it was off. Such was life.
I stopped about ten steps from the tent, where I could see the front flap. Of course she was innocent! God could not make such a creature, then let her be bad, a murderer. What if she was being frightened right now, or shamed? I imagined her in there, intimidated, her arms crossed, trying to be brave. I couldn’t stand it. I walked through the wet grass to the tent and stepped inside. The officer was sitting at the table, a pad and pen out. Berry was sitting on the edge of the sleeping platform, her arms crossed. I saw her, she saw me, and I couldn’t read her. Of course now I couldn’t act in any way I wanted to. I had come in with a rifle, and he saw the rifle, and he was looking at me very intently and I was backing over in front of Berry and everything was over the cliff. Nothing could be changed now because I’d walked in with the rifle and he’d seen me. I half pointed it at him, so as not to be too adamant about it. I didn’t want to shoot him. But I knew it was all over. I didn’t regret anything, there wasn’t time. I had intended to question him, what was he after, and was Berry innocent and he was just going to leave and leave us alone? But I just shot him. I said “Hi,” to him and then I shot him. Maybe I wouldn’t have shot him if I could have told him what to do, but I’m not good at that, telling people what to do. I think, they either do it, or they don’t. Maybe, I think now, if I’d had a father I would have known how to tell people what to do, and I wouldn’t have shot him. But I shot him.
His hand was scrabbling for his holster, and he was launching himself out of the chair sideways. I wasn’t prepared for his speed. I hadn’t thought he would react so fast. So he was lying on the ground and he shot at me but I had jumped to the side, and his uniform jacket was all pushed up on his chest, against his shoulders and neck, and he tried to turn to fire again but I shot him again, and jumped over to where he was and fired a third shot down at him.Have you ever heard a gunshot indoors? It was like a giant slapped your ears and made your brains ring. The RCMP lay quiet, on his back, but he wasn’t dead. He was trying to pull his arms up to aim at me. So I walked over to him and shot him in the face. Half his nose and his eye caved in. His hand slid away from his chest. He looked at me; his good eye filled with a sorrowful surprise, yet he was uninterested, too. I could see he was far away. Then deadness came. He was gone. Poor bastard. I turned and saw the afternoon’s rainy light on the canvas wall. I went outside and looked out across the cut, the mess of jumbled ponds and salal and massacred logs; it was all quiet and serene and wet with rain and the afternoon light bathed it. So did a huge sadness, a sadness like a blanket. I couldn’t stand it, so I went inside. I looked at her, unsure what I’d see. She stared at me, round-eyed. Her hands shot out, palm upward, crooked in disbelief and question. They pumped in the RCMP’s direction and, generally, at the whole scene
I tightened my lips. There was no answer.
I just stared at her. I had ruined everything. How could she love me now?
/30/