Idea in Stone by Hamish Macdonald Page A

anything?” asked Thomas. “I’ve got any kind of fruit juice you could imagine. I don’t keep liquor or beer, and pop is terrible for the kids. Won’t give it to them. Makes them wrangy as all hell and then I can’t deal with them.”
    “An orange juice would be good.”
    “What? Nothing more interesting, like pineapple or mango or passionfruit?”
    “Oh. Okay, then,” said Stefan with a smirk, “I’ll take pineapple.”
    Thomas came back from the kitchen a few minutes later with tall glasses filled with ice and juice. Thomas’s was some other kind, something reddish-purple. “So,” said Thomas, lowering himself with difficulty into a favourite old chair, looking straight at Stefan with a piercing intensity, “what’re you doing here?”
    Stefan looked at the floor. “I’m not sure. I was hoping you might help me.”
    “What do you need? I don’t have much. I thought your mother was doing pretty well for herself.”
    “No, not that kind of help. It’s more like advice I’m looking for.”
    “Ah, I see,” said the man, his face collapsing around a frown.
    “What?” asked Stefan.
    “So you figured you’d go talk to an old Indian, right?”
    “No, it’s not that—” Stefan’s stomach wobbled and his face burned. “I wasn’t consciously thinking that, anyway.”
    “That I’m old,” said Thomas, “doesn’t necessarily mean I know anything. It just means I’m likely to be opinionated. And being from the First Nations, that doesn’t make me wise. Give me a break. We don’t have any more of a claim on wisdom than anyone else. I mean, look around this reservation. You don’t think these people are just as lost? The trucks, the gadgets—just shiny objects for crows.”
    Stefan nodded and covered one of his new sneakers with the other.
    “I am, however,” he said, sitting forward in his chair, “a teacher. It’s in my bones. So maybe you’re in luck. The question stands: what are you doing here?”
    Stefan wasn’t sure how much to tell him. “Well, you know my father’s dead, right?”
    “I heard about it at the time. On the news.”
    “Mom didn’t—? I’m sorry, Grandpa. I’m sorry we haven’t been in touch. I don’t know why. What is it between you and her?”
    “Son, if she hasn’t told you, it’s not my place to. She’s my baby, you know, and I’ll never give up. Do you know if she talks to her brothers at all?”
    “No. She never mentions them.”
    “At least she’s got you,” said Thomas.
    “Yeah,” said Stefan, “see, that’s the thing. She drives me crazy. There’s this woman living—well, things at home all are strange and claustrophobic, and everywhere else I go there’s my mother looming over me because everyone knows who she is or thinks they do, and I think I’m going to quit my job soon because I’m wondering about going off somewhere, leaving.” He stopped to breathe, and looked at his grandfather. “The thing is, I think my dad has something to do with it.”
    “Oh,” said Thomas, sitting back.
    “I know, I know. You’re the first person I’ve told.” He described the letter he wrote to his father and the things that had happened since.
    Stefan watched as Thomas scratched his head, then sipped his juice, looking out the front window. Thomas took everything he’d said in stride, and that made Stefan feel better. After a few minutes, Thomas looked back at Stefan. “You should settle down in that job you have. Are you married?” Stefan shook his head ‘no’. “You should get married.” Stefan laughed. Thomas continued. “What? You think I’m kidding? I’m serious. If you do this, then all these disturbances will go away.” Thomas leaned forward. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
    Stefan opened his mouth. He shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know,” he finally managed.
    “You need to get away from other people for a while,” said Thomas, “in order to find out for yourself what you should do. Go out on your