Medicine Walk by Richard Wagamese Page B

coughed and shot back another hit of the whisky. “I did,” he said finally. “It never amounted to much. Seasonal is all.”
    “It’s a season,” the old man said. “You get four seasonals, you get a year.”
    “Sure. Easy enough for you to say. Ain’t much call for bush-trained men no more. The tree toppers and the trucks took away the work.”
    “They still got call for fallers.”
    “Had to pawn the saw,” Eldon said and coughed again.
    The old man shook his head and took a sip from his mug. “Man don’t put his tools in hock,” he said.
    Eldon stared hard at him. The kid could see red veins in his eyes and a pale yellow cloud behind them. “Yeah, well, seasonal jobs’ll put you places you didn’t plan on.”
    “Gonna blame it on the work, are ya?”
    “Shit luck,” Eldon said. “All’s I’m saying.”
    “We don’t cuss around here.” The old man tilted his head toward the kid.
    Eldon flicked a look at him too. “Cuss’ll say it plain sometimes.”
    “Plain says it plain around here.”
    “Yeah. Okay. Your house and all,” Eldon said. He tipped back his mug and swallowed and then held it out to the old man, who shook his head, sighed, and plopped a shot into it. Eldon tilted his head at it and the old man poured more. “But it’s all gonna pan out. Got me on at the mill regular. Got in a couple months already and I figure the goose is hanging pretty high.”
    “That goose’s been hung before,” the old man said.
    “Different friggin’ goose,” Eldon said and laughed. “Frig’s no cuss word, is it?”
    “Not so’s I’d notice, I suppose.”
    “Good friggin’ thing then,” Eldon said. His face was ruddy now and he smiled more. He looked at the kid and winked.
    The old man got up and began to rattle around at the stove and the kid and Eldon took turns looking at each other without speaking. There was the smell of stew, peppery and tangy with garlic and onions, and the old man set biscuits to warm in the oven. Eldon reached over and snuck the bottle across the table while the kid watched and poured himself a large dollop. He held a finger to his lips and winked again and the kid wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He just sat there and watched while Eldon drank off more of the whisky and settled back in his chair and flopped one leg over the other and smoked and exhaled clouds at the ceiling.
    They ate. The men mostly talked about the farm. When he was finished the kid gathered all the plates and cleared the table. Eldon was the only one with the whisky now. The old man sipped at black tea. The kid washed the dishes and set everything back in the cupboard. He caught Eldon staring at him every now and then but there were never any words. The looks felt odd, like there were words hung off them, butEldon never said a thing to him. When he was finished he said good night and went to his bedroom, where he coloured in a book until he was tired enough to get into bed. He heard the rumble of their talk. He thought he heard a sob and the old man’s voice rise some then it got quieter but he could still hear them talking.
    “Who is he?” the kid asked while they were milking in the morning. Eldon slept on the couch near the woodstove. The kid had looked at him when he got up. His arms and legs were flung wide and his head was tilted back with his mouth wide open.
    The old man pulled at the cow’s teats and the kid watched his shoulders work. “Someone I known years ago,” he said without looking back at him. “Different fella now but I knew him good at one time. Least I thought I did.”
    “He smells funny,” the kid said.
    “He’s been rinsed through pretty good.”
    “With that whisky?” the kid asked.
    “Yes, sir. Some men take to it. I never did.”
    “Why not? Does it do bad things?”
    The old man looked at him over his shoulder. “Keeps varmints away,” he said.
    “How so?”
    “Savvy what a varmint is?”
    “Yeah,” the kid said. “Pests. Things you