them across the middle
of the sky. Stars had names, each and every one — but Janie didn’t
know any of them.
She cast her eyes down, and looked instead at the rock-face she’d
near licked clean. She was pretty stupid, she guessed — couldn’t even
find something good to eat when her belly needed it. Not but butter
and mustard and dry old lichen from the side of a rock.
Stupid dumb hoo-er! hollered her stomach. If it were a bear it’d
have bitchya!
“Quiet, stomach,” said Janie. She leaned closer to the rock,
squinted at it now instead of the sky.
There was something written on it where she’d cleared away the
lichen. No, she thought as she looked closer. Not written.
Drawn.
It was a picture — of some kind of animal it looked like. But it was
no animal she’d ever seen, not altogether. There was a snout, and a
big twisty horn coming out the middle, like the horn had come out
of the middle of the horse’s head in the story magazine. But there
were wings too — open wide like it was flying, or pinned, like on the
cover from ONE MILLION COPIES SOLD! THE DEAD BIRD — and
a snaky tail that turned around twice coming out its behind. There
was someone reaching for that tail, but below the wrist was covered
up in lichen still.
For just a second, Janie wondered what else she’d find, when she
licked off the rest of the lichen.
But her belly wouldn’t have any more lichen, it’d had more than its
fill of that dry old awful stuff. And her mouth wasn’t about to make no
spit to soften it, neither. So she would just have to keep wondering.
Maybe, she thought then, that butter and mustard wouldn’t be
so bad to eat after all. Her stomach didn’t complain much at the
thought of it, so she got up from the rock and clambered up over the
lip of the circle.
It took her hardly no time to get down this time. It must, she
thought at the bottom, be the lack of a breeze.
Janie didn’t go straight to the lodge, though. Because now that it
was clear and the water was still, she got a good view of the dock.
And she could see a canoe there.
It was a pretty big canoe — near to three times as long as the ones
she’d seen folks using in the lakes near Fenlan. Whoever’d brought
it had hauled it up onto the rock rather than leave it in the water,
and turned it over on its top — to keep any rainwater out of it, Janie
guessed.
Janie tromped down the side of the rock to look at the canoe
a little bit closer. It was bark — made out of birch-bark, like those
little souvenir toy canoes you could get for ten dollars at the
Indian Trading Post on the highway. But those canoes’d break like
matchsticks and paper if you squeezed them too hard, and Janie
didn’t think that this one would give in that easily.
Lordy, breaking this canoe’d bring down a beating like she’d
never felt before.
If Ernie were here to give it, that was.
Janie felt herself grinning.
Ernie ain’t here. I’m on my own now. Just me and my hungry old
belly.
Janie bent over and picked up the end of the canoe. It was pretty
heavy, but Janie could lift cinderblocks all day and not complain.
The wood at the other end complained some, as it scraped against
the wet rock. Janie lifted it over her head, then stepped back and let
go, and the canoe-end landed at her feet with a bang.
She walked around to the side of it. She kicked it, and it rocked
back and forth. She kicked it again, harder, and it nearly rolled over
upright before it fell back down in its old spot. It rolled, but it didn’t
break. That is some strong birch-bark, thought Janie.
Save it, said her belly.
“Who are you,” said Janie, “to tell me what to do?”
She kicked the canoe again. This time, however, rather than
kicking out, she raised up her foot and brought it down with her
weight behind it. And that seemed to do the trick. The canoe didn’t
roll this time — it stayed put, and there was a great crack as one of
the wooden ribs underneath the bark gave way. When she
of the sky. Stars had names, each and every one — but Janie didn’t
know any of them.
She cast her eyes down, and looked instead at the rock-face she’d
near licked clean. She was pretty stupid, she guessed — couldn’t even
find something good to eat when her belly needed it. Not but butter
and mustard and dry old lichen from the side of a rock.
Stupid dumb hoo-er! hollered her stomach. If it were a bear it’d
have bitchya!
“Quiet, stomach,” said Janie. She leaned closer to the rock,
squinted at it now instead of the sky.
There was something written on it where she’d cleared away the
lichen. No, she thought as she looked closer. Not written.
Drawn.
It was a picture — of some kind of animal it looked like. But it was
no animal she’d ever seen, not altogether. There was a snout, and a
big twisty horn coming out the middle, like the horn had come out
of the middle of the horse’s head in the story magazine. But there
were wings too — open wide like it was flying, or pinned, like on the
cover from ONE MILLION COPIES SOLD! THE DEAD BIRD — and
a snaky tail that turned around twice coming out its behind. There
was someone reaching for that tail, but below the wrist was covered
up in lichen still.
For just a second, Janie wondered what else she’d find, when she
licked off the rest of the lichen.
But her belly wouldn’t have any more lichen, it’d had more than its
fill of that dry old awful stuff. And her mouth wasn’t about to make no
spit to soften it, neither. So she would just have to keep wondering.
Maybe, she thought then, that butter and mustard wouldn’t be
so bad to eat after all. Her stomach didn’t complain much at the
thought of it, so she got up from the rock and clambered up over the
lip of the circle.
It took her hardly no time to get down this time. It must, she
thought at the bottom, be the lack of a breeze.
Janie didn’t go straight to the lodge, though. Because now that it
was clear and the water was still, she got a good view of the dock.
And she could see a canoe there.
It was a pretty big canoe — near to three times as long as the ones
she’d seen folks using in the lakes near Fenlan. Whoever’d brought
it had hauled it up onto the rock rather than leave it in the water,
and turned it over on its top — to keep any rainwater out of it, Janie
guessed.
Janie tromped down the side of the rock to look at the canoe
a little bit closer. It was bark — made out of birch-bark, like those
little souvenir toy canoes you could get for ten dollars at the
Indian Trading Post on the highway. But those canoes’d break like
matchsticks and paper if you squeezed them too hard, and Janie
didn’t think that this one would give in that easily.
Lordy, breaking this canoe’d bring down a beating like she’d
never felt before.
If Ernie were here to give it, that was.
Janie felt herself grinning.
Ernie ain’t here. I’m on my own now. Just me and my hungry old
belly.
Janie bent over and picked up the end of the canoe. It was pretty
heavy, but Janie could lift cinderblocks all day and not complain.
The wood at the other end complained some, as it scraped against
the wet rock. Janie lifted it over her head, then stepped back and let
go, and the canoe-end landed at her feet with a bang.
She walked around to the side of it. She kicked it, and it rocked
back and forth. She kicked it again, harder, and it nearly rolled over
upright before it fell back down in its old spot. It rolled, but it didn’t
break. That is some strong birch-bark, thought Janie.
Save it, said her belly.
“Who are you,” said Janie, “to tell me what to do?”
She kicked the canoe again. This time, however, rather than
kicking out, she raised up her foot and brought it down with her
weight behind it. And that seemed to do the trick. The canoe didn’t
roll this time — it stayed put, and there was a great crack as one of
the wooden ribs underneath the bark gave way. When she
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