excerpt
Every couple of days Swanson visited Aunt Peggy’s. He and Bud held
court at the kitchen table. They fell silent if any of us came too close.
Most evenings Burt retreated to a spot on the river and helped
Mark with his knots. A fear of cougars prevented me from joining
them.
One night Swanson and Bud asked to talk with us. They waited
until our cousin was asleep.
– We’re gonna hook up the receiver on Sunday, Bud said.
– What of it? Burt said. We’ve got a TV back home.
– We’ll need assistants.
– Paying top dollar, Bud said. Up to it?
– Why tell us? Burt sparred. We’re students. On vacation.
–We’ve had dozens of applications, Swanson said.He removed his
cowboy hat. There was a wart above one eye looked like a ladybug.
– We don’t know nothing about receivers, I said. We don’t even
know what one looks like.
– You boys ever heard of the Sherpas? Swanson asked. They help
climbers in the Himalayas.
– Think it over, boys, Bud said. It’s a great opportunity.
After Swanson had left, our aunt scouring dishes, Bud leaned into
Burt and said, Jails are full of punks like you.
He slid a fresh toothpick into his cheek, then quickly removed it
again.
– One night changes their whole outlook. Get my meaning?
– I was 14. I didn’t.
Burt wedged one of Bud’s toothpicks between his lips.
– That the reason, Uncle Bud, you walk like a girl?
Pork Chop Hill seemed considerably steeper standing in a pasture at
its base than it did from downtown Coppermine. Its flanks were
dressed in dense old growth, the highest point smothered in cloud.
A hundred people must have turned up to see us off. A photographer
from the Gazette snapped photos; the school band did its best.
Flatulent cows grazed lazily amongst the muddy pickups.
Swanson reiterated our tasks. He and Bud, carrying sensitive…
Manolis Aligizakis 