Fractured: Tales of the Canadian Post-Apocalypse(90)



When Maxim returns home, the dog licks his hand then trots away toward Granville Island. For the first time since the bounty started, there’s no food waiting for him inside. He chides himself for not having made any effort to forage for anything today. Today’s expedition was longer than usual – the presence of both the dog and the Sasquatch made it more exciting – so now he’s both hungry and too tired to go out and find food.

There’s a bang at the door, which reminds Maxim that he hasn’t yet barricaded the entrance for the night. Maxim sits motionless, not sure what to do. Then, there’s another bang. Maxim gets up and opens the door a crack. Nothing happens. He opens it a bit wider and finds three apples and a fish have been left for him on the ground. There are two rocks next to the threshold. He notices the corresponding dents on the door.

As he collects the food, he sees the Sasquatch approximately four metres away, staring at him. Again, when he catches her eye, she darts away.

? ?

As Maxim play-wrestles with three of the pups, he wonders if he should give the dogs names. He has discovered that, because he has no name for any of them, he doesn’t distinguish between the various puppies, even though none of them look the same and they all have different personalities. In his mind, they have remained “the pups” – a collective rather than a group of individuals. The parents are clearly individualized in his mind because he refers to them as “the Rottweiler and the Labrador,” “the female and the male,” or “the mother and the father” – all of which have taken on the weight of names. But he has so far resisted applying human names to his canine family.

His family. It’s the first time he’s consciously thought of the dogs this way. Soon the family will grow: the Rottweiler is pregnant again.

Maxim scrutinizes the shore to the south of Granville Island. Yes. She’s there again. For the past five days, the Sasquatch girl has been watching Maxim play with the dogs. Since their initial encounter, Maxim has been observing her as much as she lets him. He has come to the conclusion that she’s in her mid-or late teens, no more than a few years younger than himself.

Family, Maxim thinks again. Yes, he will give all the dogs names. And the new pups, too, after they’re born.

Maxim gets up and walks toward the small pedestrian bridge. At first the pups follow him, but he motions them away and they start playing with each other. He turns back toward the shore. The Sasquatch is still there, carefully observing his interaction with the dogs.

He walks toward her – slowly, calmly, halting every few steps, gauging her reaction to his approach. He looks back toward the dogs. The Rottweiler and the Labrador are watching his every move, occasionally glancing at the Sasquatch. They’re getting used to her, he thinks, so they don’t bark or growl. They’re waiting to see what Maxim will do.

Maxim crosses the bridge. The Sasquatch hasn’t moved, as if she were waiting for him. They lock eyes. For once, she does not dart away. He steps within reach of her. He puts a hand to his chest and says, softly, “My name is Maxim Fujiyama.”

He extends his other hand toward her, palm upward. She looks at it but doesn’t move. Maxim stays still, his hand still offered. He closes his eyes.

He waits. Is she still here? He doesn’t want to startle her, so he keeps his eyes closed. He waits.

When the moment of contact comes, it startles him, but he remains immobile.

Her palm is roughened with calluses. Her fingernails are hard and sharp. Exploring the skin of his forearm, she draws blood. Maxim’s eyes pop open as she lets go of him. She’s poised to run away, but she hesitates, closely observing Maxim. He smiles at her.

She changes postures and takes his hand, frowning at the fresh cut on his flesh. It’s only a little scratch; still, he’ll have to wash it to make sure it doesn’t get infected. She kisses the wound; her mouth is surprisingly soft.

Maxim laughs. She laughs, too.

He reaches out and takes her hand in his. Their palms press tight against each other.

Together, they both laugh harder.

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