DU PRÉ LOOKED AT THE little telephone. Bart could call anywhere in the world or from anywhere at all in the world.
This twentieth century is a goddamned terminal disease. Du Pré thought. It is getting into every little corner of the world. We left beer cans on the moon. There’s no place to run.
Bart handed the little black folding phone to Du Pré.
“Hi,” said Detective Leuci. “I bet you hate this thing.”
“Yeah,” said Du Pré.
“At least you can check in on your trip,” she said.
“Yes, Mama,” said Du Pré.
“We didn’t even know where Chase was,” said Michelle. “Aren’t we good cops? Guy’s like water, any little hole. What do you make of the bird?”
“I don’t know,” said Du Pré.
“Is Chase going to follow you?”
“I ask him, call you back,” said Du Pré.
“We’re talking to the Mounties,” said Michelle.
Du Pré said nothing. So what the fuck some dumb cops from Montreal or Ottawa going to do for us? This guy is here somewhere, he knows us, and we don’t know him. How did Benetsee know about the bird? The bird is not a person, it is a sign, a badge, a calling card, a warning.
One guy with a rifle take us all out sitting on the water like them ducks. We can’t get in the water, it will be so cold, we will die in a few minutes. This guy, he knows the bush. This guy is a fox.
“You check out those two guys who were with Chase last summer?” said Du Pré.
“Of course,” said Michelle. “Sean St. George and Tim Charteris. Both working on doctorates. Both absolutely clean. Good students, good family, good this, good that.” Chase has a lot of weird stuff in his past, but no prosecutions.”
“These guys, what are they working on for this doctorate thing?” asked Du Pré.
“Anthropology,” said Michelle.
“I didn’t think it was rocket science,” said Du Pré, and then he felt bad, having been snotty.
“I am sorry,” said Du Pré. “I just wondered what exactly they are writing these things on.”
Michelle called over to someone, waited.
Du Pré could hear someone reading painfully, limping along a sentence full of words that were beyond his pronunciations.
“Tim Charteris is writing something on the Basque penetration—doo wah—of the Canadian wild. There were Basques there a long time ago.”
Du Pré had heard some stories about that, knew a couple of fiddle tunes. The Basques had been killing whales off Newfoundland and Nova Scotia centuries before Columbus had stumbled ashore in Dominica. Very clannish and closemouthed were the Basques. They would set sail from Bilbao and come back with barrels of whale oil and never a word where they got it.
“And St. George is doing something on …” She paused, struggling with the word in front of her. “Hungwitching shamanism.”
“Hungwitchin,” said Du Pré. The People of the Deer. Far, far to the north, in the forests. “Michelle, could you maybe do me a favor? You find out what those Hungwitchin believe in, you know, what they got for a religion, maybe?”
“Okay,” said Michelle.
“Also, you could maybe call Madelaine, have her see that old fart Benetsee is around,” said Du Pré, wishing to Christ the old fart was right here. Even some of his riddles would help.
Du Pré handed the nasty little black magic object back to Bart, who murmured into it for a while and then folded the talking piece back into it and stuck it in the pocket of his vest, which had about forty, the kind photographers wear to announce that they are photographers. If you filled each pocket, you probably couldn’t stand up.
Du Pré was happier in other times. Maybe a rifle, some salt and tea, a horse. Eat your way along. No telephones. You die, you are a skeleton long time before they find you. Now you can’t even die, they airlift you out, plug you full of tubes, give you a full set of new organs.
Twentieth century. Bah.
The air still smelled sour. Burned cloth.
A few people milled around down by the water. The Mounties were gone. They had taken the bird as evidence.
Maybe it’s got microfilm in its gizzard, Du Pré thought, a little videotape. Computer chips.
Shit.
Chase was off by a copse of old spruces, talking earnestly to the woman reporter, who was taking notes, and waving his hands a lot. He saw Du Pré and his speech stumbled. He turned away.
I scare him, thought Du Pré. Good.
But what about his Charteris and St. George? They are not here.
No, I just haven’t seen them.
Du Pré rolled a smoke, lit it, and went looking for Lucky.
Lucky and Eloise were in their cabin, going over the checklists of supplies for the trip, arguing in soft voices.
Du Pré found a box and sat on it.
“Anybody camp around here you wouldn’t know about it?” said Du Pré.
Lucky shook his head no.
“You sure?” said Du Pré.
Lucky shook his head yes.
Du Pré took out one of the soapstone balls and twirled it in his fingers.
A plane? He threw the bird out of a plane, Du Pré thought. Shit. So much coming and going.
And I am off and don’t look up.
Du Pré went looking for Bart. He left so quickly, Eloise came after him to see what was wrong, followed a ways, shrugged, and went back to the lists.
He couldn’t find Bart. Chase was still talking to the woman reporter. Du Pré’s eyes locked on him and he started running and so did Chase, leaving the woman shouting a question, pencil poised over paper.
Chase was fast, wearing running shoes and desperation. Du Pré’s rubber-soled boots were heavy and not made for such work. Chase made the mistake of looking back and tripped over a downed sapling and crashed into the brush. Du Pré was on him before he could struggle up and get to speed.
Du Pré lifted Chase clear of the ground, rage swelling his strength.
“I am tired of this shit,” said Du Pré. “So I tell you, you cocksucker, anything more happens I come after you, and not to tell you a funny story. I don’t care you got anything to do with it or not.”
Chase wriggled; his tongue crawled out of his mouth.
Du Pré just held him for a moment and then set him down.
Chase was wheezing hard, like he had asthma.
“DU PRÉ!” Bart yelled, “Goddamn it. Quit!”
Du Pré turned. Bart was standing there, looking stricken.
“I thought you were going to kill him,” said Bart, shaking.
“I might,” said Du Pré.
Chase ran.
They heard him fall again, hard.
They walked back to the village.