Bear Down, Bear North: Alaska Stories

The Mannequin in Soldotna

the mannequin She stands in the lobby of the hospital, naked. Lures and spinners and spoons and flesh flies and fish hooks cover her body. There are metallic wings and blades, mirrored and speckled jangles, feathers, fur,hair,paintedbeadsinbrightgloriedpurplesandredsandyellows all to catch a rainbow,a dolly,a red,a king in the Kenai River. Someone comes in with a hook in a nose or lip or neck or hand. The doctor shakes her head. The hook digs deep and pulls, the barb snaggingmuscle,andshepushesitthrough.Thepatientsighswithrelief asthebloodiedhookclangsinthemetaltray.Bloodseepsthrough cottonandthedoctorreplacesthegauze.Sometimestherearestitches. Today only tape. After the patient leaves,the doctor holds the hook under the tap. Shedipsitindisinfectant.Ontheway,shepassesthenurses’station and says,“I’ve got another one.” The nurses follow in their white,padded shoes. “Guess,” she says. Thenursespointtospotsof openfleshonthemannequin.There. No,there. The doctor touches the arch of the mannequin’s foot.“Here,” she says. There are few spots left. “Will they ever learn?” she says. the mannequin in soldotna > 4 > the mannequin in soldotna river and island What is the sound of a river? The sound of line breaking the surface? The Kenai is a thick vein of brown and runoff from the thaw flows from the mountains, from Wally’s Creek and the lower Killey, and wraps around the island where the doctor has a cabin.The Kenai is a rope,choking off a piece of land with a slow,snaking hold. run The salmon swim from river into ocean. They fatten up on shrimp and squid, growing until they are two of themselves. Thousands of miles after, the salmon ache for the milky blue waters of the Kenai. Their bodies quiver, and with one sudden pulse of blood, they turn degrees of north,they turn toward home. hook TwobuddiesgoforrainbowsatTheKitchen,whereSkilakLakemeets the Kenai River. The morning is early and condensation covers the boat, the tackle box, the seats. They haven’t been fishing in a while because one had a bad fall,a bad break in the leg.There’s a metal pin in the bone.They drink coffee with Jack-Slack. The one with the bad leg hooks a bow. The other reels in and secures his hook so he can net. The bow is a fighter. He flips and jumps and makes a scene. The one strains and puts most of his weight on his good leg. “He’s right there,” says the one. But the other misses with the net. “You going blind?” says the one. “At least I have two good legs,” says the other. “Just bag him this time.” the mannequin in soldotna > 5 The other stands poised, net in hand. The bow twists under the water and spits the hook. The line jerks free. The one wobbles and puts a hand on the seat to steady himself. He throws down his rod. “I’ll get the next one,” says the other. The one huffs and punches a fist into the seat. “Sure,” he says. He bends down to pick up the rod, but he bends wrong. He slips a little on the deck and falls, his head hitting the other rod sitting in the holder. The other helps him up. There’s blood and he’s attached to the rod—the top of his ear has caught the hook. “Piercedstraightthrough,”saytheother.Hecutsthelineandgoes to cut the barb off the hook. “Leave it,” says the one.“I want a story about me catching a bow with a hook in my ear.” The mannequin is mapped with flesh flies, rabbit fur, and yarn and thread.The doctor jabs the hook into the left side of the head where an ear would be. The man had the hook in the right ear, but that side is full. river and island What is the sound of a river? Glaciers melting? The echo of air and light?TheKenaiisadullshadeof dust.Theedgesof stillwaterclear— the edges reflect small winks of sun. No one knows where the river ends and the island begins. run Thestars,thesun,andthemoonmakecoordinatesof refractedlight. These and the smell of gravel guide them to the Kenai’s mouth.Their skinglimmerslikeknivesandtheirmeatturnsred.Afteraheavyrain, 6 > the mannequin in soldotna the water rises and they charge the river. They grow hooked snouts and wolves’ teeth. two patches Amanandhissonareinabadway.TheydriftdowntheKenaionaraft. Neitherwishestotalk.Themanbroughthissonhopingtheycouldfind the words.They find neither words nor fish.There are two patches on theraft—darkbluerubbercutintosquares.Thegluesurroundingthe squares makes a glossy splotch against the faded sides. The man steers around a gravel...