This Savage Life

by Chuck Schading

I remember when Papa first told me how it used to be, back when there were so many people the world seemed crowded.

I know things were different then, but I still can’t wrap my mind around it.

Last year, when we ran into McKenzie Rutledge down near the hunting grounds, he told us he’d gone trekking a few hundred miles downriver and ran into a group of nearly fifty people living in a huge building near a waterfall. Stayed with them for nearly a week too. My whole life now, and I just turned nineteen yesterday, I’ve seen fewer than fifty people total. He saw them all at once, which is crazy to me.

I had so many questions. Were all those people talking at the same time or did they take turns? Where did they all sleep and shit? How was there enough food for that many people? Their greenhouse must have been huge, right? And how did they not make each other sick? That was the biggest one.

Papa said long before our time there used to be billions of people in the world but now there’s probably no more than 20,000, mostly in the north like we are. I believed him when he told me, but now I figure he was just guessing. I don’t see how he could know that.

I know exactly how many people I’ve seen though.

Forty-six.

I know because I made a list.

***********

Momma and Papa and I had been on the sleds for nearly four days on the frozen river, and our dogs had just about had it when we finally arrived at the Abrahams’ cabin. The thick stand of conifers that surrounded it made it difficult to see from the river, and if it wasn’t for the smoke from their chimney, we might have missed it.

“It’s been a long time,” Papa said as he dismounted his sled, peeling the frozen reins from his fur-lined mittens and lifting the goggles from his face. “Place has seen better days.”

The cabin’s timbers, though weathered and washed of all color, still looked strong. But everywhere else we looked there were problems. The stone chimney was crumbling. Cuts of insulating sod had fallen from the roof and not been replaced. Where storm shutters had broken off, windows were instead covered with sticks and packed snow. The winter wind was violent, and if you didn’t keep up with repairs, it wasn’t long before your cabin looked like this.

They had a few outbuildings too, all in various states of disrepair. There was a kennel, like ours, to the west, and a small barn and a greenhouse to the east. The greenhouse was in the worst shape, and in fact, had been outright destroyed. The remains of an enormous fallen pine still sat in the debris.

I’d only been to the Abrahams’ place twice before, once when I was a baby and the other time when I was around eight, I guess because they wanted to make sure I was developing okay. I remember that, last time, how badly I wanted to get inside and warm up, but being even more excited to see other people. Elizabeth and I got along just fine too, but that was the last time I saw her. After that, we exchanged letters that we’d leave for each other at the trading post, which was about halfway between both of our cabins, about a two-day ride by sled and a five-day walk in summer.

Papa and I would visit that trading post every two or three months and drop off what we didn’t need and take what we did: sometimes food and other essentials; other times things from the old world that were hard to come by, like sewing needles and saw blades. It was a place to exchange news too, sometimes letters but usually just postings on a board, like where the reindeer herd had last been seen or announcing you were about to have a baby and needed a match for down the road. Once in a while you’d even run into someone and get to chat, but of course you had to be careful.

I still have every one of Elizabeth’s letters, by the way, and every time I see them, I understand that’s the main reason our parents taught us to read and write. It was so we could get to know each other a bit before we spent our lives together.

Most I can recite from memory, like this one:

Dear Thomas,

I am eleven now so you must be almost twelve. I have long black hair and some freckles on my cheeks and arms.

Last month I trapped my first fox, a white one with a silver streak along its back. Mommy helped me skin it and we used the fur to line a new pair of gloves for Daddy. We turned the meat into a fine stew that Daddy said was the best he ever had.

Daddy says the bears are back, but I haven’t seen one yet. Have you?

One night, right after the thaw, I sat by the river and watched the sun go down. The water was golden, and I watched a big stick floating by and imagined it was a boat that you’d sent down stream just for me. Did you? Because I’d like that very much.

I’m leaving this at the trading post for you along with a jar of beans. I hope you like them.

Elizabeth Abraham

I spent the short summer carving messages into sticks and sending them down the river, but I don’t know if she ever got them. Probably not though because I’m sure she would have said so in another letter.

***********

This time I didn’t want to go in to warm up. And I didn’t want to go in to see other people. I just wanted to go home.

In that moment, I didn’t care what skills Elizabeth claimed to have in all those letters. I still worried she would be a bad trapper. Or a bad gardener. Or a bad cook. But mostly, I just worried she’d be ugly and have rotten teeth. I admit it.

Sometimes I’d think about that big group of people McKenzie Rutledge found. What if there was someone prettier there for me? Someone with better teeth? Someone who made my heart go thump-thump-thump, like Momma told me about?

When I’d complain about all that, Momma would tell me about how she thought Papa was too skinny and weak when she first saw him and that they wouldn’t survive, and about how she begged Granddaddy not to sanction it. But then, later, Momma fattened Papa up and they fucked and then I was born and then my two brothers who didn’t survive.

All these years I tried to remember what Elizabeth looked like, but the vision would always shift in my mind, like a snowdrift in a storm.

***********

We were all surprised that no one came out to meet us because they must have heard the dogs yipping. We didn’t hear their dogs either, which was even stranger. When we went around to check their kennel, it looked deserted, other than a bunch of empty bowls and frozen piles of shit.

The Abrahams’ sleds were still there too, which wasn’t a good sign.

You know how a dog’s hair raises up when it’s on alert, like when a bear comes around? Well that’s how Papa looked all covered in his furs.

We went back around to the front, and Papa told Momma and I to stay back as he blocked the doorway. There wouldn’t have been any getting past him, even if I’d had my ax with me.

He pounded on the door and called out.

“Joshua! Abigail!” he yelled. “You okay in there?”

No one up north had caught the sickness in nearly eighty years, but it was so interwoven in our way of life that no one even questioned if it could still happen. Even standing on the other side of a closed door was dangerous when someone with the sickness was on the other side. Papa said back in the beginning it would spread on the wind, so whole cities would catch it within a week and within a month whole cities would be dead. It spread even faster where it was warm. That’s why we still live so far apart up here in the north.

Papa pounded on the door again. Still no answer.

He paused and looked back at us, as if to say, “I think we should go,” when suddenly the door creaked open and an emaciated man limped into view.

Papa jumped back so far he fell into the snow, pulling his scarf tight across his face as he did.

“Joshua?” Papa asked. “Are you alright? The sickness …”

Mr. Abraham was wrapped in a hooded blanket but let it drop from his head so that we could see him. His gaunt and jaundiced face was covered with deep jagged lines, like cracks in the ice, and his back was so stooped that he looked a full foot shorter than Papa. It wasn’t the man I remembered.

“I’m okay, Caleb,” Mr. Abraham said with a weak and raspy voice. “No sickness here. Just your average, everyday starvation.”

Papa climbed back to his feet, still wary.

“Are you sure, Joshua?” he asked.

Mr. Abraham opened the blanket and revealed a mere skeleton covered in tattered skins and linens.

“Yes, I’m quite sure we’re starving,” Mr. Abraham said. “Come in, old friend.”

Then he waved to Momma and me.

“Rachael, Thomas. Please come in. You’ve made it just in time,” he said.

Momma sent me back to the sleds to get some food and medicine, and by the time I got back, they were already inside taking care of the Abrahams.

***********

The hot and tangy air inside the cabin was almost unbearable after four days outside in the cold, but it still felt good to be free from all the furs and down to a single layer of clothes for a change.

It was good to sit around a table with other folks, too, even if the other folks were nearly dead.

Momma made the Abrahams some mush with salted trout and dried peas, same as she fed the dogs. It wasn’t tasty but it was full of fat and protein.

“What happened?” Papa asked.

It was a good question, but all I could wonder was why Elizabeth hadn’t joined us, and I’m sure Momma and Papa were thinking the same thing. Was she already dead?

“Started with a storm,” Mr. Abraham said, and Papa nodded as if recalling the same one. “Tree came down on the greenhouse. I’m sure you saw. Abigail and I were boarding up the glass at the time. Got about halfway through when it happened. Two broken legs for me. Ribs and an arm for her. It was enough.”

Papa cast his eyes to the table, as if he didn’t want to hear the rest but knew he had to.

“No greenhouse. No hunting. The stores ran out quick. Lizzie did what she could before winter set in,” Mr. Abraham said. “Fish when they were still running and then rabbits and squirrels mostly.”

“No fox?” I piped in, much to Papa’s dislike.

“Lizzie’s not a good trapper,” Mr. Abraham said bluntly. “She just gets lucky sometimes is all.”

My heart sank, and I knew Momma and Papa’s did too because I could see it on their faces.

“Then the wolves killed a couple of the dogs and injured a couple more. Came calling like they could smell death on the horizon,” Mr. Abraham said, his eyes locked on a cloudy window over Papa’s shoulder. “Wasn’t nothing I could do, being all laid up in bed, except listen to their howls. Couldn’t risk sending Lizzie out there.”

Momma laid her hand on Mrs. Abraham’s bony arm as she listened.

“The rest of the dogs were put to good use and … we just hoped what they gave us lasted long enough, until you got here,” Mr. Abraham said, choking on his words as he finished.

“We’re down to the last bit,” Mrs. Abraham whispered, her sunken cheeks having already said the rest.

Papa rested his bearded chin on his fists, elbows on the table, and peered at the Abrahams through his broken glasses, the pair he picked up at the trading post last year.

“And your girl?” he asked.

“What little food we had went to Lizzie,” Mr. Abraham said. “And now you’re here, so that’s all that matters.”

***********

That evening, the five of us were sitting in front of the fire when Momma told me to go stand at the front of the room. The Abrahams had a little more light in their eyes from having eaten, but you could tell it was already over for them.

Mrs. Abraham shuffled into the bedroom and I could hear her talking to Elizabeth, who had yet to make an appearance after all those hours. I couldn’t make out their voices though. Just muffles really. But it was enough to get my heart pounding.

Not really thump-thump-thump though.

More like the first time I hunted or drove a dogsled by myself. Excited but scared shitless.

“Back straight. Head high,” Momma said, motioning at me to run my fingers through my long blonde hair to get it out of my face. “Like we talked about.”

Elizabeth walked in like I was taught she would, under a big quilt made by her and her mother, each square showing a chapter from their family story over many generations. The quilt covered her head and body, so Mrs. Abraham led her by her hand.

Once she was in front of me, I could hear her breathing under the blanket. Soft and delicate.

Suddenly I became aware of my own breathing too, like I couldn’t decide if it was too fast or too slow.

Mrs. Abraham placed Elizabeth’s hand in mine.

It was callused, which was good because it meant she could do things. But it was smaller. And exceptionally warm.

Then Papa and Mr. Abraham said the words.

“My son,” said Papa.

“And my daughter,” said Mr. Abraham.

“Now you are one,” they said together. “And the world depends on you.”

And with that, we were married.

Momma nodded at me, and I lifted the quilt off Elizabeth’s face and body and let it fall to the floor.

I wanted my heart to go thump-thump-thump like Momma said, but it didn’t.

She had long black hair, like from her letter, but her freckles had faded, and like the rest of us, her nose, cheeks and chin were red and weathered from the winter wind and sun.

I wished the Abrahams had saved some food for themselves too, but I knew how it was and I was glad Elizabeth had a good strong frame.

I forced myself to smile at her.

She smiled back but kept her mouth closed.

***********

The Abrahams couldn’t stomach much so Momma gave them more mush for supper, and Momma and Papa had some venison jerky and raw carrots. Then Momma made Elizabeth and me a rabbit stew with carrots and onions and leeks. She’d brought it all from home just for us.

And Papa pulled out a bottle of shine he’d been saving.

All through the meal, Papa and Mr. Abraham talked about the hunting grounds and how if you were lucky enough to see reindeer or elk, the wolves and grizzlies wouldn’t be far behind.

Momma and Mrs. Abraham talked about babies and how much they wanted to see one soon. But we all knew the Abrahams wouldn’t see any of those things ever again.

As for me, I just watched Elizabeth eat, hoping to get a look at her teeth. We locked eyes a few times and I felt something, like a warm wind almost.

I kept trying to think of things to say too, like about the weather or the hunting season or how nice she looked in the flickering firelight, but it all sounded stupid and I was just trying to make myself less uncomfortable anyway.

Eventually, after I’d had a couple glasses of shine, I just started talking, just like Momma and Papa always told me not to.

“Elizabeth?” I asked.

She smiled again, thin lips tight together, and turned her wide, green eyes to me. I actually had a hard time looking away from them, now that I think about it.

“You know what a bear uses to catch fish instead of a net?” I asked.

The girl in front of me panicked and looked to her parents for guidance.

“I …I … I don’t …” she stammered.

“It uses its bear hands,” I said. “Get it? Its bear hands?”

Papa groaned but no one else said a thing. I might as well have passed gas.

But suddenly Elizabeth burst out laughing, revealing a full set of bright white teeth.

“Yes, I get it!” she said.

And then I knew we’d be ok.

I could teach her to be a better trapper. But I couldn’t give her new teeth.

***********

The Abrahams died two weeks after that. We cremated them down by the river and pushed what was left through a hole in the ice.

Papa and Momma stayed for a few more weeks to help get everything under control. There was only so much that could be done before spring, and they had to get back while the water was still frozen and before the bears started fishing for salmon. Papa helped me shore up the kennel and chop up that pine tree and get the frame of the greenhouse back up. I’d be on my own to salvage new glass, but I knew just where to find it. It would take many trips, but I’d be able to have it done by next winter for sure.

Before long, it was just me and Elizabeth and the four dogs Momma and Papa had left us with.

We didn’t talk much those first few months, but we fucked almost every night when she was able. I’d think a lot about that group McKenzie Rutledge had told us about too, and sometimes I’d daydream about going to find it.

But last week Lizzie told me the news.

I’m at the trading post now, leaving a note so we can arrange a match.