Earlier that evening, Henry and Ben were brushing their teeth together at the sink when Ben spat and turned to Henry and said, “All my friends think you’re weird.” Henry shrugged and then, with his mouth still rabid with foamy toothpaste, bit Ben on the shoulder.
Eli cried again that night and kept Henry awake. Henry wanted to be in bed with his parents, but he couldn’t ask because their father was angry at him for biting Ben. Instead he hung over the top bunk, watching Ben sleep and thinking about the cave. He thought about how it would be a good place for hiding, how if it was sealed properly nothing could get in.
THE NEXT DAY WAS Sunday, so Henry and Ben headed down to the bunkhouses. They collected bottles at the mill every Sunday and Thursday, storing them in crates under the cabins. Every two weeks they loaded the empties onto the Uchuck that arrived in Tahsis to drop off produce and other supplies. They would receive a cheque made out to their father that he would cash and divide between the two of them. On a good week they made four dollars each. Usually it took them the whole afternoon, because they liked to peer in the windows at the kitchenettes and the beds with untucked blankets. If they were lucky there were dirty clothes on the floor or food left on the tables — egg shells or half-eaten crusts sticky with jam — that hinted to what kind of person might live there. When they had time, they looked in the garbage bins for anything interesting, but today Ben moved quickly, the crate of bottles rattling as he jogged from porch to porch.
“Why are you going so fast?” Henry said.
“I have target practice.”
“With who?”
“The birds.”
At the next cabin something made Ben slow his pace. He bent down and pulled a magazine from the garbage can and tucked it into the back of his pants. Henry followed him around the back of the bunkhouse and they sat side by side on a log. Ben pulled out the magazine. “Wanna see something?”
“Yeah,” Henry said.
Ben turned the colour pages slowly, each one with a naked woman, sometimes several naked women crouching or snarling like animals.
“Which one do you like best?” Ben said.
“I don’t know.”
“You have to pick one.” Ben handed him the magazine.
Henry flipped through the pages until they were a pink blur. “I can’t.”
Ben rolled his eyes and grabbed the magazine out of Henry’s hands.
“What are you going to do with it?” Henry said.
“Keep it.” Ben rolled it up and stuck it back in his pants. “You don’t even know what it is, so what do you care.”
“I know what it is.”
When they got back to the house, Ben ran up the steps and came back out with his BB gun. “Can I come?” Henry called after him. Ben strutted right by Henry and headed for the trees. Henry walked back into the house, letting the screen door slam, and went to the washroom to look at himself in the mirror. His eye was getting better, the edges of the bruise yellowing like an overripe pear. He walked around the house listlessly for half an hour then headed outside.
The forest was alive with noise, sun streaming straight down through the arms of the trees and heating the forest floor, making the air smell green and lush. The birds talked to Henry in such loud chatter, he felt confused about the direction of the cave and kept stopping to wonder if Ben was behind a tree up ahead, aiming the BB gun in his direction.
Henry had a can of gasoline from the garage and under Ben’s bed he had found the matches they’d stolen. The creek bubbled around the stones as Henry crossed to the other side. He knew the gasoline had to be poured in the middle of the cave for the fire to get big enough. He got down on his hands and knees and crawled slowly through the tunnel so he wouldn’t drop the can. His nose filled with the mossy smell of the rock as the cave opened around him and the temperature dropped. He held his breath and kept his head lowered, not wanting to glimpse the hundreds of sleeping bodies above him. Everything was still — the only sound came from the gentle slosh of gasoline in the metal can and soon that stopped too. All the urgency drained from his body and his muscles went slack the way they did when he stood at the edge of a lake. He sat cross-legged in the centre of the cave and after a while he felt peaceful. The spiders minded their own business and nothing bothered him. His arms and legs took a sharp-angled shape and the hair along the nape of his neck stood up in rows of bristles. His fingertips tingled with imaginary gossamer threads.
He tipped the can and the sweet metallic smell spilled out over the cave floor. The sound made everything come to life, a thousand legs rustling above his head. He scurried out, leaving a trail as the can clanged between his knees, the smell following him into the overwhelming green. He shook the can to make sure it was empty and tilted the spout to sprinkle the remaining drops around his feet. The knees of his pants were soaked in gasoline. He pulled out the box of matches with the wild red bird on the front and got down on his belly to better judge the snaking wet trajectory across the dirt, and the distance between himself and the cave entrance. Wiggling backwards on his stomach like a lizard, he sniffed at the ground. His fingers fiddled with the matches, a few spilling before he managed to strike one and light the line. The trail sparked and he leapt to his feet.
When the fire hit the cave a boom pushed the air out of his lungs and sucked the sound out of the world around him. He hit the ground, sunlight through the trees blinding him briefly before a thud of darkness swallowed him.
When he opened his eyes Ben was there, his mouth wide open like a fish gasping at the bottom of a boat. Face wild with delight, he danced around Henry’s head before yanking him up and slapping the dirt off his back. The blast had thrown Henry several feet. A grin spread across Henry’s face and Ben laughed even harder, the muted sound reaching Henry’s ears as though he were approaching the surface of a lake from a great depth. He could hear Ben’s muffled voice repeating over and over, “You’re okay.” On the way home, Ben leaned toward him, an arm around his shoulder and yelled into Henry’s ear, “You flew like a bird.”
THE ENTIRE TOWN HEARD the explosion. It woke Eli from his nap and sent their mother running down the front steps. It made windows shake all over the neighborhood and shot birds into the air. In town, people froze in intersections, covered their heads, or looked skyward. Everyone wondered where the blast had come from. Henry’s mother and father discussed it over dinner while Ben and Henry kept their eyes on their plates and ate quietly.
A letter came from Victoria, but the jar was never returned. They classified the spider as a common house spider, or Parasteatoda tepidariorum. Ben turned the uninhabited cave into a fort with a canvas door and camping lanterns lighting its insides. Henry almost never went back to the cave and when he did he felt uneasy there, as though he didn’t belong. He thought about the explosion often though, but only at night when he was alone in bed. Sometimes he’d see a trail of fire coming from his fingertips and radiating out into the world. Sometimes he’d hear Ben’s voice saying you’re okay. You’re okay.
CLEAR SKIES, NO WIND, 100% VISIBILITY
WHEN THE MAYDAY COMES over the radio, my mind is elsewhere and in a distant enough place — up the trail that leads to the telecommunications tower, where the hawk perched on the steel lattice watches over the entire Kamloops valley — that it takes me seconds longer than it should to respond to the emergency call.