(018)
Tiny waves break against the hull of the canoe as it runs aground, leaving rivulets of water cascading onto the muddy bank. A young woman with her face cloaked in a shawl steps out onto land on sure feet, shadowed by a border collie with specks of grey ringing his hazel eyes. Using the rope on the front of the boat she pulls it further out of the water, her jaw clenched and eyes steely. Her movements seem rehearsed, but the look on her face betrays this as her first time. She secures the canoe and hooks the strap of a bulging satchel from within it with her right arm, pulling it over her shoulder to face the reason she came. The moon hangs full in the sky, illuminating the mist that covers the ground and ringing the tree with an ethereal glow.
At first she doesn’t move. Can’t move. One thought etched across her face:
If I just stayed here.
Broken only by the collie’s cold nose and warm head being thrust into her hand. She winces, unable to look down, instead just scratching him behind the ear and moving forward. He matches her stride effortlessly, the mist swirling around them with every step. The figure of the tree looms before them and she eyes the outline of its branches, but finds only darkness.
She squats beside the tree and sets the sack down in front of her, pulling at the knot she’d tied to open it. From within the sack she removes a golden picture frame, glinting in the moonlight. Inside of it is a photo of a little girl posing with her arms around the collie. A wide grin is plastered across her face with a gap where her front teeth should be, and the dog’s tongue lolls out the side of his mouth. She lays it gently at the foot of the tree and continues to unpack. One by one she reveals trinkets and keepsakes and places them alongside the photo frame, creating a makeshift shrine. With the bag all but empty, she stands, hooking the waist of her trousers with her left thumb and sliding her right hand into her underwear, withdrawing fingers glistening with blood. She traces the tips against the bark, carefully marking it with the three lines of a triangle, then presses her hand into the centre. Her head drops and she shuts her eyes.
“I come to you for help,” she starts, her voice strong but wavering, “I have lost someone I love, and only you can bring them back.” A tear runs down her face and drips from her nose. The collie tries to comfort her, rubbing up against her leg and headbutting her other hand, but she ignores him.
“As payment,” she swallows, biting back the words, “I bring you my pain.” She sniffs as another tear falls. “And the promise of a debt owed.”
She drops her hand from the tree and squats once more, reaching for the sack. The dog takes this moment to try and lick the tears away. She presses her head against the side of his, only for more tears to flow. She wraps her arm around him and pulls the bag towards her.
“I love you,” she whispers, holding him closely and planting kisses on his head, her hand searching inside the bag. The collie nuzzles into her and she breathes the scent of him in, sobbing and repeatedly muttering “I’m sorry.” With one sharp movement cold steel winks in the moonlight and the knife is plunged into his heart. He yelps and she cradles him tightly, but he doesn’t fight it. Blood spurts out in a mechanical rhythm, coating the bark and the shrine along with it. Her tears soak his fur.
The dog’s limp body crumples into her when the blood finally stops, and she’s left alone in the silence of her decision. The tree’s presence looms over her still, and from her knees she scans for a sign that it had worked, but with no response.
Then the mist begins to grow brighter, the tree is filled with light, and from within the branches a figure appears. Two hoofed and hairy legs dangle either side of a branch, and a bearded face looks down on her, a pair of horns protruding from his tangled mess of hair.
“I’m listening.” He says, his voice small and plain.
“Cut!” The distorted word booms and crackles, filling the air around them. “That was great! But let’s reset and go again.”
The woman lets go of the dog and it bounds towards its trainer. From every angle people appear and begin tending to their duties. A sudden flurry of activity to undo what had already been done. Blood is washed from the tree, trinkets are replaced in the sack, and makeup is used to mask the tears.
People swarm around the woman as she walks back towards her starting place. She smiles at them and follows their directions to shut her eyes or lift her chin, until out of the gloom another figure approaches, megaphone in hand, and they all disperse.
“Listen Marsha, that was great,” he begins, “but this time I need you to squeeze the dog even harder, and act as if it’s fighting, okay? We’ve really got to make them believe it.”
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