April Fool Read Online Free Page A

Grizzly reaching behind for something, hears the hiss of beer as a cap is unscrewed, a gurgle, a belch. Thankfully this old bull, with his dangerous views on castration, doesn’t have great powers of observation, and the Owl is gaining in optimism.
    So far, this has been a miracle escape, right out of a war movie, he crossed the enemy lines and he’s already planning for the future. He’ll try for a couple of quick scores in Vancouver and elsewhere, enough to get out of the country. Europe probably or some enlightened land where the cops suck up to tourists, maybe Greece or Turkey or Lebanon, where he emigrated from as a child.
    On the other side of the Nitinat bridge, Grizzly pulls off, asking the Owl to excuse him, he has to relieve himself. The sight of water gushing over rocks and waterfalls forces Faloon to recognize the same compelling urge, and he climbs from the passenger side and goes behind a tree.
    Tired, consumed by worry, he forgets he’s Gertrude Heeredam, and instead of squatting, he pulls out his oscar while standing, letting go a hot arcing stream. He is not quite finished when he glances up and sees Grizzly staring at him from behind a salmonberry bush across the road, his mouth agape, an expression that turns to rage as Faloon hurriedly tucks in.
    Fearing an episode of curbside justice, Faloon sprints to the idling crew cab, clambers behind the wheel, locks the driver’s door, shifts, spits rocks. But now Grizzly is right on him, at the side of the truck, and he feels a lurch as he vaults into the back.
    The Owl is convinced now that fate has it in for him this April Fool’s Day. What a chump, with his mental meltdown. He’s afraid his rider will try to kick in the rear window and strangle the cross-dressing psycho sex fiend, or maybe grab the chainsaw and decapitate him. But Grizzly doesn’t seem ready to do these things, just glaring at him from the rear-view, sitting on a sheet of plywood, nursing an elbow he banged.
    The road is winding and ribbed with ridges, so Faloon can’t pour the juice on, but he doesn’t dare slow. He can keep going until he runs out of gas, and then the yard super will castrate him. As the road dips by the river, he dares a risky play, slowing almost to a stop so Grizzly can maybe drop the tailgate and clamber out, deciding not to be brave, content to be left alone on the road and not take chances with a psycho killer. But Grizzly doesn’t move, and there’s even an evil smile on his face, as if he knows what Faloon is up to.
    Getting up speed again, he sees shimmering blue waters in the distance, log rafts assembled on it, and the road descends until it comes to a fork by the western lip of Cowichan Lake. When he rounds a curve, he is suddenly aware of flashing lights, officers lounging beside a blinking cruiser–another roadblock.
    This he greets with mixed emotions, almost welcoming the sight of an officer furiously waving him to stop–horsemen do not as a rule remove your body parts. As the Owl brakes, he turnsfatalistic, this has not been his day, not at all. He switches off the engine and listens to Grizzly, outside, loudly ratting on him.
    When a constable approaches him to seek clarification of these accusations, he rolls down his window and produces Gertrude Heeredam’s driver’s licence.
    â€œYou make an ugly woman, Faloon,” he says.

 

    3
    W ith envy, Arthur Beauchamp watches juncos mating in the raspberry patch. A bumblebee tests a daffodil. There is lust in his garden, spring’s vitality. Maybe his sap will start flowing again too, and the lazy lout below will rise from flaccid hibernation. The desire is there, but the equipment faulty. When was his last erection–a month ago? A halfhearted attempt at takeoff. But he knows he must accept and move on. We age, faculties rust. Some men lose their hair. In compensation, Arthur has kept his, a thick grey thatch.
    No one is