The Cast Stone Read Online Free Page A

politics is illegitimate.” Monica poured herself another cup of tea.
    Ben stood for a while looking out the window above the sink at the night’s blackness, at the silhouette of the pine with a few stars in its crown. He looked skyward to see more of the stars but the house’s eaves stopped his view. “Like I said, it doesn’t help.” He turned back to Monica. “We can swear at them all we want; they’re still here.”
    â€œChurchill does inspire however; everything becomes important now. Every act of resistance adds to the body of resistance. Someday the world is going to stand up to the Americans. That’s why we need you Ben. Your work on supremacy is far more important now than it was when you were writing about colonialism. You know your students are at the head of the resistance. It was you who inspired them; Jeff Moosehunter, Roland Natawayes, Art Livelong, Betsy Chance. They’re all part of it. Betsy was at Lac La Biche when it got hit.”
    â€œIs she all right?”
    â€œShook, really shook. She wasn’t hit, not physically anyway. But it changed her. She’s jumpy, can’t stand noise. I saw her at Batoche, looking over her shoulder all the time, thinks she’s being followed. But, she hasn’t weakened; she’s still strong the way that Betsy always was strong, a proud Ojibway woman.”
    â€œShe’d correct you and say a proud Anishinabe woman. You know this was never our fight, this American–Canadian thing. Canada promised in the Treaties that we would never be asked to go to war for them.”

    Lester’s head hurt and he put it back down on the seat of the Monte Carlo. His nose was plugged and his eyes felt itchy. This was more than a hangover; maybe something in the whisky, maybe old whisky caused this. He opened his eyes again in the early light at the sound of an approaching car. He watched the lone white woman drive past, wondered who she might be: social worker, public health nurse, schoolteacher — probably a schoolteacher to be up and around this early in the morning. Dawn light bronzed the land, softened the features of the trees, coated them until they appeared to have been dipped in a vat of boiling copper and set out again to stand guard along the side of the road.
    The smell of mould filled him as he tossed about on the back seat of the car. Here was the answer to his symptoms. Whisky would never betray him but mould he knew about. It had been in the farm annex when he spent time in minimum security. That was black mould, the mould that killed people, and prisoners were assigned bleach and scrub brushes to get rid of it. Lester needed a better place to live. His old Monte Carlo no longer held the power and prestige of its and Lester’s youth.

    â€œAre you going to lift your net this morning?” Rosie wanted to know how much time she had to visit.
    â€œI pulled it out yesterday; I have enough fish for awhile.” Ben stirred a half teaspoonful of sugar into his black coffee. Rosie was going to want to know who his guest had been. Ben decided to make her work for the information and only answer direct questions, see how long it took for Rosie to hint around before she came right out and asked.
    â€œDid you have a good sleep?”
    â€œVery good.”
    â€œHmm.” Rosie did not much like coffee at the best of times, and she really did not like Ben’s morning coffee. It was way too strong for her tastes. She only accepted a cupful to be polite; now she was stuck with it. She put the cup down, held it for a moment between her hands, then eased it away, slid it across the wood of the table as she talked, moved the bitter black to greater and greater distance.
    â€œI had my children between eighteen and twenty-four, all in a rush, four kids in six years. Then they were my life for the next twenty years. Then all of a sudden I’m forty and all alone. My baby goes to live with her