Monkey Beach Read Online Free PDF Page A

“I’m going across.”
    The town of Kitimat, with its different spelling, has a fluctuating population of about ten to twelve thousand, while the village has between seven and eight hundred people. Most people from the village whowork in town travel this road twice a day and know its hairpin turns so well that they say they can drive it blindfolded. After getting his second speeding ticket in a month, Dad was one of those who pushed to get the speed limit raised from fifty kilometres an hour to sixty. When the safety inspector from the department of highways came out to test the road, he drove back and forth four times in a car laden with instruments, then announced that the road wasn’t even safe to drive at fifty kilometres on dry pavement and the speed limit should actually be lowered to forty kilometres an hour.
    Dad was driving too fast that day, but I liked the speeds that sent you straining against the seat belt. We stopped at the bank first. “Jesus,” he said when he looked at his updated bankbook.
    “Is something wrong?” the teller asked.
    “I think there’s been a mistake. There’s a couple more zeros here than there should be.”
    “Oh,” the teller said. “Is your brother Michael Hill?”
    “Yes.”
    “He dropped by this morning. He said he owed you some money. He had your account number.”
    Dad shook his head. “He doesn’t owe me anything. Could you give me the exact amount he put in?”
    “You want to take it out?”
    “Yes.”
    “All of it? You’re sure?”
    “Very.”
    The teller handed Dad a fat envelope, and instead of driving to the grocery store, we stopped in front of a long, run-down series of town houses.
    “Stay in the car,” Dad said.
    “Don’t want to,” I said.
    “Lisa, once, just once, don’t argue with me. Okay? Stay in the car and don’t move—”
    “Well, howdy stranger!” Uncle Mick’s voice boomed. I looked up and he was standing bare-chested in a pair of shorts on the porch.
    “Stay,” Dad said.
    He walked up to Uncle Mick and held out the envelope. Mick shook his head. Dad tried to push the envelope into Mick’s hands, but Mick lifted his arms above his head and dodged out of his way. Dad chased him until the door opened and a blonde white woman in a terry-cloth bathrobe started talking to Dad. They shook hands. Mick disappeared inside, came back outside wearing a flannel shirt, kissed the woman on the cheek and passed Dad as if he didn’t notice him. He came straight to the car, with Dad following behind him.
    “Hey, Lisa M,” Mick said, opening the door and sliding into the backseat. His legs folded up almost to his chest, and he had to keep his head at an angle or he’d hit the roof. “You want some ice cream? Your daddy’s taking us to Dairy Queen!”
    “Yay!” I said, bouncing up and down on the seat. “Ice cream! Ice cream!”
    “Hey, Al,” Mick said when Dad got to the car. “Maybe we should take my truck. I’m getting claustrophobic back here.”
    “Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!”
    “Settle down, Lisa,” Dad said. “We’re not getting ice cream.”
    “Sure we are,” Mick said. “You said we should go for coffee and I pick Dairy Queen. Do you want to go to Dairy Queen, Lisa M? Hmm? Ice cream! Banana splits! Strawberry sundaes!”
    “Mick,” Dad said, turning in his seat to glare at his brother.
    “See?” Mick said, punching his shoulder. “You’re outvoted.” When Dad didn’t say anything, Mick leaned back. “Don’t worry about it, man. I figure it’s the least I owe you.”
    “You should invest it,” Dad said.
    “I am,” Mick said. “You’re my Bank of Al. Come Christmas, I’ll be bumming off you and living in your basement, you’ll see.”

    I unpacked the box of extra dishes we had given to Mick as a housewarming present. Mom put groceries in his cupboards while Dad looked through Mick’s tax forms. A few days after he started work at the logging camp, Revenue Canada had sent their own