The Retreat Read Online Free PDF Page B

out a jackknife, opened it and handed it to Fish, and said, “Slaughter the beast.” The boy happily stabbed at the small box. William, who was nine, and Everett, fourteen, climbed onto chairs and joined in. When the boxes were gutted and laid open on the table their father poured milk and looked at the two women in his life and said, “Et voilà.”
    Mr. Byrd was not as cheerful as he appeared. His French farming stories, his singing, his banter, all of this was a form of bravery; he was trying to please his wife. The week before, his foreman had finally agreed to let him take the summer off and he had pulled his children around him and said that the family would be travelling to Kenora, to stay at a place called the Retreat. They would stay the summer. This is what their mother wanted. She had read an article about the place in a liberal Christian magazine, made a point of seeking out the man who ran the Retreat, and in him she discovered the possibility of her own salvation. Ever since Fish’s birth, Norma Byrd had suffered deep anxiety and a prevailing sense of her own demise. Lewis was aware that her children floated about her like so many extra limbs, and if she could have, she would have lopped them off. She was searching for the promise offreedom and the Retreat appeared to offer that assurance. It would be a place of harmony and friendship; ideas would be discussed and food would be grown and gathered and collectively shared. No one person would be better than another.
    At first, when Lizzy heard of the plans, she refused. She said that she and her boyfriend Cyril were starting a band, and she planned to work, and besides, she hated camping.
    “There are comfortable cabins with screens on the windows,” Mr. Byrd said. “Work, and Cyril and the band, all of this can wait till fall, when you go back to school. You’re young.”
    Everett, who had been sitting beside Lizzy, was conscious of her silence and of how she bit her lip. The light fell into the room through the large front window onto her hands. She had painted her nails just the day before, and Everett had watched her, and then he had painted his own nails and it had given him a feeling of pleasure.
    Their mother said that the trip would be educational. Broadening. A chance to get lost in nature, to let loose their wild side. Mrs. Byrd had spoken softly, her mouth moving quickly. She looked at Everett and said, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Everett? Go wild for a bit?” And he had lifted his shoulders and then finally nodded, because he loved her and wanted to please her.
    Miles further, just on the other side of Winnipeg, where the highway curled through hills and past lakes, Mr. Byrd pulled to the side of the road. While he slept, the children sat on rocks by the edge of a lake and ate peanut butter sandwiches.Their mother poured water from a glass jar and offered apples and pecans and raw wieners. Fish took off his shoes and socks and waded in the shallow water, trying to catch minnows. He fell forward into the cold water and came up grinning. Mrs. Byrd called out, “Don’t go too deep, the lake drops off.”
    Lizzy was sitting higher up on the rocks, holding one of the kittens, and inspecting her bare legs. She was wearing a short skirt and it hiked up high on her thighs and she kept turning her legs towards the sun, hoping for a tan. She had left a boy behind, a boy who had loved her madly. She tried to imagine a world without disenchantment, but this thought was fleeting. Earlier, in the car, she had written a letter to Cyril, her boyfriend. The looping script, the promises she would never keep, this had induced in Lizzy a brief longing. She had already forgotten the shape of Cyril’s mouth. Fish had been at her feet. Everett was sleeping on the back floor. William was in the front between their mother and father. He was prone to carsickness and had already thrown up into a plastic bucket and the car still smelled sour. Trees and rocks