Unhooking the Moon Read Online Free PDF Page A

was a stone jar containingher ashes. Dad said he kept the garden to show us how the prairies would have looked had they not been cultivated into farmland, but really it was dedicated to her. She loved prairie plants and the garden was full of them. There was the fiery red Gaillardia with its yellow border and the Stiff Goldenrod with its sticky buds. And the Purple Cone Flower, which was the Rat’s favourite, grew in abundance. I took a seat on the bench and stretched out. It was so silent you could almost hear the grass drying in the heat. That’s the great thing about the prairies, there’s plenty of peace and quiet when you want it.
    Harold must have recovered from his walk because him and the Rat followed me to the garden. I got up and let them have the bench.
    â€˜Thanks, Bob,’ said Harold taking a seat. ‘It’s such a beautiful garden. And look at those butterflies. I’ve heard people call them floating flowers and I can see why.’
    â€˜Did I ever tell you the Native legend of how butterflies came to be?’ asked the Rat.
    â€˜No, but I’d like you to.’
    The Rat knew more of those Native legends than the Natives themselves. She’s such a little squaw.
    â€˜Well, there were human twins born to the SpiritWoman. And all the animals looked after them. The wolf hunted for them, the birds sang to them, and the bear protected them. They wanted for nothing. But in time the animals saw that the twins never crawled or walked the way their young ones did, and they never reached for anything. This concerned the animals and so one day they sent the dog to the top of the mountain to see the Great Spirit. “Go to the edge of the river,” said the Great Spirit. “There you will find multicoloured stones. Collect them and place them at the feet of the children.” The dog obeyed these words but it had no affect on the children. In frustration, the dog picked up the stones and threw them in the air. To his surprise, they never fell to the ground. Instead, they floated and fluttered and turned into butterflies. Then, the children reached and crawled for them. And, in time, they waddled after them. But the butterflies always stayed just out of reach. And that’s how butterflies came to be. And the moral of the story is, don’t pamper your children.’
    â€˜I like that story, Marie Claire. You know so much.’
    â€˜You do as well, Harold … Bob, would you like to get me and Harold more lemonade?’
    â€˜Sure,’ I said. Normally I would tell the Rat to go jump in the river, but she knew I wouldn’t sayanything in front of Harold. But as I took the Rat’s glass from her she began to sway. I knew it was coming. ‘Dad!’ I shouted. She went to stand up but collapsed. ‘Dad!’ Her teeth clenched and she began to shake uncontrollably. I pinned her shoulders to the ground before the spasms grew too violent. Her face cringed with pain and saliva ran from her mouth. I heard a shutter crack and the Old Man’s feet swishing through the grass.
    â€˜She can’t breathe!’ shouted Harold.
    I tried to unlock her jaw but I couldn’t. Suddenly dad was kneeling next to me.
    â€˜Daddy’s here, sweetheart! You’re going to be OK!’ His face was hard and serious. ‘Can you hear me, sweetheart? Daddy’s here.’ She began to make a strange gagging sound. ‘Try and relax! Breathe normal now, there’s a good girl!’ Her hands tightened into fists and shuddered back and forth. Her heels ripped at the grass. Dad threw his arms around her and held her tight. ‘Come on, sweetheart! Let it go!’
    I didn’t know what to do and so I took hold of her hand. I turned to see Harold. He looked terrified. ‘She’ll be OK, Harold.’ Just as I said it, the spasms became less violent. Her eyes opened and her jaw unlocked.
    â€˜Come on, sweetheart. Take a deep breath.’ She