Voices Carry

A shadow dances below the thin, spring ice. A fish. The outline is barely visible to Henry. But his grandfather is smiling at him, raising his spear, preparing to strike.

Henry knows the fish is as good as dead. His grandfather never misses. In a moment, the ice will break, the fish will release a pool of blood as it tries to swivel out of the spear that has impaled it.

But he hasn’t seen his octogenarian grandfather for two decades. Maybe his reflexes aren't quick, maybe his strength has waned. His eyesight certainly hadn’t faded.

An icy breeze whooshes past them. Henry shudders as he remembers how he’d enjoyed all those years back, when he’d left the reserve. In the neon lights of Halifax, enjoying the student life, he’d felt a real Canadian.

A lawyer, he’d married, felt ashamed to invite even his parents to his wedding. Now, ten years on, his wife was gone, divorced, so were his children. He was back in the reserve, discovering what’d missed.

His grandfather pats Henry’s back, hands him the spear, and says, “You do!”

Just like he’d done when Henry was a toddler.