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Don't Think Twice - Hardcover

Johnson, Wayne

 
9780609604601: Don't Think Twice
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 0609604600 ISBN 13: 9780609604601
Verlag: Crown Publications, 1999

Inhaltsangabe

Haunted by the death of his son and his disintegrating marriage, Paul, the owner of a resort near the Chippewa reservation where he grew up, finds himself investigating a supposed "suicide" tied to the death of his son and to the bizarre "accidents" that begin to unfold

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Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

<b>Wayne Johnson</b> grew up in the north lakes region of Minnesota and on the White Earth and Red Lake reservations. He was a Teaching-Writing Fellow of the Iowa Writer's Workshop and is the recipient of the prestigious Wallace Stegner Fellowship from Stanford University. His short fiction has been published in The Atlantic Monthly, Ploughshares, and Story, among others, and has been featured in collections including Prize Stories, The O. Henry Awards, and The Norton Anthology of Literature. He lives in Lawrence, Kansas.

Wayne Johnson was a Teaching-Writing Fellow of the Iowa Writer's Workshop.

Aus dem Klappentext

magnificent landscape of northwest Minnesota, near the Chippewa reservation where he grew up, Paul Two Persons owns a resort lodge on fourteen thousand acres of pristine forests and lakes. Haunted by the death of his young son and his disintegrating relationship with his beautiful wife, Paul is on the verge of losing the land he loves due to an unpaid loan to his childhood friend Al. <br> <br>When he is called on to identify Al's body at the morgue, he knows his troubles have just begun. Not only are shady developers eyeing his property with escalating delight, but his best friend is putting moves on his mourning wife, and he's getting the dizzying sense that these occurrences are related to his son's death and Al's "suicide."<br> <br>It's not just the fire that damages half the lodge or the potshots that somebody takes at him on a dark night; it's the left boot missing from Al's body an

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It was the way Gwen was standing, head tilted admiringly, that made my heart leap, that got me wondering. But then, with a cough, I came down the path, and the two of them, laughing, turned from the lodge stoop. Gwen, her hands on her hips, hair done up over her head in a dark knot, eyes bright. Clark, my old friend, tall and stoop-shouldered, grinning.

"Hey there, Paul," he said, or at least that is what I think he said, and something shot away, like a night bird, a shadow.

"What's up?" I asked.
        
I was carrying a stringer of walleyes; they thumped against my leg as I walked. It was a good feeling. I put a foot up on the stoop, and Gwen and I exchanged glances. We had a variety of signs we used around guests--a certain flat look, for example, meant, keep it moving; a narrowing of the eyes warned we needed to talk alone.
        
Gwen gave me that warning look now. It was after eleven and I had a party to take out early, so I had no intention of chitchatting. Clark pointed to the fish.
        
"Gill netting again?" he teased.
        
"Nah," I replied.
        
There had been some rough weather earlier, only it had moved off to the south. Now the air was damp, with electricity in it; thunder rumbled in the distance.
        
"You hear that?" I said, hefting the stringer with one hand and reaching for Gwen with the other.
        
"Dynamite," I said. "Brings 'em to the top every time."

On the path back to the cabin, Gwen stopped now and again. There was something in her step, a lightness I wasn't sure I liked.
        
"Clark's funny," she said.
        
Yes, he was that all right, I agreed. Clark was very funny, in that offhand, dry way of his. We climbed the spine of the island. Down toward Hayes Junction lightning flashed. The cobalt-blue rectangle of Gwen's shirt bobbed ahead of me in the dark.
        
Gwen said something I didn't hear.
        
I was thinking about the money, and where I'd get it. I was trying not to let my near panic show. I had just days to come up with our next payment or we would lose the cabins, lodge, everything. I'd lent my old, and estranged friend, Al, a small fortune and had little hope of getting it back. Gwen had no idea.
        
And there was this, too: I got the feeling that something had changed around the lake, and in town, while we'd been gone over the winter, and the change wasn't good. People weren't talking to me, crossed the sidewalk in Pine Point when I approached.
        
It was as if something dangerous had attached itself to me, and getting too close meant trouble. Tchibai, the old ones called it, or walking shadow.
        
Following Gwen now, I wondered who'd put it on me. If it was fatal.
        
"Al call this afternoon?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
        
"No," Gwen said. She gave me a quick glance over her shoulder.
        
I pulled a face. For my old friend Al. A boogeyman face, tongue out, eyes wide. In short, trouble. Al had gotten deep into everything I'd run from up there on the reservation. All that Medicine Society hocus-pocus and politics.
        
"Stop it," Gwen said, laughing.
        
Yet there was little consolation in that. Al would call; I don't have it, he'd say. I'd lie, to Gwen, and to some officer at my bank in the Twin Cities, who'd want to know what the trouble was--Why is your payment late?--and then I'd begin the scramble to turn things around.
        
I watched Gwen's hips shift as she climbed, her legs sinewy and slender.
        
"The washer died," Gwen said.
        
"Again?"
        
Gwen chronicled the day's losses. I knew them all. In November, when we'd shut down for the year, I'd taken inventory. Things did not look good. Now, the end of May, we'd been up at the lake two weeks and the lodge was coming apart around us.
        
"The pilot light goes out on the Hobart--"
        
That was the industrial-size oven I'd bought at an estate sale.
        
"--the thing in the bottom of the washer--"
        
"The impeller--" I said.
        
"Well, whatever, it doesn't work."
        
She stopped on the path where the spur angled off to our cabin, and I very nearly bumped into her. I thought she was going to ask me why I wasn't doing anything about it, but it was worse than that. She turned her face away; the moon shone in her hair.
        
"Gwen--"
        
"No, don't. Don't say anything," she said, her eyes shiny in the dark. "Please don't be funny now, will you? I just couldn't bear it. I mean it, Paul."
        
I got a sick feeling in my stomach. Now, here it was all over again.
        
I thought, standing behind her, just say it. Or shout it. I was to blame. Get it over, now. Just not all this--distance.
        
Our boy, Bobby, had died the November before; we'd all had a hand in it, Gwen, Clark, and I, though, it seemed then, Clark had had the deciding one.
        
"It'll get easier."
        
"No," Gwen said. "Stop. Just stop. You're always--you're always thinking things. You've always got some angle going.

Can't you just let things be? Do you always have to tangle everything up?" Her eyes were hard; I'd never seen her look so bitter. "I don't want to be convinced things are different. That they aren't bad."
        
"I'll fix it," I said.
        
"You can't-- fix-- anything," she cried. "So can you please just stop it?"
        
"Gwen," I said, reaching for her.
        
She stepped back, shaking her head. She was lovely, and crying again. She'd misunderstood. I wanted to explain. But how could I? I hadn't meant Bobby, but Bobby was everywhere and in everything. Our winter down in St. Paul seemed not to have helped one bit.
        
"I'll have the old Taj...

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Verlag
Crown Publications
Erscheinungsdatum
1999
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0609604600
ISBN 13 
9780609604601
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Anzahl der Seiten
291
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Verantwortliche Person
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