Sweet Jesus by Christine Pountney Page B

shadows move. Hannah felt as if she was breathing with her eyes. There, one of them would say and then, No. They walked slowly and stopped often to raise the rifle and scan the treeline through the scope.
    The day before, after a late start, hungover and shaky, they’d driven out of St. John’s and installed themselves at a friend’s cabin. They set off into the woods half-heartedly, and after several hours of cautious advances, long, searching intervals, they saw a magnificent stag. It was Hannah’s first sighting, and the animal looked magical, something out of Norse mythology or a child’s arctic fairytale. He had a rack of antlers like a huge inverted wishbone and a yoke of white fur. His back must have been five feet off the ground. He pranced out of the woods and sniffed the air, then turned and went back into the trees before walking out again, leading four does and two calves. The herd started to graze, but the stag was skittish. He knew something was up.
    Hannah had been trying to find him through the rifle. Norm was whispering, You have to get closer. They were downwind and had crawled and managed to get within a hundred and fifty yards of the caribou.
    Kneeling, Hannah held the rifle and caught him in her scope. That stag walked right across it, but all she could do was admire him, so she lost the shot. What would it require to shoot such a beautiful animal? Could she do it? He turned away and never gave her another chance. He must have caught a whiff of them then, because he raised his head and froze. The rest of the herd sprang to attention, and the stag led them at a trot back into the woods – except for one adolescent calf who lingered, who kept looking in Hannah’s direction, curiousand rebellious, defying his patient father at the edge of the forest, waiting.
    A few minutes later, there was splashing as the animals crossed a shallow pond out of sight.
    You have to be quick, Norm had said, you can’t hesitate, you’ve got a fraction of a second when the caribou is yours. You want it side on. Then aim right behind the front shoulder, through the lungs and heart.
    Hannah realized that she had to stop thinking about the consequences and the beauty of the animal. All she could think about was that spot behind the shoulder and the trigger of her gun and matching those two things.
    Today they’d been sprawled on the ground, hiding in the scoop of a little hollow for about an hour when a good-sized female appeared about two hundred yards away. Norm and Hannah bent forward at the waist and lifted their feet high and rushed forward as quietly as they could in their plastic rain pants. But the caribou moved soundlessly and without effort, and they couldn’t gain on her.
    They’re so fast, Norm said, breathing hard from the exertion. Let’s try those barrens over there.
    No, let’s have lunch, Hannah said, and on their way back to the car, Norm spotted some fluorescent pink tape hanging from a branch on the far side of the marsh. They walked the quarter-mile to have a look. The tape marked the end of a trail that led back to the road, not far from where they’d parked. If they could get a caribou near this trail, it would make the job of lugging it out so much easier. There were caribou tracks all over the marsh where the trail led out.
    It’s Caribou Highway, Norm said. If we come back here, just before dusk, and sit quietly and wait long enough, a caribou will pass.
    They returned to the car and sat inside and ate their sandwiches. Who knew cold bacon could taste so good? Hannah said, and they each drank a thermos cup of lukewarm tea and this, too, was very good.
    They had a blanket in the trunk and Hannah lay across the back seat, unable to sleep, while Norm slept soundly under his coat, reclined in the passenger seat. The sky was so white through the windows – the car’s interior sharply grey and metallic as yesterday’s hangover. Hannah was thinking about how it was going to work out, this
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