The Agony of Bun O'Keefe by Heather T. Smith

Author:Heather T. Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PRH Canada Young Readers
Published: 2017-09-05T04:00:00+00:00

I am drinking

I am drinking yellow flowers

in underground sunlight

and you can see that I am a sensitive man

and I notice that the bartender is a sensitive man

so I tell him the beer he draws

is half fart and half horse piss”

Busker Boy paused and raised his eyebrows. I grinned.

He read on about a bar fight and it was funny and real and raw. I renamed it “At the Old Brewery Mission” and imagined Jimmy Quinlan as the drunk friend that got slugged “ass-over-electric-kettle.”

“Well?” he said when he was done reading. “What did you think?”

“I think I’d like to borrow that book.”

He tossed it up my end of the bed.

I pointed to the window. “Is it clear yet?”

He looked out. “We won’t be busking today. Not in this blizzard.”

“Want me to tell you a story?” I asked.

“How about I tell you one?”

“You know stories?”

“Lots of them.”

He pulled his comforter off the floor and wrapped himself up in it. “This one’s called ‘Wolverine Invited the Birds to the Drum Dance.’ ”

“Terrible title. Too long.”

He tutted. “Quite the little critic, aren’t you?”

Critic. Smartarse. Rude obnoxious asshole.

My face must’ve looked weird ’cause he said, “I’m only teasing.”

“It’s a fine title,” I said. “Straight and to the point.”

“Let’s see if you think it’s a fine story as well.”

He began.

“One day, Wolverine, Kuekuatsheu, invited the ducks and a loon to a drum dance. When they showed up at the tent he suggested they close their eyes while they danced. After a while the loon opened one of his eyes and saw there weren’t as many ducks as there were before. He looked at Wolverine and saw him picking up the ducks and twisting their necks one by one. The loon shouted to the rest of the ducks, ‘Wolverine tricked us!’ They all ran away, but as the loon was escaping Wolverine grabbed his tail feathers and pulled them off. And that’s why the loon has no tail feathers.”

I tried biting my lip but it didn’t work. “New title. ‘Ducks Are Stupid.’ ”

He laughed. “That’s a bit harsh. Maybe ‘Ducks Are Gullible’ would be better.”

“Who told you that story?”

“An Elder.”

“Do you miss your community?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you leave?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Will you go back?”

“Some day.”

“What did those policemen say to you the other day?”

He paused. “The world can be an unfair place sometimes.”

“I know. I read Anne Frank, remember.”

“They called me a savage, Nishim. They asked me how much I had to drink and told me to stay out of trouble.”

I read a book about Che Guevara once. He said that anyone who trembled with indignation at injustice was a comrade of his. What Busker Boy said made me tremble a lot. I said, “We should start a revolution,” and Busker Boy laughed and said, “Who are you, Che Guevara?” I said, “No, but I’m his friend.”

We listened to a snowplow go down the street and up the other side. We listened to it plow the next road over, then the one after that. The noise it made got fainter and fainter, and

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