Страница 130 из 147
“You’ve got to let yourself go, Da
“I’m a beer drinker, Ketchum-no red wine for me,” Da
“For Christ’s sake-I mean, as a writer!” Ketchum said.
“As a writer?” Da
“You keep skirting the darker subjects,” Ketchum told him. “You have a way of writing around the periphery of things.”
“I do?” Da
“You do. You seem to be dodging the squeamish stuff,” Ketchum told him. “You’ve got to stick your nose in the worst of it, and imagine everything, Da
At the time, this struck Da
“What about the bear?” Da
“Oh, the bear will have smoked enough for now-I can start the fire up again tomorrow,” Ketchum told him impatiently. “There’s one more thing-well, okay, two things. First of all, you don’t seem to be a city person-not to me. I think the country is the place for you-I mean, as a writer,” Ketchum said more softly. “Secondly-though I would suggest this is more important-you have no need for the fucking nom de plume anymore. As I’m aware that the very idea of a pen name once affected you adversely, I think it’s time for you to take your own name back. Daniel always was your dad’s name for you, and I’ve heard you say, Da
“I can guess what my publishers will say to that idea,” Da
“I’m just telling you what’s good for you-as a writer,” Ketchum told him almost offhandedly.
“Let me see if I understand you correctly,” the writer said a little peevishly. “I should rename myself Daniel Baciagalupo; I should live in the country, in Canada; I should let myself go-that is, be more daring as a writer,” Da
“I think you’re catching on,” the logger told him.
“Is there anything else you would recommend?” Da
“We’ve been an empire in decline since I can remember,” Ketchum said bluntly; he wasn’t kidding. “We are a lost nation, Da
The two men stared at each other, poised over what they were drinking-Da
“Maybe not this year,” Ketchum told him.
The writer knew he was risking a blow from Ketchum’s powerful right hand, but Da
“Just do your job, Da
VI. POINTE AU BARIL STATION, ONTARIO, 2005
CHAPTER 16. LOST NATION
FOR THREE WINTERS NOW, THE WRITER DANIEL BACIAGALUPO-who’d reclaimed the name that the cook and Cousin Rosie had given him-spent the months of January and February, and the first two weeks of March, on Turner Island in Georgian Bay. The island still belonged to Charlotte, the onetime love of Da
Da
There wasn’t just the ice-chopping; there was a lot of wood to cut. (Ketchum’s chainsaw was a big help.) In the ten weeks Da
In addition to the woodstove in the main cabin, there was a propane fireplace in the bedroom and an electric heater in the bathroom-and Andy Grant had put fiberglass insulation between the floor joists. The main cabin was now sustainable for winter weather, and there was a second woodstove in Da
Every night, Da
He went to work every morning in his writing shack, inspired by the view of that wind-bent pine-the little tree that had once reminded both the writer and Ketchum of the cook. Da
It was a short ski from the back dock of the island across Shawanaga Bay, and then Da