Page 13 of True North
He waited for JT to tell him what came next. His instincts told him he had been inside too long and it was time to get going, but JT had asked him to come and sit, and Misha’s bear nature deferred, at least for now, to the human manners his mother had so patiently drilled into him. He wouldn’t run off until JT was done with him.
Finally, JT finished typing and opened a browser window. As Misha watched, he clicked a few times and selected a file, and then a new screen opened, filled with Cyrillic text. For one terrifying moment, Misha thought he had been in the woods for so long that he’d forgotten how to read even Russian, but then he blinked again and the symbols on the screen became words.I thought it could be more efficient than using voice translation, the first sentence read, and Misha realized that JT had been typing a message to him.
He read it through twice to be sure he wasn’t misunderstanding the parts that had been translated strangely. Most of what JT had written was questions for Misha: where had he come from? Was he in trouble of any sort? Did he want JT to introduce him to the local bear shifters? Did he want help finding a place to live or a job, or did he want to stay with JT, or did he like living in the woods? And more along those lines.
Misha glanced at JT. So many of the questions were about things Misha wasn’t ready to talk about and maybe never would be. But JT looked back at him with such a hopeful, open expression that Misha couldn’t bring himself to completely reject this overture.
He pulled the laptop toward him and tabbed back to the document, where he pasted the translated text. Then he ran into the problem of JT not having a Cyrillic keyboard installed on his laptop, and it took some back and forth using JT’s phone to get that sorted out. Once the software was in place, Misha went through the document and typed out his responses to JT’s questions—at least to the extent he felt comfortable answering. To the question about where he came from, he typed,Russia. The question about whether he was in trouble he left blank.
He deliberated for a while about what to say about the local shifters. He knew they were around; he had come across their markings in the woods and even seen a few of them at a distance before he turned and hastily went in the opposite direction. He had been afraid they might try to chase him off, because he was very blatantly in their territory. If JT knew them, maybe they wouldn’t be angry, but Misha still wouldn’t be able to talk to them, so what was the point? They were mostly cats and wolves, anyway, and Canadian besides, so they might think he was peculiar, or he might offend them without meaning to. He wasn’t sure it was worth the risk.
He was lonely, though. He missed being around other shifters. Even if they weren’t exactly like him, there was something to be said for spending time with people who understood the occasional urge to turn over a rotting log and eat whatever you could find underneath.
I think I’d like to meet them, but I’m not ready yet, he typed.
Then there was the question about whether he wanted to stay with JT. Part of him did, very much. The thought of a steady supply of food was a powerful temptation. But what would he do all day? Watch TV while JT went into town to do whatever it was he did? He didn’t like the thought of being trapped indoors. Life in the woods was monotonous but never boring, and Misha thought he would get bored lurking around JT’s house all day, waiting for JT to get home.
He wrote,Could I come and go? Or where else could I live? I don’t want to overstay my welcome.He chewed on his lip. As for working… He wanted to, but.I feel like I’ve forgotten how to be a person in some ways.That was hard to admit. He deleted that sentence, then told himself not to be a coward and typed it out again. JT deserved the truth, and he could probably tell, anyway. He’d caught Misha eating his garbage, after all.
When he was done answering JT’s questions, he typed out his own. What did JT do for work? Had he grown up in the area? Why was he being so nice to Misha? Maybe that was rude. Misha tried to think of how to rephrase, but he couldn’t come up with a more diplomatic way to say it. And he wanted to know. JT’s motives were important because—because—well, Misha couldn’t really articulate why it mattered so much, not even to himself, but he cared a lot. He really wanted to know why JT was doing all of this.
He pushed the laptop back over to JT and waited while JT uploaded the document and read through Misha’s translated text. JT smiled a few times and nodded to himself, and then he began to type.
He typed for a long while, one slow key at a time. Misha turned his attention to the TV, which was playing a show Misha didn’t recognize but quickly realized was about real estate or maybe home renovations. A smiling, dark-haired woman in practical work clothes talked at length about kitchen cabinets Misha thought were quite ugly, and he hoped she was planning to replace them. He tried to follow what she was saying, but she spoke too quickly, and he couldn’t pick out more than a word here and there. He had learned a lot of English from watching subtitled American movies, but all of that was gone now.
“Okay,” JT said at last, and turned the laptop toward Misha.
There wasn’t much text: less than Misha had expected given the duration of JT’s typing, even with how slow he was. Misha wondered if JT had deleted and rewritten things trying to find the right words, the same way Misha had, which made Misha feel better about his own awkwardness and uncertainty. He didn’t feel weird about the situation because he was socially inept; he felt weird about it because it was weird.
About meeting the bear shifters, JT had merely typed a smiley face. He hadn’t written anything more about Misha working, either. Misha’s eyes skipped down the page to the section about him staying here in JT’s house. JT had typed,The side door has a keypad lock, so you can enter and exit it at any time. This is not an imposition at all. I have a lot of space. On the ground floor there is a whole guest room. A lot of privacy. If you want to spend most of your time in the forest and just come here to sleep, this is normal for me. Or if you just want to come once a week to take a shower. Everything you want to do is good for me.
Misha glanced at JT from the corner of his eye and re-read the text. JT was being too accommodating. Nobody was that laid-back and understanding. What were his motives?
He read on. JT had answered Misha’s questions briefly but probably honestly. He was a hockey player; he lived in Toronto for most of the year, but this was his hometown, and he came back every summer. Misha narrowed his eyes and cast JT another sidelong look. Hockey as in professional hockey, as in the NHL? That explained a lot about the big fancy lake house. Misha would have to figure out some way to look up the team’s roster to verify his suspicions. He wasn’t a hockey fan, but it was impossible to live in Toronto for any length of time without absorbing some of the city’s unofficial religion. Even if JT wasn’t one of the team’s superstars, he was still the most famous person Misha had ever spoken to.
As for his reasons for helping Misha, JT had written,I asked myself the same question. Honestly, I’m not quite sure. I like helping people and you seem to need help. And I’m curious about you, probably. My mother always tells me that I’m too impulsive, which is probably part of it. I promise I have no bad motive. I’m not going to kill you or keep you locked in my basement. But I suppose I would say the same thing, even if I were a serial killer.
Misha had to smile. He glanced up and met JT’s eyes. “You kill?” he asked, dredging the word from deep within his memory banks.
“No,” JT said, looking horrified, and Misha laughed; and JT laughed, too, after a moment, and it was nice to share their laughter. JT shook his head, grinning, and said something Misha couldn’t understand, and then, “No killing.”
“No kill,” Misha agreed, and they smiled at each other. Maybe Misha was a fool, but he believed JT, and at the same time was a little disappointed. He poked at the feeling, trying to figure out where it had come from, and realized he had hoped JT wanted to help specifically Misha, because of something about Misha, and not merely because JT was a good person. That was a stupid thing to wish for. JT barely knew him.
He read on. There wasn’t much more: a single short paragraph at the bottom of the document, no more than a few sentences.I want to be able to help you. I have money and space. You can stay here as much as you want while you get to your feet. It’s not a problem for me. Take a few days to think about it. No pressure.
Misha felt his eyes water, unexpectedly and humiliatingly. His experiences in Toronto had left him scarred and scared, reluctant to trust anyone and convinced the world was a cold and hostile place. But there were still good people, maybe, who cared about community and safety and wanted to take care of others.
On the other hand, maybe JT reallywasa serial killer.
He switched the computer back to the Cyrillic keyboard.Thank you, he typed.I’ll think about it. I really appreciate it.He thought for a moment and then added,I should probably learn English.
When JT translated and read the text, he laughed. “Yep,” he said. “English.”
* * *
Misha went back to the woods at dusk and JT didn’t see him for a few days, which was a disappointment but not really a surprise. Misha was taking time to think things over, as JT had told him to, so JT couldn’t exactly get bent out of shape about it.
He went ahead and did some legwork about how to get Misha some English instruction, because at worst he would be out a few hours of his time and some relatively minor amount of money. The whole project seemed daunting at first. JT knew nothing about language acquisition beyond what he had learned in his French classes in school, and he had been a mediocre student at best, prone to diagramming hockey plays in class instead of paying attention to the teacher. The internet was full of information, though, and after only about an hour of research he had made contact with a local tutor who was willing to come out to JT’s house to give private lessons. He was pleased with his progress and waited in impatient hope for Misha’s return.