The video arrived on Monday, along with the electricity bill, a CD Theresa had won in an eBay auction and several copies of the Chamber of Commerce monthly magazine. She walked back up the driveway after rescuing the mail from a rusted mailbox that desperately needed a new coat of Tremclad. Everything around here had gone to crap and back since Ilyka died and her son left home.
She made a mental note to buy some paint, preferably red, when she next went into town. After re-coating the mailbox, there should be enough left over to cover up the rotting spots on her car.
“If you give it a touch-up, you’ll feel better, Mrs. Drennan. You can drive it around for a while longer and not feel so depressed about things.”
It never ceased to surprise her that even mechanics in this small town knew more about life than she did. She’d moved here to be with Ilyka, to be the power in his office of two, to promote his chainsaw carvings so he’d become famous and rich. None of it had happened. The sex had been marvelous, her son came to believe the sun rose and set around this new man’s shadow and Theresa had learned to name twenty-four species of birds by their flight patterns and sounds. But the hoped-for artist’s recognition and the attendant mounds of money never materialized. They’d almost lost the house — twice. Life in the north country looked idyllic from the outside. From inside, though, it stank of insularity, misunderstanding and disbelief.
Ilyka’s work was too good. Nobody would admit that it was worth paying more than $20 for, even the wealthy cottagers who stopped by every Friday night.
“Nice, man!” The six-foot tall eagle carved out of cottonwood that had taken Ilyka three months to finish stood on the front lawn with its wings proudly outspread for a long time after the accident. Then it rotted and fell to the ground. Theresa chanted unending, totally meaningless words of praise to it when she dragged it into the fire pit and set its remains alight. “Cool!”
Over the dying wood embers, Theresa cried that night. All alone and feeling it for the first time.
Once torn open, the electricity bill gave her heart palpitations. One more like this, with its four digits before the dot, and she wouldn’t be able to stay here anymore. She threw the Chamber magazines into the woodstove and relished the momentary, colourful flare of heat.
Theresa then tore open the padded envelope, pulled out a video tape and a note that began, “Dear Ilker Drennan:”
She sat on the floor. Tried to focus on the twisted handwriting.
I only gave you a ten spot I think. You prolly don’t remember but it was for a ball in a cage thing you made down at the park. I had to cover my kids ears cause the saw was makin so much noise. A big piece of wood hit one of em but they wasnt hurt. Anyway this was years ago and I had only ten left in my pocket. You let me take it and said to put it somewhere proud.
So I did and its bin sittin on my porch where I lean every mornin when I have coffee. My kids threw it out when one of em won the lottery and gave me some cash and made me move into another place where people can take care of me now that I cant see too good and fall over sometimes.
When I hadta move, I found this video that my wife whos dead now took when we were at the park. And I thot you should have it.
Yours truly, Sam Brown
P.S. I never forgot. Thanks for such good art and hope you like the film.
P.P.S. Dont have much use for cash now so I’m sending some of it to you cause I never paid you enough for the pleasure and my kids dont deserve it.
Theresa held her breath. Her hand shook as she inserted the tape in the machine. She pressed ‘play’.
There he was, wearing his motheaten lumberjack shirt, chipped safety boots and clunky ear muffs. The chainsaw whined incessantly as Ilyka carved nearly invisible lines in a 4′ x 4′ chunk of pine. Wood dust flew and Theresa pulled another small piece of paper out of the envelope.
As the video played out, Theresa stood and saluted the TV screen. She blessed the soft heart of dear old Mr. Sam Brown and his $40 cheque made out to ‘Ilker Drennan’. She took a deep breath, walked over to the kitchen table and reached for a pen.
On a blank notebook page, she began to write:
Dear Mr. Brown:
Thank you very much for the video. I am sad to say that Ilyka died early last spring while cutting down a dangerous tree. He would have been very happy that you loved his carving so much. I’m sorry that your children did not appreciate it.
The cheque is greatly appreciated. I will use it to buy some paint for my mailbox. It’s rusted a lot since Ilyka went away.
Sincerely,
Theresa Drennan
Hiding out in the bush somewhere in northern Ontario, Donna Gagnon writes plays, poetry and short fiction. Her work appears in SmokeLong Quarterly, Smokebox, Rumble, Bewildering Stories, The Fib Review and in Gatto Publishing’s Short StoriEs e-anthology. A collection of interlinking prose poems, Two Double Beds in a Comfort Hotel, appears in New Writings in the Fantastic, edited by John Grant and published by Pendragon Press.
This story was sponsored by
Camilla d’Errico: A character designer and artist who dances on the tightrope between pop surrealist art and manga inspired graphics. Explore her paintings, characters and comics: Tanpopo, BURN and Helmetgirls.
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24 Responses to “ILKER DRENNAN • by Donna Gagnon”
Comments
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October 3rd, 2009 at 1:56 am
a lovely, touching tale.
October 3rd, 2009 at 4:18 am
Darn it! I was rooting for at least a million!
Great stuff!
October 3rd, 2009 at 4:35 am
Glad you enjoyed the story, Rachel and Paul. Thanks for your kind comments. And thanks to Camilla for sponsoring.
October 3rd, 2009 at 4:55 am
A beautiful story movingly told.
October 3rd, 2009 at 5:58 am
Huh? I was waiting to see what was going to happen. Then suddenly the story ended, the ending didn’t seem to have much point. Seemed to me this was taken out of something longer, it just doesn’t feel complete to me.
October 3rd, 2009 at 6:01 am
Thanks, Mandy.
Jim, sorry you felt this needed more. But I was aiming for ‘less’ in an attempt to let the reader get pulled into how the ordinary can be powerfully special.
October 3rd, 2009 at 6:05 am
Nice cadence to the story and authenticity to the voices. I was hoping for a bigger cheque in the envelope!
October 3rd, 2009 at 6:55 am
Must say I’m not sure what you were waiting to happen, Jim. She opened an envelope and was given a note of grace and remembrance. “Something happens” when a character is changed, receives an insight, resolves something or acquiesces to something. I’d say at least one of those things happened here.
A lovely story, well executed.
October 3rd, 2009 at 7:22 am
A lovely, gentle tale that made me feel all warm and fuzzy. Sometimes it’s nice not to have a big flashy ending, but just a subtle reminder that sometimes people can touch our lives just by being thoughtful.
October 3rd, 2009 at 7:43 am
Lovely!
October 3rd, 2009 at 8:40 am
Bob: What was I waiting for? Well, she got the note with the $40, that was fine. Then she sat down and wrote what I felt was a totally anti-climactic thank you note. To me, that seemed like a total let-down. It’s hard to explain, but why do I want to read a story that ends with her doing exactly what 6 million other people would do? The ending has no drama, no “grab.” As I said, a “let-down.” Of course this is just my opinion, I know others disagree with me, but that’s how I see it.
October 3rd, 2009 at 9:16 am
lovelt story – very touching
October 3rd, 2009 at 9:18 am
I loved the character, Theresa. Ultimately, what she found was that someone else saw her beloved Ilyka as an artist too. The video was the true gift, worth more than any money. I enjoyed the story very much, Donna!
October 3rd, 2009 at 9:18 am
I enjoyed this story very much. I liked that Mr. Brown’s letter touched Theressa and that with it she knew that Ilkya’s work was appreciated.
October 3rd, 2009 at 11:18 am
I loved your story, Donna. So full of the subtle touches of real life, loneliness and irony. The final irony being, of course, that the cheque she has received and needs so much cannot be cashed. In spite of this, and the fact that the old man is clearly wealthy enough to have sent her more, she thanks him without telling him of his error or of her financial circumstances. It is enough that he cares and has given her an unexpected contact with her dead husband. Bitter sweet.
October 3rd, 2009 at 11:33 am
I, too, felt a little let down by the ending, even though I know the emotion of it was warm and sweet. However, it just seemed to be too little to carry the rest of the story. She’s still going to have to move, but at least she’ll get to paint the mailbox first? Okay.
October 3rd, 2009 at 4:40 pm
Lovely story, Donna. 5 from me.
October 3rd, 2009 at 5:01 pm
This was wonderful. I didn’t tear up all the way, but I’m sniffing.
October 4th, 2009 at 11:47 am
I really liked this story, Donna. I think it could be a whole book. I want to know how they met, what their life was like, and what she’s going to do now.
October 4th, 2009 at 3:49 pm
@Jim Hartley: would 6 million other people have done what Theresa did? I’m not sure they would. Most of them would probably have become angry that they weren’t given more.
Thanks to all who have left comments indicating that they enjoyed the read. Greatly appreciated.
October 4th, 2009 at 5:28 pm
A very light touch and enjoyable story. I was expecting some kind of “lottery” win, too, and am frankly glad it was a bit more subdued.
–John
October 4th, 2009 at 5:41 pm
Beautiful story, gently told. Very nice, Donna!
October 5th, 2009 at 11:44 am
A very light touch and enjoyable story. I was expecting some kind of “lottery” win, too, and am frankly glad it was a bit more subdued.
–John
October 13th, 2009 at 11:03 am
[...] matter, as this post’s subject is a fictional story, “Ilker Drennan” by Donna Gagnon, posted recently at Every Day Fiction. This is a story about a depressed widow who is just barely [...]