Entry #2: Untitled Stony River Project, Part 1

"No matter what happens, no matter how loud someone is poundin' on the door tonight, don't let them in. OK?"
I stared blankly at John. He stood in the door of the classroom, keys in hand. This night, Friday night, was the first time anyone had locked up the school.
"What's going on?"

* * *

Wednesday morning in Stony River started the same as the rest of the mornings had that week in early April, at least as far as I could tell. I woke up at 6am in the high school classroom, the sun only just beginning to stain the snow and sky a soft pink. I tied my sleeping bag into an awkward little roll with a bit of rope, carried the giant red pillow back to the resource room, and went to the kitchen to make some tea and instant oatmeal, the smack of my bare feet echoing in the dark and empty gym as I passed through. I ate standing at the double basin sink, spooning Quaker Oats and sipping Lipton and powdered milk while I read the school lunch menu for the umpteenth time.
At 8 the students began to trickle in, usually in pairs or groups of three. The students were never all that talkative, especially in the morning, but there was something different about their silence today. Their conversations were carried out only in short whispers, their movements only the bare minimum to prepare them for the day. I wanted to reach out to them, to strike up a conversation, but they were guarded and reserved on even the most mundane of topics with me. I understood why, too. I was from outside the village, a student teacher out on a week-long rural exchange - another white visitor in a town of Yupik relatives, used now to seeing people like me pass quickly in and out of Gusty Michael K-12 School. The odds of me being able to draw the students out on what seemed to be troubling them were nonexistent.
My host teacher seemed to notice something was up too. John sat his desk, occasionally watching his students over the top of his glasses as he sipped at his thermal mug. He watched but said nothing, and he asked no questions.
Our answer came with the Troopers that afternoon.

* * *

Alaska State Troopers Press Release of Thursday, April 12, 2007
Any charges reported in these press releases are merely accusations and the defendants are presumed innocent unless and until proven guilty.
Location: Stoney River (sic)
Case number: 07-27299
Type: Assault II
Text: On 04-11-07 at about 1200 hrs. Bethel AST received information that Roman M. Lubczonek, 49 of Stoney River (sic), was stabbed in the abdomen with a 11 inch kitchen knife by his wife, Virginia in Stoney River (sic). Investigation has revealed that Roman, Virginia and Pete Zauker were drinking alcohol when Virginia became upset when Roman refused to share what alcohol was left. Roman was laying on a bed when Virginia left and later returned with a kitchen knife and stabbed Roman in the abdomen. Roman was transported to Anchorage for medical attention. Virginia was arrested and remanded to the Yukon Kuskokwim correctional center for assault II, disorderly conduct, and resisting arrest. Received and posted Thursday, April 12, 2007 10:40 AM

* * *

"You remember that guy who got stabbed the other night?" John asked, scratching his beard with his keys.
I nodded. After the Troopers had come and gone, John had filled me in on what he had heard.

* * *

A friend found Roman Wednesday morning in his bloody cabin, using the little remaining alcohol as a painkiller. Roman told his friend and the Troopers that it was all an accident, that Virginia had been cooking and he just ran into the knife.
"Which is just a bunch of crap, honestly," John said. "For one, who is cooking at 3am? For another, it's not like he just got poked in the belly with a paring knife. This was a big knife, and it came at an angle, like it was trying to get under the ribcage." Said John, adding the appropriate interpretive motions with his fingers to the commentary. "How do you accidentally run into a kitchen knife with your belly and and end up with it pointing at your heart?"

* * *

"Well, Roman's back in town and he's trying to stir up shit. It looks like he brought back some alcohol with him, because he just showed up our place drunk as a skunk, demanding to know who called the Troopers on his wife. The little shit started making threats toward Wayna and I, and then he wandered off with his buddies on his sleds. If that little shit wants to start something he can go ahead and try it! I've got my hand gun, so I'm not too worried about some little punk like him."
I nodded, and then looked out the wall of windows to my right, completely lacking in curtains or any other way to block the view. It wouldn't matter how much I ignored any pounding on the doors. If someone just walks by that side of the school, they'll see me camped out along side the bookshelves, and it would be all over.
"If you don't mind, John, I'd like to stay over at your place tonight."
John nodded. "That's fine. As a matter of fact, you might want to see if you can fly out a couple of days early. Life's certainly not going to get much better around here any time soon, and I think that you got a pretty good taste of the conditions out here."