The story when Kevin transferred to Hed Hockey Club was that he had been “the victim of a malicious accusation,” and “the subject of a witch hunt,” but now there’s a different version: that the sponsors and players didn’t move to Hed because they were following him but because they wanted to “distance themselves” from him. His name has been erased from Hed’s membership register, but it’s still on Beartown’s. That way everyone was able to move far enough away from both perpetrator and victim, so now all Kevin’s former friends can call him a “psychopath” while still calling Maya a “bitch.” Lies are simple; truth is difficult.

Beartown Ice Hockey started to be called “Kevin’s club” by so many people that Hed automatically began to feel like the opposite. Emails were sent from players’ parents to local councillors about “responsibility” and “insecurity,” and when people feel threatened a self-fulfilling prophecy occurs, one tiny incident at a time: one night someone wrote “Rapists!!!” on one of the road signs on the outskirts of Beartown. A couple of days later a group of eight-year-olds from both Beartown and Hed were sent home from summer camp after a violent fight, caused by the kids from Hed chanting “Beartown Rapists!” at the kids from Beartown.

Leo is sitting on the beach today, and fifty feet away sit Kevin’s old friends, big, strong eighteen-year-olds. They’re wearing red Hed Hockey caps now. They’re the ones who wrote online that Maya had “deserved it” and that Kevin was obviously innocent because “who the hell would want to touch that slut even with a shitty stick?” As if Maya had ever asked any of them to touch her with anything at all. Now the same boys claim that Kevin was never one of them, and they’ll go on repeating the same lie until he’s associated only with Beartown, because however this story gets distorted these boys will make themselves the heroes. They always win.

Leo is six years younger than most of them; he’s an awful lot smaller and an awful lot weaker, but some of his friends have still started to tell him that he “ought to do something.” That one of those bastards “needs to be punished.” That he has to “be a man.” Masculinity is complicated when you’re twelve. And at every other age, too.

* * *

Then there’s a noise. Heads look down at towels. All over the beach cell phones start to vibrate. First one or two, then all at once, until the buzzing blurs together into a invisible orchestra where all the instruments are being tuned at the same time.

The news is arriving.

* * *

Beartown Ice Hockey no longer exists.

* * *

“It’s only a sports club, there are more important things.” It’s easy to say that sort of thing if you believe that sports is merely a matter of numbers. But it never is, and you can only understand that if you start with the simplest question: How does it feel for a child to play hockey? It’s not so hard to answer that. Have you ever been in love? That’s how it feels.

* * *

A sweaty sixteen-year-old is running along the road outside Beartown. His name is Amat. In a garage out in the woods, a dirty eighteen-year-old is helping his dad fetch tools and stack tires. His name is Bobo. In a garden a four-and-a-half-year-old girl is firing pucks from a patio into a brick wall. Her name is Alicia.

Amat hopes that one day he’s going to be good enough for hockey to take him and his mother away from here. For him sports are a future. Bobo just hopes he can have another season of laughter and no responsibilities, seeing as he knows that every day after that will be like all his dad’s days. For Bobo sports are a last chance for play.

For Alicia, the four-and-a-half-year-old girl firing pucks on a patio? Have you ever been in love? That’s what sports are for her.

* * *

Cell phones buzz. The town stops. Nothing travels faster than a good story.

* * *

Amat, sixteen years old, stops out on the road. Hands on knees, chest heavy around his heart: bang-bang-bang-bang-bang. Bobo, eighteen years old, rolls another car into the workshop and starts to beat out a dent in the plate: bang-bang-bang. Alicia, four and a half years old, stands on a patio in a garden. Her gloves are too big and the stick is too long, but she still fires a puck at the wall as hard as she can: bang!

They’ve grown up in a small town in a big forest. There are plenty of adults around here who say that work is getting harder to find and the winters are getting worse, that the trees are denser and the houses sparser, that all the natural resources may be out in the countryside but all the money still ends up in the big damn cities. “Because bears shit in the woods, and everyone else shits on Beartown.” It’s easy for children to love hockey, because you don’t have time to think when you’re playing it. Memory loss is one of the finest things sports can give us.

But now the text messages arrive. Amat stops, Bobo lets go of the hammer, and soon someone is going to have to try to explain to a four-and-a-half-year-old girl what it means when a hockey club “goes bankrupt.” Try to make it sound like it’s just a sports club collapsing, even though sports clubs never really do that. They just cease to exist. It’s the people who collapse.

* * *

In the Bearskin pub they usually say that the door should be kept closed “so the flies don’t get cold.” They usually say other things too: “You’ve got an opinion about hockey? You couldn’t even find your own arse with both hands in your back pockets!” “You want to talk tactics? You’re more confused than a cow on AstroTurf!” “You think our defense is going to be better next season? Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining!” But today no one is arguing; today everything is quiet. It’s unbearable. Ramona pours whisky into all the glasses, one last time. The five uncles, seventy years old, maybe more, raise their glasses in a perfunctory toast. Five empty glasses hit the bar. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. The uncles stand up and leave, go their separate ways. Will they call each other tomorrow? What for? What on earth are they going to argue about, if not a hockey team?

* * *

There’s a lot that isn’t talked about in a small town, but there are no secrets when you’re twelve years old, because at that age you know where on the Internet to look. Leo’s read everything. Now he’s wearing a long-sleeved top, in spite of the heat. He says it’s because he got sunburned, but he just doesn’t want anyone to see the scratch marks. He can’t stop scratching himself at night; the hate has crept under his skin. He’s never been in a fight, not even about hockey. He often wonders if he’s like his dad and just doesn’t have violence in him. But now he just wishes someone would pick a fight with him, bump into him accidentally, give him one single reason to pick up the nearest heavy object and smash his face in with it.

“Brothers and sisters should look out for each other,” that’s what everyone says when you’re growing up. “Don’t argue! Stop fighting! Brothers and sisters should look out for each other!” Leo and Maya were supposed to have a big brother; perhaps he would have been able to protect them. His name was Isak, and he died before they were born of the sort of illness that makes it impossible for Leo to believe that there’s a god. Leo barely understood that Isak had been a real person until he was seven years old and found a photograph album with pictures of him with their parents. They laughed so much in those pictures. Hugged each other so tightly, loved each other so infinitely. Isak taught Leo an unbearable number of things that day, without even existing. He taught him that love isn’t enough. That’s a terrible thing to learn when you’re seven years old. Or at any age.

He’s twelve now, and he’s trying to be a man. Whatever that means. He tries to stop scratching his skin raw at night, tries to sob silently, curled up tightly under the covers, tries to hate without anyone else seeing or realizing. Tries to kill the thought that won’t stop thudding at his temples. Brothers and sisters should look out for each other, and he wasn’t able to protect his sister.

* * *

He wasn’t able to protect his sister he wasn’t able to protect his sister he wasn’t able to protect his sister.

* * *

Last night he scratched his chest and stomach until a long wound opened up in his skin and blood started to seep out. This morning he looked at himself in the mirror and thought that the wound looked like a fuse leading to his heart. He wonders if it’s burning inside him. And how long it’s got left.

4

Women Are Always the Problem

The older generation used to call Beartown and Hed “the Bear and the Bull,” especially when the towns were due to play each other at hockey. That was many years ago now, and no one really knows if Hed already had the bull as the emblem on their jerseys at the time, or if they put it there after being given the nickname. There was a lot of livestock around Hed in those days, more open countryside, so when industry arrived it was easier to build factories there. The people in Beartown were known to be hard workers, but the forest was denser there, so the money ended up in the neighboring town to the south. Older generations used to speak metaphorically about the struggle between the Bear and the Bull and how that kept things in balance, stopped one of them from having all the power. Perhaps it was different back then, when there were still enough jobs and resources for both towns. It’s harder now, because the idea that violence can ever be controlled is always an illusion.