Just Beyond the Very, Very Far North

by Dan Bar-el

  “Agreed,” said Handsome.

  It didn’t go unnoticed by Duane that Handsome accepted C.C.’s challenge without argument, despite his fear of risk-taking. Duane pointed this out.

  “It’s true. A slip on the ice will not be amusing, nor will a sudden plunge into ice water be invigorating in a good way. But I directed some harsh words toward C.C.,” Handsome explained. “My anger was sincere, but my mind is not closed. I would like to see this proof of hers. Shall we?”

  So Duane led his noble friend Handsome across the ocean ice, slowly and unsteadily, with a few precarious missteps, but without any painful mishaps. Ever closer they edged and slid and shimmied toward the Shipwreck, where C.C. was awaiting them. They entered through the gash in the Shipwreck’s bow, then climbed several sets of stairs midway within the boat until they were again outside, on the upper deck.

  C.C. was already there, at the back of the ship, in the location ridiculously named the poop deck. Please contain your giggles if you haven’t already done so. The word comes from the original French word poupe, which means stern. My goodness, how does any story involving an old ship get beyond that silly detail, I ask you? To continue, there was C.C., and beside her was a contraption almost as tall as her, made mostly of brass. It sat on a stand and was long and skinny for the most part, with little knobs at the side, and beside it was a stack of small rectangular pieces of glass. As I really do not wish to do any more describing of the object, let me just cut to the chase and say it was a microscope, of which you probably know, but Handsome and Duane did not.

  “This is a microscope,” said C.C. right away, thus catching everyone up to speed. “It is a tool of science whose function is to offer hidden insight of the world. It does not try to prove beauty or explain poetry.”

  Handsome scrunched his face in an expression of confusion mixed with annoyance. Surely, he hadn’t risked life and limb on the precarious ice only to be shown the exact opposite of what was promised back onshore. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me,” he said to C.C.

  The snowy owl was not done. “Duane the polar bear, I would like you to take one of these slides,” she said, pointing to the stack of glass, “and catch one snowflake upon it. Handsome the musk ox, you stand here, beside the microscope.”

  Duane was thrilled to have something to occupy himself with. It reduced his nervous tension considerably. And as tasks go, it was not too difficult. With the snow never ceasing to fall from the sky, simply by extending the glass slide out in front of him he managed to land a flake in very little time. “I’ve caught one!” he shouted.

  “Good. Please bring it to me.”

  Duane did as he was told. C.C. had him place the slide on a flat part of the microscope called the stage. Suspended straight down above the slide with the snowflake was a tube that contained a lens. It quite resembled a much smaller version of the telescope that C.C. had placed at the front of the ship, to see things that are far away. However, with her microscope, something entirely different was going on. C.C. looked into the top end of the tube, then adjusted a knob to one side, using her beak. She looked again, followed by the adjusting of a second knob. This continued on for longer still until Handsome grew utterly bored.

  “Is there any purpose to all this knob twiddling? My delicate fur is developing an icy veneer as I stand here waiting. What is the point?”

  “This is the point,” said C.C., inviting him over.

  Handsome leaned his head down so that one eye peered through the top end of the microscope. As he did so, C.C. explained. “What you are looking at is a snowflake magnified three thousand times. As you will notice, it is neither round nor soft.”

  “Oh my,” gasped Handsome.

  “What do you see?” asked Duane with anxious curiosity.

  It was difficult for Handsome to speak. What he was witnessing left him literally breathless. “It’s… It’s so beautiful. So delicate and… and perfect.”

  C.C. wanted to reiterate that a single snowflake such as the one that Handsome was observing is actually a snow crystal, because a snowflake could mean a bunch of crystals that met in midair and clustered together. But she didn’t point it out because she suspected it wasn’t information that falls under the beauty category.

  “I see six branches,” Handsome continued, “all growing from a single point. And each branch has tendrils jutting out along its stem, and each tip holds a six-sided saucer. It is a work of art! It is the poetry at the very heart of life!”

  C.C. wanted to point out that crystals refer to any material made of atoms or molecules lined up in a regular pattern. She wanted to explain that the kind of ice crystal Handsome was looking at would be classified as a dendritic crystal with plates at ends. But she didn’t point any of that out because she suspected it wasn’t the kind of poetic information Handsome could appreciate.

  “Always six, never more,” she actually did say aloud, because, well, even snowy owls can get their feathers ruffled from time to time when facts go loosey-goosey.

  Eventually, after much pleading, Handsome relented and allowed Duane to have a look through the microscope too. Again, there was much oohing and aahing. Once C.C. proposed they look at more samples, the excitement grew even bigger because they soon realized that no two snow crystals were exactly alike.

  “Did you see how that last one had needles pointing upward, Handsome?”

  “Oh, indeed, Duane. Unlike the previous one, so much simpler, but in perfect harmony.”

  “I’ll go catch another! Get ready, C.C.!”

  All the while, the snow continued to fall, or dance, as Duane had put it, never in a rush and always with more on the way. The morning hours stretched well into the afternoon, with Duane scrambling eagerly to trap another falling crystal, C.C. adjusting her instrument to bring it into focus, and Handsome swooning at what he observed while choosing the right poetic words to frame it in. At no point did he stop to apologize to C.C. for what he’d said earlier, and at no point did C.C. feel that she wanted an apology. At no point either did Duane stop to give a sigh of relief and acknowledge how things turned out for the better. Because when three friends are so invested in an activity, in the goodwill and laughter it brings, in the warmth of a shared experience that has enveloped the three of them, there is no time to stop. Maybe it is because on these occasions it seems as if time itself has stopped, or as Duane’s armless grandfather clock would tell you, there simply is no time.

  8. SNOWBEAR

  THE HEAVY SNOWFALL THAT transfixed Duane and Handsome at the start of winter turned out to be the first of many in the Very, Very Far North. Over days and more days, the blanket of snow grew ever thicker. Beautiful as it may have been, the novelty wore off for some. The higher the snow level rose, the more of an inconvenience it proved to be. Handsome found it “irksome and exasperating, as are all things done to excess,” as he put it. Trudging through the thigh-high accumulation within his field dampened Handsome’s mood and gave him the most uncomfortable feeling along his underbelly. But for the smaller friends, Twitch and Magic, the snowfalls were literally overwhelming. Their burrow and den got lost under the buildup; their freedom was hampered.

  On the day that this story begins, Duane decided that he would help out his friends by performing some snow removal. It was a Saturday, you understand. All stories involving snow removal begin on Saturdays.

  For those of you readers and listeners who have experienced snowy winters where you live, it goes without saying that when it comes to snow removal, the number one tool of choice is the shovel. Sadly, Duane was not in possession of a shovel, nor was there one to be found upon the Shipwreck. But as the snow was sticky, Duane discovered an ingenious alternative. At the mouth of his cave, he gathered up enough snow to form a ball. Then he put it on the ground and began to roll it away from his cave and down the hill, along the path he usually took. The snowball grew larger the farther he pushed, while at the same time, a snowless passageway was left in his wake.

  Contin
uing down the hill, he eventually passed between the two long hills where Magic made her home of tunnels. Duane now began rocking the ball of snow sideways, both left and right, up each hill’s slope, and in doing so, uncovered the many entrances of Magic’s den. Each time another hole was revealed, Magic’s head would instantly pop out with a word of appreciation.

  “Thank you, Duane!”

  “You’re welcome, Magic.”

  “Thanks a bundle, Duane!”

  “No problem, Magic.”

  “Thanks a million, Duane!”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “Thanks-a-rooney, Duane!” “Thank you-a-rama!” “Thanka-thanka-thanka, Duane!”

  “Okay, okay, okay,” he giggled back.

  After all den entrances were cleared, and all expressions of gratitude depleted, Duane continued along the path, farther down the hill, until he sidled up to Handsome’s field.

  “Good day, Handsome,” said Duane.

  Not too cheerfully, the musk ox looked up from his hand mirror. “Who is your rotund companion, Duane?” he asked, referring to the ball of snow that was now as tall as Duane but also wider.

  Duane looked around him confused. “Um… there is no companion.”

  “Yes, yes, I was making a joke,” Handsome explained in a dour tone.

  “Ah, I understand,” Duane said, although he didn’t really.

  Handsome sighed sadly. “Apologies. I’m afraid that my sense of humor may have frozen along with my belly in this cold deluge of dandruff.”

  “You mean the snow?” asked Duane, making sure he wasn’t misunderstanding again.

  “Yes, I mean the snow,” Handsome confirmed.

  “Well, in that case, I think I can help you out. But first, I will continue pushing this—Oh! My companion! I get it now!—down to the Fabulous Beach, and then I will return.”

  This was easier said than done. If the “companion” was Duane-sized at Handsome’s field, it was inching its way to being Shipwreck-sized the closer he pushed it toward the Mainly Frozen Ocean. Duane grunted and groaned in his exertions. Whatever you may have heard about how difficult it was for King Sisyphus to push a boulder up a mountain, I assure you it was just as hard for a kind, helpful polar bear to push a giant snowball down a hill if that hill was covered in deep, sticky snow. Duane considered abandoning the project, but then he would have left a colossal ice-jam in the path, the exact opposite of his good intentions. So he shouldered into his “companion” and he pushed and he pushed and he pushed some more.

  Hours later, they arrived at the Fabulous Beach. His “companion” stood as proud and noble as a monstrous ball of snow could stand. Duane, on the other hand, fell onto his back, very sweaty and tired, and stayed there for a very long while. Of the two, I would say that Duane moved the least.

  “Wow,” said Duane, in awe of the snowball, which seen from his current angle was blocking the sun and casting a shadow over him.

  Eventually he managed to sit up, and soon after, with a few groans, he managed to stand up. Dragging his sore, achy body back to his cave for a nap was what first crossed Duane’s mind, but then his heart reminded him of his original commitment, which was to help his friends. I should point out that although Duane’s heart was not as loud and demanding as his stomach, it still could get his attention when it felt it was important to do so.

  Duane sighed, not out of frustration or longing, and certainly not out of contentment, but out of a knowing that what he had to do would not be easy or even fun, but it would be vital, so best get on with it. Handsome’s field was presumably next in line for snow removal, but Duane thought of Twitch and her burrow. She might be in greater need, he thought. Best clear her place first, and then finish off with Handsome’s.

  The polar bear slogged and plodded through the thick snow toward the river at the wide point below the waterfall. Duane wished he could belly-slide across the frozen water, as was his custom in the winter months, but the snowfall was just as copious here, so it thwarted even that small bit of fun. Thus more slogging and more plodding, interspersed with grunting and groaning, all the way across the frozen river and then up to the hilly meadow where Twitch’s burrow was usually found.

  But where was it exactly? The meadow was nothing but a smooth pane of white interrupted by only the faintest of slopes and curves. Duane scratched his head. Then he squinted and scrutinized the landscape. Was the burrow there? Or there? he wondered.

  “Twitch!” Duane shouted. “Can you hear me?”

  Somewhere, beneath the snow, a muffled voice responded. “Hear you loud and clear, Duane. My ears are quite sharp, not much that doesn’t get heard, just saying.”

  Duane heard the sound, but not well enough to understand. “Was that you, Twitch?”

  “Thought I made that clear, I did refer to you by your proper name, and I can’t imagine too many other creatures in this part of the meadow other than myself presently, as the Major is on his migration. Wouldn’t mind neighbors, though, if they’re friendly, not too noisy, not in the habit of constant renovating, just saying.”

  Duane didn’t understand any of that, either, nor could he tell exactly where it came from, but he had located the general area. As it did sound like a voice, it stood to reason that it was Twitch’s voice, since Duane knew of no others who lived in the meadow. Those of you with keen eyesight and reading skills will realize that is basically what Twitch had just said in the last paragraph.

  Duane delved right into the task at hand. Another snowball was made, but this time he rolled it this way and that way, randomly clearing the snow in search of the burrow’s entrance. When he eventually stumbled upon the door, the meadow resembled a maze of haphazard corridors more in keeping with Magic’s tunnel system. He knocked on the door, and Twitch quickly emerged.

  “Hello, Duane,” said Twitch. “Nice to put a face to the voice, ooh, and look, you’ve cleared some space in the meadow. So it’s day, is it? Quite bright, lost track of time, there in the darkness beneath the snow. Enjoy the gift of sunlight, I do, thank you for that, Duane, and the lack of suffocation, just saying. Who’s your stout friend?”

  This time, Duane understood right away that Twitch was making a joke about the large ball of snow he ended up creating while in his search for her whereabouts. “Yes, my friend,” Duane snickered, and then winked to let Twitch know he got the joke. However, Twitch was not making a joke. After days of darkness in the covered burrow, her eyes were blinded by the sunlight, and she truly did think Duane wasn’t alone.

  “Well, my friend and I should be off,” said Duane, continuing the joke. “We are going to clear a path for you across the stepping stones and down to the Fabulous Beach.”

  Twitch watched awhile as Duane pushed the large snowball down the meadow in the direction of the stepping stones. “Doesn’t talk much, that new friend of his,” she muttered to herself. “And look how he depends on Duane to move forward. That is someone in need of some rigorous cardio-hopping, just saying.”

  As before, the snowball Duane pushed grew bigger and bigger the more distance he rolled it. By the time he crossed the river, it was already as tall as the “companion,” and by the time he pushed it down to the Fabulous Beach, the “friend” made the “companion” look puny. Smaller still was Duane, whose limbs were so tired from the straining effort, he could barely lift them. “I’m really not a polar bear built for snow removal,” he told his new “friend” and “companion.” He headed up the path toward his cave for a well-deserved rest.

  Whereas Duane had completely forgotten his offer to help Handsome, the musk ox most assuredly had not. “Ah, there you are,” he said to Duane, who was shuffling past. “I began to wonder if you’d ever show up.”

  Duane turned his head toward Handsome’s field. At this point, head-turning required more effort than you might realize, so achy was Duane’s body. He took in the size of the field and the depth of the snow, and then he sighed loudly. It wasn’t a sigh of sadness—well, maybe a little. It
wasn’t a sigh of frustration—well, there was probably some of that, too. It wasn’t a sigh of disappointment—although in truth, how could there not be a lot of that? It definitely was not a sigh of contentment, so overall, in whatever mix, it was an unhappy sigh.

  “Problem, Duane?” asked Handsome.

  The polar bear was about to say that yes, there was a problem. He was about to say, Sorry, I can’t help right now because I badly need a rest. But before those words were spoken, Duane’s heart spoke to him first, reminding him again of his obligation. Even with his stomach speaking to him at the same time, and more loudly, on the topic of meals before rests, it was still his heart that Duane listened to.

  “No problem, Handsome. I’ll get right to it.”

  Much more slowly than before, Duane made his third ball of snow and began rolling it up and down Handsome’s field, leaving a lower and more manageable snow level wherever he went. For those of you readers and listeners who have witnessed lawn cutting where you live, you will recognize that Duane was doing almost the exact same thing, if you replaced summer with winter, grass with snow, and used a humongous snowball instead of a lawn mower.

  “Thank you so much, Duane,” said Handsome, visibly relieved by the results. “You have lightened my mood and eased my movement.”

  Considering how tired he was, and considering the fact that his work wasn’t completely finished yet, it’s remarkable that Duane found the energy to attempt a joke. “Don’t thank me; thank my buddy,” he replied, putting his paw around the snowball.

  “Yes, amusing,” said Handsome charitably.

  Fortunately, the snowball Duane had to roll down to the Fabulous Beach after taking care of Handsome’s field was big, but certainly not “friend” big, or even “companion” big. The “buddy” was only Duane-big, and Duane pushing it down to the Fabulous Beach did not make it grow much larger because the path had already been cleared. Better still, with no sticky snow left along the path, there was no extra effort required to move it. Duane was so grateful that his last act of helpfulness would be the easiest. He pushed a bit, the “buddy” rolled a bit, he pushed a bit more, the “buddy” rolled a bit more and then a bit more and a bit more, suddenly gaining both speed and independence as the distance grew between it and Duane. Down the hill the “buddy” rolled, past the snow-covered berry bushes, toward the Fabulous Beach. Duane chased after it, more out of curiosity than anything else.