Just Beyond the Very, Very Far North

by Dan Bar-el

  As it turned out, C.C. was already on the Fabulous Beach looking up at both the “companion” and the “friend.” Throughout the day, she’d been following Duane’s Herculean efforts, using her telescope on the bow of the Shipwreck. The wise snowy owl was almost tempted to fly over earlier to guide Duane on how to build a shovel, but then the snowball-pushing was proving such a useful demonstration of the laws of friction that, for research purposes, she let it play out. C.C. might have reconsidered that decision had she known that at that moment, a third large snowball named the “buddy” was hurtling toward her from behind.

  “Look out, C.C.!” yelled Duane, who had only just spotted her on the Fabulous Beach and could plainly see the oncoming collision about to happen.

  Then C.C. turned her head a hundred and eighty degrees and could also plainly see what was about to happen.

  Perhaps this is the wrong time in the story to discuss the five laws of friction. And to be honest, I am probably not the most qualified narrator to talk on the subject. Friction involves stuff like surface areas and perpendicular forces and knowing which topics are best avoided at the dinner table… I think. But what I can say is that in this situation, there was very little friction at play to slow down the large snowball and prevent it from literally bowling C.C. over.

  In those seconds before impact, one can only imagine what thoughts were going on in C.C.’s head. It might have been about the fragility of life, or the fleetingness of time, or about how much less traumatic it is to observe science from a distance than to have science smack you straight in the face.

  Yet those deep thoughts were all for naught, because the coming catastrophe didn’t happen. Yes, the “buddy” was coming at her, but just behind the “buddy” was Duane, running as fast as he could. Duane, who was so achy and so tired, ran to save C.C.’s life. He ran and then leaped onto the runaway snowball. For a good twenty to thirty revolutions, they were inseparable, Duane and the “buddy,” one rolling over the other over the other and so on. They were a blur of fur and ice from C.C.’s perspective. But then a polar bear leg stuck out from the speeding snowball, followed quickly by a second leg. Both legs stiffened and pressed hard against the ground. The snowball stopped rolling. It skidded instead. Still rushing toward the beach, still coming directly at C.C., the large, unrolling ball of snow carried Duane backward as he hugged it with outstretched arms, pushing his legs hard into the earth, slowing it only slightly, but then slowing it slightly more… and slightly more… slowing it… slowing it… s l o w i n g it until finally, the “buddy” came to a stop.

  Duane sighed.

  C.C. sighed.

  I, your narrator, definitely sighed.

  In all three cases, it was a sigh of relief.

  Had C.C. recounted this episode to you, I expect it would have sounded far less dramatic. She did thank Duane afterward for preventing what could have been a terrible injury. She thanked him curtly, as is her way. She also followed the thank-you with a long lecture on the different laws of physics that were on display: friction, naturally, but also Newton’s laws of motion, forces working against other forces, and so on. I think C.C. was actually quite shaken up from the ordeal, and talking about science, from a distance, was a way to calm herself down. To be honest, neither Duane nor I was listening with rapt attention. I have no excuse, but in Duane’s defense, he had simply spent the last bit of energy he had to give.

  “C.C., I think I’ve done enough snow removal for today, or perhaps for this lifetime. I’m off to bed now.”

  There was no objection coming from his heart this time as Duane made his way up to his cave and crashed onto his soft mattress, having already fallen asleep before his head hit the pillow.

  * * *

  A lot happened during Duane’s well-deserved nap. With the paths cleared and movement unconstrained, Duane’s friends were free to meet, and eventually they all did, down at the Fabulous Beach. In their conversations, there was talk of Duane’s helpfulness. When C.C. told the others about the near-fatal incident, they all realized how heroic his kindness could be.

  “Kindness like that deserves a tribute, it does,” said Twitch.

  “Yes,” agreed Handsome, “a monument in recognition.”

  A thoughtful pause followed as all the friends—Twitch, Handsome, Magic, C.C., and even Boo—considered Duane’s good qualities, there on the Fabulous Beach, where they stood among three extremely large snowballs.

  I cannot tell you when the first snowman was invented. Even C.C.’s books do not hold that information within their pages. But I can tell you when the first snowbear was made, and I all but guarantee than any snowbears that have been made since have not come close to the size of this one.

  It is no small task to put a gigantic snowball onto a colossal snowball and then put a Duane-sized snowball at the very top of both. It involves pulleys and ropes and Sun Girl’s sled and the Pack’s demonstration of teamwork. It involves yet more lectures on physics from C.C. and Handsome’s deep understanding of art. It involves Magic climbing up to the top to make Duane’s face, to sculpt his ears, to carve his gentle smile and fill in his soft eyes. It involves Twitch using food coloring to fill in the features as necessary. It requires Magic to go up again, after everyone else complained, and remove Twitch’s mixing bowl that Magic thought would make a funny nose. It entails Boo using her antlers to scratch out a simple message of gratitude at the base of what they created together.

  Once it was completed, Duane’s friends did not tell him. They decided to let Duane discover it on his own.

  The next morning he awoke, feeling much better after a rejuvenating rest. Still half asleep, Duane got up, pulled off an icicle pop from the mouth of his cave, and lazily stumbled and slurped his way along the cleared path, down to the Fabulous Beach for a bit of sun. Obviously, he could see the thing before he arrived, as it was so big. But seeing and understanding are two different things. Closer and closer Duane came, while his eyes grew bigger and his jaw dropped. That’s me! he thought, marveling at the snow statue now towering over him. Look at me. I am a giant! As big as a mountain!

  At the base of the monolithic snowbear, a short, simple message: Thank you for being you, Duane.

  Need I tell you that Duane was touched by this gift? Surely not. But it wasn’t just that the snowbear was so big that made an impression on him. For Duane, it was knowing that the snow that formed his likeness was snow he gathered from the paths leading to his friends, and in so doing, they were all connected to him in a meaningful way.

  Duane sensed he was no longer alone. He looked to his left, saw no one, and then he looked down to his left. The weasel was standing next to him, sneering as usual.

  “It won’t last, you know. Eventually, it will melt.”

  Duane wasn’t mad or hurt. He smiled at the weasel sympathetically and nodded. “As it should be. A polar bear such as myself doesn’t want to have a big head forever.”

  But in the meantime, until the seasons changed and the sun grew stronger, there would be Duane, larger than life, made of three huge snowballs named the “companion,” the “friend,” and the “buddy.”

  9. A CERTAIN PUFFIN IS LATE, A CERTAIN ARCTIC HARE IS WORRIED, AND ALL HER FRIENDS ARE UNCERTAIN WHAT TO DO

  DUANE KNEW IT HAD come as soon as he stepped on the Mainly Frozen Ocean and it felt like a slightly slushy ocean. For Handsome, it was discovering a saucer-sized hole in the winter ice that covered his pond that was just big enough to reflect back his nose. The tingle of growing antlers was what tipped off Boo. C.C. simply consulted her star charts. But for Twitch, she felt it deep in her heart, a faint vibration that would grow into a tremor. Spring had finally arrived, and for her it meant Major Puff was soon to follow.

  What Twitch did not realize was that Major Puff hadn’t left on his migration as early as she and the others had assumed; everyone, that is, except Duane, who had found the puffin hiding in a cave, reluctant to fly off. That delay in departure pushed back the date of his retur
n. So as the days passed, each one getting slightly longer and warmer than the previous, Twitch grew ever more worried.

  Having never migrated herself or even flown in the sky above the mountains and oceans, Twitch was left to invent the Major’s journey as she imagined it. “An easy breeze on his tail feathers, clear views all around,” she told Handsome early on in the new season. Against her better nature, Twitch took on a decidedly positive attitude. “Plenty of resting spots along the way, friendly fellow travelers to point him in the right direction. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Hmm? Yes, no doubt,” Handsome replied, somewhat distracted, as he was busy scrutinizing his nostrils for nose hairs. Peering into the only exposed water in his frozen pond was challenging. It required him to stick his neck way out in order to see his reflection. “Am I mistaken or have I grown stubble over the winter?”

  “Never mind that!” yelled Twitch in a tone also not in sync with her better nature. “Did you hear a word I said, Handsome?” Twitch stared at him five seconds longer than was comfortable for the musk ox. This, in turn, made Handsome feel defensive.

  “Yes, Twitch, I heard every single word. ‘A wheezy sneeze, mail letters, cashier shoes all in brown, plenty of forget-me-nots on a tray, twenty cello dabblers with a slight infection.’ There, you see? I was listening. Satisfied?” Handsome returned the harsh stare back at Twitch, feeling vindicated. But as Twitch continued to fume and glower, Handsome began going over the list of nonsense that he had just spouted and quickly realized he couldn’t have possibly heard correctly. Twitch hopped off upset, which in turn made Handsome indignant.

  “Well… it’s your own fault for telling me things! I am notoriously bad at listening. I often don’t.”

  * * *

  A week later, Twitch’s positive mindset began to sour. “Perhaps those gentle breezes were more like hurricane gales,” she fretted to C.C. at the Fabulous Beach. “Maybe he couldn’t find a place to put his feet up. Hard on the lower back, all that wing flapping, I imagine. Nice to find a soft spot along the way, like a tuft of moss or a sofa, just saying.”

  Had Twitch been more awake during the informal get-together she hosted for C.C. back in the autumn, she would have known that C.C. was undoubtedly the wrong friend with whom to share her worst fears as they pertained to migrations. Rather than putting Twitch’s fears to rest, C.C. blithely woke them up with descriptions much more terrible.

  “Hurricanes are certainly a possibility,” the snowy owl agreed. “Those winds can pack a powerful wallop. And if Major Puff is blown off course, there is no saying how long it might take for him to find land to rest his wings. Eventually he will tire and plunge straight into the frigid water.”

  Twitch’s front paws went straight to her mouth to stifle a gasp of shock.

  “Now, could Major Puff then float for a while, allowing him to catch his breath?” C.C. conjectured, allowing a ray of hope in Twitch’s darkened imagination. “Not much of a rest if the waves are churning about, constantly forcing him under the sea. The outcome does not look good. And to make matters worse, my weather calculations indicate a period of fog over us soon, making it near impossible to discern a familiar landmark.”

  In less than three seconds, Twitch’s face went from stone-blank stunned to drooping in utter misery to collapsing on the verge of tears until finally, her anxious, frustrated feelings exploded. “You’re not helping at all!”

  Twitch hopped back to her burrow and, for the time being, decided it would be easier on the nerves if she stayed on her side of the river and fretted by herself.

  * * *

  Time passed. Winter thawed. The Major remained unarrived. It seemed that none of the friends understood the gravity of the situation in the way that Twitch understood it. They kept tabs on her but only from afar, fearing another outburst. What they saw disturbed them greatly.

  During this period of worry, Duane had been deeply engaged in one of the longest naps he had ever had the pleasure of succumbing to. Perhaps that hint of springtime, when his paw touched the slushy ocean ice, convinced him to get in one last luxurious sleep before the warmer weather awoke in him the desire for more active pursuits. It was his empty stomach that put an end to it, grumbling in complaint and suggesting that a humongous post-nap brunch was in order to make things right. But when Duane finally did open his eyes, and kept them open, there was evidently a lot to catch up on, besides meals. Staring down at him, at a distance that one might call “overly intimate,” were the alarmed faces of Handsome, C.C., and Magic. Duane blinked back, confused.

  “How can you be napping during a time like this? I mean, really!” exclaimed Magic, getting the ball rolling.

  Handsome immediately jumped in. “Our friend has likely gone ‘bonkers’—to use a medical term—and yet you selfishly take this occasion to ‘wallow in sloth’—to use a literary term.”

  C.C. was equally agitated. “Duane the polar bear, as you know, I am an owl committed to reasoned, thoughtful speculation, but Twitch’s irrational behaviors are, without a doubt, off the charts, or at least they would be if such charts existed, which they do not, but I’m working on it.”

  Still groggy from his extended nap, Duane responded with less alarm than his accusers had hoped to arouse. He sat up and quietly asked, “So this is about Twitch, then?”

  “Duane, Duane, Duane,” groaned Magic while crumbling to the ground very dramatically. “Try to keep up!”

  To that end, Duane’s friends dragged him out of his cave, over to the river, then across it and straight to the meadow beside the burrow to witness firsthand the demise of Twitch’s sanity. Sadly, the post-nap brunch that Duane had imagined himself feasting on would not be happening anytime soon. He resigned himself to that sad situation, but his stomach did not. It growled its displeasure the whole way there.

  The four friends, as well as the one unfriendly stomach, reached the meadow’s edge. Duane took in the fact that spring had indeed arrived during his sleep, because the grasses and plants and flowers were now well into their growing period, while at the same time, the snow was melting and thinning into separate patches.

  “There she is!” whispered Magic loudly. She spotted a pair of long ears bouncing atop the hill’s crest. “Everyone, get down and hide!”

  This was easier said than done. Whereas hiding was a simple affair for Magic and C.C., for Duane and Handsome, who were much larger, hiding amounted to basically lowering their heads and imagining themselves to be very, very thin. But they needn’t have worried. Twitch was far too occupied with what she was doing to pay any attention to them, even as they slowly advanced for a closer look.

  “What is she doing?” Duane wondered aloud. What he witnessed was Twitch hopping around the meadow in a large circle. But it wasn’t just hopping; it was more like hop-stomping. The arctic hare was tramping down the newly grown grasses and plants, crushing them flat, as she completed her arc.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” whispered Magic loudly and again, overdramatically. “This is exactly the issue we have had to contend with, day after day, while you did nothing but snore and snort! I mean, really!”

  Magic was getting somewhat carried away with her scolding, for in fact she and the others did nothing more than what they were presently doing, namely observing their friend hop-stomping. Duane ignored Magic’s rant and focused instead on Twitch. “Is she angry at the plants?” he asked. “I thought she liked plants.”

  “I posed the same question, Duane the polar bear,” said C.C. “But as you will soon see, Twitch crushes one large circle of flora, then crushes another smaller circle within it, and finally a third circle in the middle.”

  “Why would she hate some plants but not the others?”

  “Exactly,” said C.C., nodding and notably impressed with Duane’s improved lines of inquiry.

  “She repeats this every day, while spouting some incantation,” Handsome added. Duane was about to say that he didn’t know what spouting an incantation
meant, but Handsome anticipated the question. “Which means, Duane, that Twitch is reciting a spell over and over as she stomps her destructive path.”

  Duane’s eyes grew very, very big as he gasped in shock. “You mean… magic?”

  “Me?” asked Magic.

  “No, sorry, not you,” Duane clarified, “but magic magic?” His eyes grew very big again.

  “Oh, please!” said C.C., whose eyes, which are always big, now rolled in annoyance. A short pause followed as all eyes, big or otherwise, turned toward C.C. in disbelief. For the first time, as far as Duane, Handsome, and Magic could remember, C.C. had voiced an opinion that sounded, well, snarky. C.C. noted their shocked reaction and, truth be told, felt secretly proud of herself. “Could we please forgo any talk of magic?” she asked nicely.

  “It shouldn’t be discounted,” argued Handsome. “Listen to her.”

  They all sidled closer to hear. Aided by a breeze that carried Twitch’s voice toward them, what was heard certainly sounded mysterious and even mystical.

  “Feel bad but it’s for the greater good.” Hop-stomp. “Feel bad but it’s for the greater good.” Hop-stomp. “Feel bad, truly bad, just saying, but it’s for the greater good.” Hop-stomp.

  “There. See?” said Handsome with a confident grin. Like C.C., he was feeling secretly proud of himself because on this occasion he actually had been listening. “How do you explain that?”