by Alan Cook
Arrow looked up and pointed. "Jet fighter."
I could see the plane too, flying low, snaking its way through the canyon, its engine noise reverberating off the rocky walls. "Must be RAF," I said. "The sound of freedom. If they don't scare us to death in the process."
I stopped at a wide spot in the road to let my shaking subside.
"I'm ready to drive now," Arrow said.
"Fine."
Arrow picked driving up quickly, even shifting left-handed, and I relaxed a little. She had good coordination, although occasionally I heard her chanting the mantra, "Keep to the left." We stopped to eat at a lunchroom in a village along the north shore of Loch Ness.
A woman behind a counter made us sandwiches and we chose to eat at an inside table, shielded from the cool wind. None of the few tables was vacant, but one had two free chairs. A man waved at the chairs and in an accent suspiciously like ours, said, "Have a seat."
He was older, with streaks of gray in his short hair, almost skinny. He wore glasses with aviator frames. We sat down and introduced ourselves.
"I'm Larry," he said, shaking both our hands. "I take it you're from the US."
"Los Angeles," I said.
"Me too, specifically Palos Verdes."
"Small world." We spent the next two minutes determining that we lived within three miles of each other.
"What an amazing coincidence," Arrow exclaimed.
Larry shrugged. "The first time I was in Athens I saw somebody wearing a T-shirt that read 'Palos Verdes High School Physical Education' in Syntagma Square."
"You must travel a lot," Arrow said, and when he nodded she added, "What are you doing here?"
"Walking." He noticed our looks of disbelief and added, "From John O'Groats to Land's End, northeast to southwest. It's a traditional British walk. Lots of people do it."
"Where do you stay?" Arrow asked.
"B and B's. Bed and breakfast places. The owners are the nicest people this side of New Zealand. And many of the rooms are newly remodeled."
"And what do you carry with you?"
"A fanny pack with water, a little food, a change of clothes and first aid. And my North Face and waterproof pants for rain and wind. That's all I need." Larry pointed to the seat beside him, on which sat the fanny pack. A blue jacket with a hood was draped over the chair. It looked high-tech with its zippers and drawstrings.
Maybe he could give us some information. "If you started at John O'Groats, you must have gone through Wick," I said, remembering the road map we were using.
"The day I started I walked from John O'Groats to Wick. I stayed at Mackays Hotel. It's more expensive than a B and B, but I was still jet-lagged and I thought it might be more comfortable. It was okay, but I've found the B and B’s to be just as comfortable."
"We have reservations at Mackays Hotel," I said. "Are the people friendly there?" Will they spill their guts to us?
"They're friendly, if a little isolated. The day I was there the local bagpipe band marched through town, wearing their kilts. Incidentally, some of the bagpipers are girls. I was watching on the street and struck up a conversation with a couple of locals. I thought I was in a time warp. They talked about the problem of blacks moving in. I haven't heard that in 30 years."
He didn't look specifically at Arrow and she didn't respond. I said, "Speaking of 30 years, we're attempting to look up some men who lived in Wick 30 years ago and we hope still do. Do you think the residents will help us?"
"They'll fall all over themselves to help you. It'll give them something to do. Some days the most exciting thing that happens here is a cat has kittens."
We chatted some more until Larry got up to leave.
"If I stop too long at one time I get sleepy and comfortable," he said, "and it's difficult to get going again."
"By the way, have you seen the Loch Ness monster?" Arrow asked.
Larry had been walking along the north shore of Loch Ness.
Larry laughed. "No. And since Loch Ness is the largest body of water in Scotland and so deep that the bottom has never been found there are plenty of places for the monster to hide."
"One more question," Arrow said. "Why do you walk?"
"Because I'm a lousy runner."
***
Mackays Hotel is a sturdy stone building near the Wick River. The intersection beside it is actually a small roundabout, as I discovered when I attempted to turn right into the side street and saw oncoming traffic waiting for me. A circle painted in the middle of the intersection designates it as a roundabout.
Tired from having driven almost 300 miles, and still suffering from eight hours of jet lag, Arrow and I decided to eat at the hotel rather than venturing forth into the village of Wick. The food was good, if unimaginative, and there was plenty of it. We would not starve. Judging from the girth of some of the people we had seen so far, none of the population was starving.
As we tried to compensate for our sleep-debt by filling our stomachs, I said to Arrow, "I notice you didn't say anything when Larry talked about the black problem. You didn't take offense, did you?"
"Of course not. He was just reporting; it was nothing personal. And I've heard it all before. Perhaps he was warning me I might hear some talk like that. But so far the people seem very nice."
That wasn't surprising. I had noticed that Arrow charmed almost everybody on contact. "What do you think about his plan to walk the length of the UK?" I asked.
"I think it's exciting. And isn't he handsome."
"That's right, you like older men, don't you." The look Arrow gave me convinced me to change the subject.
After dinner we saw a sign in the lobby advertising a show to be held that evening in the hotel. It featured singing and dancing and, best of all, it was free. We agreed that this was a good chance to meet some people.
***
"I suspect that this is a substitute for pub night," I said as Arrow and I slid into a bench seat of one of the long tables at a ninety-degree angle to the front of the large room. The room was filling up fast with whole families, and most of the men went and purchased drinks at the bar as soon as they were settled.
"Elma told us about these get-togethers, remember?" Arrow said. "She used to sing here."
"I guess nothing's changed. I'll get us a couple of pints."
When I returned, a man was sitting next to Arrow on the bench and talking to her. He hadn't wasted any time. I looked around to see if he was there with anyone, but no wife or girlfriend was in evidence. He appeared to be in his thirties. His cheeks were redder than his thinning hair. I was glad to see that his waistline was expanding—not that I was feeling any jealousy.
"Karl, this is Jock," Arrow said, as I put down the mugs.
He reached in front of Arrow to shake my hand and said, "Glad to meet you, Karl."
I replied in kind and asked, "Can I get you a drink?"
For answer he lifted his own mug, which was half full. Before I could say anything more the room hushed. The emcee, another well-fed man whose name was Mackay, welcomed everybody and introduced the first singer, another Mackay.
The young woman had a nice voice and I could picture Elma singing in her place, except that she made two of Elma. I said into Arrow's ear, "Is everybody here named Mackay?"
She passed the question along to Jock, who laughed and shook his head, indicating that he was not.
The traditional Scottish song received a rousing round of applause; I'm sure everybody in the room had learned the words while still in diapers. Ms. Mackay sang several others, on the mournful side, and was followed by more singers and some kilt-clad dancers.
The small band struck up a tune that was a signal for members of the audience to get up and dance. They did a round dance that involved changing partners frequently. I was trying to figure out the steps when Jock asked Arrow to dance.
I'm sure she had never done this dance before, but she picked it up fast and obviously enjoyed herself. Men glanced at her while pretending
not to; women stared more openly, partly because she was the only dark-skinned person in the room and partly because she looked striking in her short curls and blue dress.
After the song ended Arrow and Jock returned to the table and sat down. The three of us talked, half-shouting to be heard over the din of the crowd. We told Jock we were in the UK on business, without being too specific, and said that we had promised to attempt to look up some people for friends of ours. We bounced several names off him until he reacted to one.
"Aye, Michael McTavish. He lives over by John O'Groats."
Jock verified that his age was probably late forties. It appeared we had a hit.
"Could you tell us how to get there?" Arrow asked.
"I'll do better than that. I'll take you there tomorrow."
"Don't you have to work?"
"It's Saturday, my day off."
The band started to play again. Arrow stood up and grabbed my hand. "Come on, Karl. Get up. I want to see you dance."
"I've never done that before," I protested.
"I'll show you how; it's easy."
By this time I had drunk most of my pint and it didn't matter so much if I made a fool of myself. I resisted only slightly as Arrow dragged me to the dance floor.
Chapter 22 THE GAME
Jock insisted on driving us in his car, even though it was smaller than our Nissan. I couldn't blame him if he didn't want to ride with someone who usually drove on the wrong side of the road. Arrow had to squeeze into the back seat and we were grateful that it was only seventeen miles to John O'Groats.
It rained intermittently and the gusts of wind were cold. "How much does it rain here?" I asked Jock as he navigated the narrow road between pastures full of sheep and cows.
"There's an old Scottish saying: If it isn't raining now it will rain soon."
That was comforting for us desert dwellers of Southern California. I wondered how Larry, the walker, was faring.
"Look at those funny red cows," Arrow said. "They look so cute with their long hair. It's even over their eyes."
"Highland cattle," Jock said. "Not terribly useful except for postcards for the tourists. Other breeds are more profitable."
We came down a slight grade into John O'Groats, which consisted of a number of houses and the John O'Groats Hotel, but not much more. Beyond the rocky cliffs we could see the waters of the North Sea, looking relatively calm compared to what they must be like when the storms come that the area is famous for.
"This is where Larry started his walk," Arrow said.
"Walk?" asked Jock.
She explained about Larry's quest.
"He's a bit daft, wouldn't you say?"
I had heard that the UK was a nation of walkers, but apparently there were exceptions.
Jock turned off into a side street and parked in front of a small but relatively new house. The tiny yard looked well cared for and the white front door was freshly painted.
Michael McTavish was expecting us; Jock had telephoned him earlier. He answered the door promptly to Jock's knock. He ushered us into the house and shook hands with Jock and then with Arrow and me. Then he led us to some worn but still comfortable chairs in front of a fireplace with a real fire in it, saying, "There's a chill in the air. Perhaps this will help to warm your bones."
I suspected there was always a chill in the air here.
"The missus is running some errands," he said, almost apologetically, "but she baked these." He pointed to a plate of cookies on an end table. There was also a pot of tea.
"Biscuits," Arrow said, taking a cookie when Michael offered them to her. "See, I'm learning." She took a bite. "Delicious."
As he poured each of us a cup of tea I noted that Michael McTavish didn't seem to smile much. Smaller than average height, he was also quite thin. His lined face and graying hair assured me that he was in the same generation as Ned and James.
Michael and Jock doctored their tea with milk and sugar. Arrow also took some sugar. I tasted mine and decided that adding sugar was the correct thing to do to diffuse the bitterness.
We sipped in silence for a minute, as I wondered how to start the conversation. Then Jock said, "Well, Michael, these two come from Los Angeles and they know some old mates of yours."
"Who do you know, then?" Michael asked.
I mentioned Ned, James and Elma and watched his face.
A look of recognition crossed it, but he didn't smile. He said, "I knew them all." He hesitated and said, "It has been many long years since I have seen any of them."
"About thirty years?" Arrow asked.
Michael nodded. "Close to it. We were young and carefree then. We were always together. I hoped it would last forever, but one day James and Ned left and never returned. I believe Elma left some time later."
"I have some bad news about Ned," I said. I told how he had been shot, without mentioning drugs.
"In San Francisco, did you say?" Jock asked. "Was it the mafia, do you think?"
"I don't think so. In fact, he was shot in Chinatown, but we don't think it was the Chinese mafia, either."
"Any clues?" Jock asked, deadpan.
"No clues."
Arrow launched into a brief history of what all three had done since they left Wick. She told about the marriage of Ned and Elma and a summary of their business pursuits, without glorifying them or mentioning money.
When she was through, Michael said, "That's quite a story. Maybe I should have left too. The missus was always after me to go, but somehow I never got around to it. I do have me own business, though. Selling woolen goods. If it's warm sweaters you're after, we've got 'em. I'm even starting to do some business on the Internet, but it's slow going."
"Have you got a website?" I asked.
"Yes, but I'm having problems getting the customers to visit it. I'm trying to learn the code and how to make it look pretty; I hired a boy to put it together, but he costs money."
"Karl is an expert at creating websites," Arrow said, giving me more credit than I deserved. "Let him take a look at yours. Maybe he can help."
"And Arrow is an expert in marketing," I added.
"A pretty lass like yourself?" Michael said, dubious, looking her over.
However, he led us into the tiny spare bedroom, which he used as a home office. The state-of-the-art computer equipment looked out of place in this remote corner of the world, but Michael soon established a connection to the Internet.
His website was bare-bones and I immediately thought of a dozen ways it could be improved, with better organization, use of color and modern graphics techniques. A thought occurred to me. If we could get on his good side he would be much more likely to talk freely to us.
"I have some ideas," I told Michael. "If you like I'll do some work on it, but I won't change any of your existing pages so when I'm done you can either use my suggestions or stay with what you have. I can also get you hooked up with the best search engines."
"I can't afford to pay you."
"No, no, this is fun for me. I wouldn't charge you anything."
The look on Michael's face told me that he didn't believe in taking something for nothing. I said, "There is something you can do for us in return. Elma asked...Elma is, umm, writing a book about her early life in Scotland. She asked us that if we were able to locate someone who knew her and Ned and James, to have them tell us their memories of those days so that she could use them in the book."
Michael considered. "A book, is it? And she would send me a copy?"
"Of course."
"I wouldn't mind reliving those days." He said it, wistfully.
There was another thing we had to do—get rid of Jock. Since the computer room wasn't large enough to hold four people Jock was standing outside the door looking like a guy who had just missed the bus. I said, "Jock, this may take a while. We really appreciate you bringing us here, but you don't have to stay. We'll find our own way back."
Jock wasn't going to be dismissed that easily. Since the r
eason he had helped us was clear I turned to Arrow and pleaded with her, using my eyes. She squeezed past me and took him by the arm. I couldn't hear what she said to him as she guided him to the door, but I assumed she was bargaining, perhaps promising him a date for tonight. It was worth it, I told myself.
***
Michael's wife returned while I was pounding on the computer and Arrow and Michael were going over his financial records on the dining room table. I was completely engrossed in programming, working fast to make up in speed what I lacked in ability.
Michael had told us something about his wife so when I heard the front door close I immediately knew that I should show myself. I went quickly into the dining room. Arrow and Michael were sitting at the table with their heads close together. She had convinced him that she did know something about marketing.
Mrs. McTavish entered the room on her way to the kitchen, with two large bags of groceries in her arms, just as I got to the back of Arrow's chair and put my hands on her shoulders. Michael looked up, startled at the appearance of his wife.
He said, "Hello, dear, let me help you with those," sounding like a boy who has been caught watching an adult movie on cable. He quickly got up and took the bags from her. "These two have come from Los Angeles to find out about life here when we were young. Karl and Arrow, this is my wife, Heather."
We said hello and Heather, who was short and thin, like her husband, nodded, without speaking or smiling and followed him through a swinging door into the kitchen. We could hear their voices then, speaking softly but rapidly, with Heather's demanding and Michael's placating.
Arrow shrugged as if to say she couldn't help it and she'd seen it all before.
I said, "What did you promise Jock to get him to leave?"
"Not what you think. Although we may have to meet him for a drink."
"So you included me."
"I'm certainly not going alone."
Michael came back into the room and said, "We would like to have you stay for lunch."
Lunch. I looked at my watch. Time flies when you're jet-lagged and don't know what time it really is. I said, "Why don't we take you both out for lunch. Is there a place nearby...?"
