As I finish my tea, there’s the purr of Malcolm’s Jaguar. He jumps out and strolls over. As he bends down for a kiss, it occurs to me that he might not actually have stayed here while I was in Edinburgh. I wonder where he would go instead.
‘I guess that’s as close to a bear as you’re going to get here, then,’ he says, patting the wooden carving. ‘You must be gutted.’
‘I’m putting a brave face on,’ I say. I lean back to look at him and he kisses me again. All of a sudden I just want to abandon myself to animal instincts. I can’t think of anything subtle or suggestive to say, but ‘I missed you’ is enough.
Afterwards, lying in the caravan, I give him a blow-by-blow account of the Parliament debate. ‘It seemed like everyone was against it. The toffs were out in force, making a mockery of the idea. It was hard to believe we had the support of the farmers’ union.’
‘Well, we never actually supported the reintroduction, did we? We were just going along with the process. We wanted to keep an eye on you!’
He’s lying on his front, propping up his head on his hand, a grin on his face. I stare at him until his face becomes unfamiliar. Going for a walk, alone, is suddenly imperative. I get up, throw on some scruffy clothes and stomp off into the woods.
At first, all I can think of is the failure of the Bill, the failure of the release in Norway, the failure of my job at the Institute. I trip on something and stumble. The woods are a blur through angry tears. I’m thwarted everywhere. All my best efforts have come to nothing. Nothing. It’s all impossible.
I march on. The sphagnum moss slurps and squelches. My tears run out, leaving only rage. Rage against the institutes and governments I’ve lavished so much time on for the past year. The official channels of science and politics loom, no longer channels at all, just huge obstructions to my dream. My impossible dream.
But it won’t die. My dream of bringing bears back to Scotland is all I have. I’m not going to let them take that away from me. And if bears are going to make it back to Scotland, it is clearly not going to be by act of Parliament or by the benign activities of a team of scientists. Through my fury, Tanka’s words echo like a mantra. ‘Is it time for direct action?’
Down at the lochside, after blowing my nose and letting the sight and sound of the ripples calm me down, I call him.
‘Hey, Mad About Bears!’ he says. Hearing his odd lilting voice I smile for the first time in days.
‘Hi Tanka, where are you?’
‘Kirkenes. Païvi says hi. You’re in Scotlandia.’
‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘We saw you on TV last night. The Russians love Scotlandia Parliament.’
‘What do you mean, Russians? You said Kirkenes, no?’
‘Yes, just over the border. With our band, Taiga Tunes. The big woofers are growling nicely. You know the song Waltzing with Bears?’
‘No.’
He launches into song. In the background I can hear Païvi’s voice, too, joining in. It’s a ridiculous song about Uncle Walter who sneaks off at night to go waltzing with bears. ‘Wa-wa-wa-waltzing,’ they warble.
My rage is dissolving with laughter. Then Tanka says, ‘Shall we come waltzing to Scotland? It’s good time of year, don’t you think?’
‘Are you serious?’ I giggle at the idea.
‘I am joke always, but if you ask, do I mean this question, yes.’
This takes some deciphering. I know I should think about what he’s suggesting but I seem to have no belief left in the official ways of doing things. That’s all darkness, but here is light. I turn towards it, instinctively.
I take one breath, knowing if I wait too long I might miss the moment and, like a surfer catching a wave, I make my choice. ‘OK.’
‘Majestico! We will arrive in Aberdeen ferry on Friday, eighteen hundred. Can you meet us?’
‘Sure. I don’t know how but yes, I’ll be there.’
‘Excellent. Get ready to waltz baby. Ciao.’
He cuts the connection and I sit there staring at my phone, picturing their van, eco-warriors up front, its back jammed full of guitars, a drum kit, microphone stands, cables, jacks, plug boards, an amp and two huge speakers. Clearly today, they have bears in the band. Russian bears, by the sound of it.
I wonder who I can tell, if anyone, that I’m expecting a vanload of crazy Finns to arrive off the Friday ferry with bears in the back. I shouldn’t really tell anyone. The fewer people who know, the less chance of the story getting out, the fewer people looking for them. What should I do? What do I need to get ready? I have to tell Stig, of course, he has a right to know, after everything we’ve shared, though it could incriminate him. No, I can’t risk telling even Stig. After some thought, I conclude that I definitely can’t tell Malcolm.
I will need to find a precise spot for the release. Two spots, one for each bear, somewhere remote but accessible by van. From the feasibility study I know the areas with the best potential habitat and of them, Glen Affric stands out by miles: by far and away the best, most intact, forest in Scotland, backed by a big, roadless, core mountain area, thick with deer. It’s ideal. I should go there to suss out a drop-off point. I’ll be able to squeeze in a visit on Friday morning before heading to meet Tanka and Païvi off the ferry.
On the way back to the clearing, I notice spring details I must have failed to see before. Primroses and celandines, wood sorrel and bluebells embroider the grass and fists of bracken are unclenching everywhere.
Malcolm asks me what has cheered me up, and I tell him about the flowers. He looks doubtful, but leaves me to my dreaming.
Then on Thursday evening I get a message from Tanka. ‘No can do tomorrow, woofers not allowed on ferry.’
I call him but only get voicemail. I ask him to call me and let me know what has gone wrong, but instead I just get a text question back:
When will you be in Norway?
I reply, ‘Oslo, Monday’. I’ve got a meeting with Anja and the rest of the team, then who knows what I’ll be doing. We make a plan to meet up in Trondheim as soon as I can get back there.
While the data theft investigation is pursued I’m suspended on full pay from the Institute, and Yuri insists my room should be used by someone else, so my return to Trondheim begins with a day spent clearing personal things out of my office. Ana, Professor Bergen’s secretary, helps take boxes out to a taxi, tiptoeing around as if I might explode. I’ve completed my third and final journey to my flat from where the taxi dumped me, and I am thinking about whether I need some food, when the Finns call.
I arrange to meet them at Karl’s bar, and set off straight away. Païvi is waiting for me, elfin on a big comfy couch with a splendid view out over the harbour.
‘What have you done with Tanka?’
‘He’s checking out boats. Do you know anyone here with one?’
‘Yeah, Karl and Michel, the guys who run this place. They love sailing. What happened on the ferry?’
‘Customs man. He opened the back of the truck and said he smelled something. We told him it was our dog. He said we’d need to quarantine it. We managed to back off before he looked too close.’
‘No way, close shave or what?’
She smiles that pixie grin. ‘No problem! We have a new plan, but we need your help. It might be a little more complicated. But fun. Are there fishing boats here?’
‘There must be. Karl and Michel will know. They know everyone at the harbour.’ I lower my voice to a whisper. ‘Where are the bears now?’
‘We took your advice on the best release site, unlike the Norwegian government. The Sámi are once again living with big predators, thanks to Norway’s customs service.’ Païvi uncrosses her legs and stretches her toes out. She’s wearing plimsolls like the ones I wore in primary school. Everything about her is small, seemingly innocent. ‘It means we’ll have to go back to Russia for more bears, but that’s OK. It’s worth it.’
Not for the first time I wonder how all of this is financed, whether t
he bears that Païvi and Tanka acquire are freely given or not. I guess not, but what do I know? I pluck up my courage and ask. ‘Where do the bears come from?’
‘A rescue centre. It’s very sad. There are so many cubs left when mothers are killed by hunters.’
‘Do you buy them?’
She looks at me as if I’ve asked a ridiculous question. ‘Of course.’
‘Is it rude to ask how much they cost?’
‘No, but I won’t tell you anyway, so there’s no point asking. Don’t worry. We won’t charge you. We’re doing Scotland a free service. For the fun of it. For the earth. And for the bears. You should see the place they’re in. Even Scotland’s better than that kind of captivity.’ She rubs fingers through her spiky hair.
I begin to doubt that Païvi really is younger than me, as I’ve always assumed. I realise I have no idea if she is 17 or 70. She could even be an actual pixie.
‘So you’re going back to get more bears?’ I say.
Païvi nods, frowning at me as if I’m stupid.
I continue thinking out loud. ‘And you’re looking to charter a boat.’ I step through the thought process. ‘So you’ll need me in Scotland to sort out…’ I tail off, my mind racing. I have no idea about what a boat might involve, or where two crated bears could be smuggled off it.
As if reading my thoughts, Païvi says, ‘You just do the same as you would have done last time. Don’t worry about our arrangements. We’ll go to the Rock Ness Festival, assuming we’re ready in time. Will you be going?’
‘I could be, I guess. Tickets might be a challenge so close.’
‘No problem. Security will let us in.’
I remember the Tromsø festival. These guys clearly don’t go in the front gates of anything.
‘Shall we meet you there?’ Then, as if she’s reading me, ‘Or do you want to come with us from here?’
As soon as she says it, I know I do. I do! It’s crazy, probably criminal, certainly dangerous, but I’ve never wanted anything more.
‘It kind of depends what boat we can get.’ She’s giving me time. ‘But we like you.’
I’m grinning from ear to ear. I’ve been invited to party with the cool kids. ‘Are you serious?’
She crosses her legs, yogi style, folding herself neatly into the couch. Her eyes twinkle. ‘Here’s Tanka.’
The lanky Finn strides in, his eyes sweeping the room in one systematic arc, and raises his hand with a, ‘Hey, Mad About Bears!’ He says it as if it is one word: Madaboutbears. It dawns on me that this is the name they call me by, how I am referred to when I’m not there. Two big steps and I’m in a carnivore hug.
‘I am starve.’
‘She’s joining the band,’ Païvi says.
Karl walks over, proprietorial in response to the combatclad apparition who has invaded his space.
‘A band? What do you play, Callis?’ he asks.
‘Whistle.’ It’s been a few years since I played the flute, or my penny whistle, but it’s not an outright lie. ‘Karl, meet Tanka and Païvi, friends of mine from Finland. Karl’s the landlord of this fine establishment.’
He shakes hands. ‘What can I get you?’
‘Fish?’ Tanka asks.
‘Cod fresh from the fjord?’
‘Wonderful.’ Tanka lowers himself into a chair and looks instantly at ease. ‘I like it here!’
Karl leans on the back of the chair and relaxes into the well-practiced role of painstaking host.
By dessert the Finns have established who, down at the harbour, they should open up discussions with on the possibility of their band, Taiga Tunes, hitching a lift across to a northern Scottish port. I watch, in awe. Then I have an idea: Jack Magee. I call Aunt Marjory.
She’s blown away to hear from me. It’s all hen and ken and jeezo, it’s hard not to cry. I love my Aunt Marjory. I pour out my sorrows about my job. ‘Get yersel back here, Cally, they don’t deserve ye,’ she says. ‘Your father talks with too many company men, always has done, lets his head be turned.’ So my dad’s talking about me behind my back, too, but not everybody’s fooled.
Jack’s there and I ask to have a word.
‘I’m just wondering, I know this is a crazy idea, but is there any chance of bringing my stuff over by sea, and helping out the band at the same time? It’d make coming home into an adventure.’
‘It sounds like the kind of job I might do, and for you, hen, it’s no trouble. Trondheim to Invergordon, I’ve not done that trip for a year or two.’
When I explain about the two large dogs in crates, he starts to hedge. Tanka gestures to speak with him.
‘Allo? I am dog man,’ he bellows. ‘Big fat dogs, fierce, but don’t worry, we make sure they sleep all the way.’ A rapid dialogue full of laughter ensues. Tanka scribbles notes, and arranges to call again. He seems pleased.
‘That is our man. Good contact, Madabout. Cool buddy.’
I call Anja to explain my suspension. I find her sympathetic. ‘I knew Yuri Zeveris wasn’t keen on the role but it’s no need to start a vendetta against you. He is a childish man,’ she says. ‘It must be very upsetting for you. I’ll check, but unfortunately, this probably means you can no longer be officially on the Committee.’
‘I guessed as much. How’s Ra?’ I ask.
Ra, the wounded bear, is still in captivity. As some sort of parting consolation, Anja suggests we go to see her. She sets up a visit to the wildlife park north of Oslo where the animal is recuperating. I take the train down and she meets me at the station and drives us out to the reserve.
The bear is in a compound normally used by an old wolf, by the look of the photos on the heavily barred door. I wonder what they’ve done with the wolf.
Ra has been darted and after she is unconscious, Anja lets me stroke her. I’m supposed to be watching for signs of life while Anja checks all the wounds, and re-stitches one the bear has rubbed open. I hold Ra’s head on my knee, its weight as heavy as a child, and stroke the ears of the sleeping animal.
My excuse for being here is that I might never get the chance to be so close to a bear again, but really I want to watch how Anja handles the anaesthetic and listen to what she has to say about the vital signs. I want to be clear about the indications of the bear being OK and coming round. I wish we had a vet involved in our escapade.
As Anja talks about the drugs and fiddles about with syringes, I reach out to feel the neck pelt. It is rough and thick on the outside, but downy and soft closer to the skin. Its texture lulls me. Anja, whose mouth is pressed tight, checks the stitches in the shaved area at the top of the bear’s left hind thigh. The wound seems to be healing. She takes the bear’s pulse and seems satisfied.
I wonder how the Finns will cope with two sedated bears on a boat. It seems at once both a ridiculous and marvellous enterprise to be involved in.
‘OK, we’ll leave her now,’ Anja says. ‘She is waking.’
‘That’s quick,’ I say.
‘Yes, just a little sedative this time.’ She rubs Ra’s back. ‘Just a little sleep.’
The bear’s right front paw waves sleepily as I lower her head on to the grass and get up. I don’t want to leave her, now that I’ve got so close.
Ra rubs her face with her paw and rolls on to her front. A little groggy, she gets up, walks a few paces then sits down again, scrapes at the bandaged upper thigh with the other hind leg, then scratches her head. Sniffing, she swings her snout round, stares warily in our direction, then strolls out of her confines into the wider compound beyond. She finds some melon that we left out for her and sets to eating it, apparently none the worse for her sedation. She cracks the melon like an egg and chews into it with gusto, juice running down her jaw and chest. She moves to sit with the melon on her belly, like an otter with its catch, chomping and slurping with evident pleasure. We giggle at her and she seems unperturbed.
‘How long before she goes back out to the wild?’
‘I am hoping we can release her by the end of
next week, if the stitching is good. I don’t want her to stay in here too long, but it is all politics now. All politics.’ Anja shakes her head and looks at me. ‘You are tense. You’re very disappointed about this, I’m not surprised.’
I wish I could tell Anja the real reason for being strung out. I’m burning to let someone in on the secret I’m holding tight, but of course I can’t. Not one word to anyone, not even Malcolm. That’s the deal with being in the band. So all I say is, ‘Yes.’
I think about the bears that will now be roaming up north. How will they be getting on? How long will they remain hidden? Will they… I don’t want to contemplate what might go wrong. Anja finishes putting away her vet kit. I watch the various swabs and knives, forceps and needles, and feel wholly unqualified for what I am about to attempt.
On the way back to Trondheim, I go out to the lobby between carriages. Swaying to the rocking of the train, I call Malcolm. At first he says it isn’t a convenient time, then it sounds as if he excuses himself from wherever he is. I talk up Rock Ness. He is reluctant to go, especially when I tell him I’ll be coming with Tanka and Païvi, and will be arriving with them by boat.
‘Maybe you and your druggy mates should just go together,’ he says.
‘They’re not my druggy mates. They’re no druggier than the average punter at the festival, less likely to be off their head on booze, anyway.’
‘Makes a change for you, I suppose.’
I bristle.
‘Well, it’s an offer. They’re going and can get you a free pass if you want to come. I’d like it if you were there.’ I explain I might begin playing penny whistle with them and he gets a bit more interested in that, but my nervousness only increases. He says he’ll think about it.
I snap my phone off and turn left towards the restaurant car in search of a cup of tea. Or perhaps I might have a beer. When I get there, I choose the beer and take it back to my seat, where I sit, musing that I am becoming a fabricator even to my own boyfriend.
Bear Witness Page 23
