Speak to the Earth

by William Bell

  I used our social studies textbook.

  Ellen gave me pamphlets she got from her dad called “Wise Use of the Land Base” (the pamphlet, not her dad) and “Maintaining Sustainable Development” which I didn’t understand too well.

  My mother corrected some grammar mistakes.

  Elias helped me with my spelling.

  My mother and my uncle Jimmy gave me a little bit of information and a whole lot of opinions which contradicted each other and which I didn’t use.

  SIX

  Rain.

  Rain hissing on the rocks of Osprey Cove and soaking the ground under the drenched trees beside the house. Rain drumming on the roof of the bus on the way to school. Rain running down the window panes of the classrooms. Rain beating umbrellas, pelting raincoats, saturating jackets and sweaters, chilling flesh and bone. Rain on the roof at night. In the morning, more rain.

  It poured all the next week. People became grumpy, waiting for a crack of brightness to appear in the cement sky. Cats and dogs kept out of the way of impatient feet. Store clerks snapped at customers. At Bryan’s house, Uncle Jimmy thumped around the house, complaining about everything, frustrated at being unemployed and unable to occupy himself outside. Only Iris held an even temper when the downpour closed off the town from the sun and the world — another proof, thought Bryan testily, that she was not a normal human being.

  Within the drenched and dreary walls of his school, Bryan developed a grudging admiration for Mrs Richmond. Friday, in Social Studies, W-cubed took tedium to a new and unexplored level; she dragged boredom into another dimension. As she droned on, he secretly got out his thesaurus and made a list of all the synonyms for the word boring. Ellen was engrossed in a novel she was holding behind her textbook, a rare act of rebellion on her part. Elias pretended to take notes but, Bryan knew, he was composing songs and doodling.

  The rain hissed and hummed; the clock’s hands crept around its face.

  Freed at last by the bell, Bryan dashed for the bus with Ellen and Elias, dodging around puddles pocked by the downpour.

  “Hey, got an idea,” Elias announced when they had found seats. Bryan and Ellen sat together, with Elias across the aisle.

  “Congratulations,” said Bryan.

  “Mom’s going to Port Albert tomorrow to do a poetry reading at the public library, and me and her have to visit my gram in the old folks’ home. Why don’t you two come with us? We can all hang around downtown for the morning while Mom is putting her audience to sleep, and you guys can do whatever until Mom and me are ready to go home.”

  “Sounds great,” Ellen said. “Bryan and I can catch a movie.”

  “I don’t know. I should probably help Walter tomorrow. He has a whale watch.”

  “Come on, Bryan,” Ellen pleaded. “Walter can get along without you.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well” — Elias gave Ellen a broad stage wink — “me and you can go without him.”

  “I’ll be there,” Bryan said.

  At eight sharp the next morning, Bryan heard the rumble of the Wilsons’ van in the driveway. Outside, the sky was sullen but at least the rain had stopped. He pulled on his hightops, slipped into his imitation suede bomber jacket and sang out a goodbye to his mother and uncle. Bryan climbed into the back seat of the van, which smelled of new wood, paint and linseed oil. Elias’s father used it to transport supplies and finished canvases.

  It took only a few minutes to drive across town to Ellen’s. Mrs Wilson beeped the horn, which was, Bryan thought, totally unnecessary because anyone not deaf would know they had arrived.

  “What’s new, Bryan?” Mrs Wilson asked. “We haven’t see you around our place much lately.”

  “The reason why,” Elias cut in, “just came out her front door.”

  “Oh, not much, Mrs Wilson,” Bryan replied. “Mom’s joined that new park committee. Jimmy’s still looking for work.”

  “It’s pretty grim out there, all right,” she said as Ellen got into the van. She sat next to Bryan, who immediately lost interest in making small talk with Elias’s mother.

  Once past Talbot Inlet, Highway 93 twisted and turned through the mountainous terrain. Elias’s mother drove slowly and carefully, especially when caught behind one of the many logging trucks that carried timber in to the pulp mills and sawmills of Port Albert.

  “Hey, Ellen, got that new tape you told me about?” Elias asked.

  Ellen handed an Icicle Invasion tape to Elias, who jammed it into the deck and turned up the volume. Mrs Wilson immediately adjusted it to a reasonable level.

  “Good stuff, eh?” Ellen commented, swaying to the pulsing bass.

  Elias was turned around in his seat, facing Ellen and Bryan. Mostly Ellen, Bryan thought. When had they talked about the tape? he wondered.

  “Heard this one yet, Bry?” Elias asked.

  “He’s been too busy reading about whales,” Ellen answered for him, smiling. “He’s becoming an expert.”

  “He’d better move fast,” Mrs Wilson said as she floored the gas pedal and moved around a slow-moving lumber truck, “before they’re extinct.”

  “Has he tried to talk to them again?” Elias joked.

  “No, but I think he’s working up to it.”

  Bryan looked out the window at the mountains, with their clear-cut bald spots. He worried when Elias and Ellen were together, especially if he wasn’t with them. Not that Elias would try to steal Ellen away from him, Bryan reassured himself. But Elias didn’t have to try. Whenever he was around a girl, you might as well stand back and shut up, because whoever the girl was, Elias was all she saw. There was no use trying to compete with him. There were times when he wished Ellen wasn’t so good-looking.

  At length they reached town, and Mrs Wilson deposited Elias, Ellen and Bryan on the main street.

  “Good luck in your reading, Mrs Wilson,” Ellen called out.

  “Luck, Mom. Bye!” Elias yelled as the van rumbled away from the curb. “Whew! Smells like the pulp mills are going full tilt,” he said, sniffing the damp air. The sulphurous odour hung in the air like invisible fog.

  Bryan and his friends spent the morning window-shopping and exploring the music stores. Bryan moped along while Elias entertained Ellen with jokes and silly antics and she, it seemed to Bryan, laughed hysterically at every word that came out of Elias’s mouth. They ate slabs of lukewarm pizza at a waterfront joint on Albert Sound. Bryan was relieved when Elias told them it was time to meet his mother.

  “Come on, Bry and I will walk you there,” Ellen offered.

  “No, I’m going the opposite way. You guys don’t want to miss your movie. See you later.”

  Bryan was silent as they made their way up the hill to the theatre. The pizza sat like a stone in his stomach.

  “Which flick do you want to see?” he asked Ellen.

  “How about the spooky one?” she said, pointing to a poster that showed a man with bear claws on his fingers and a face like melted plastic.

  “Sure.”

  They bought their tickets and went inside, after Ellen had studied the poster for the other movie, a Disney about some animals. She wanted to be able to describe it to her parents when she got home. They didn’t allow her to see horror movies, Bryan knew, because they believed stories with witches or ghosts in them were sacrilegious.

  “Damn,” Bryan said after he counted his change.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “The woman short-changed me a buck.”

  “Let’s go back.”

  “Never mind. I don’t want to make an issue out of it. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Sure it does,” Ellen said. “Here, I’ll do it.” And she grabbed the change from his hand and went outside to the ticket booth. In a minute she returned and handed him the money.

  “So what’s bugging you today?” she said as they took their seats in the dark, almost deserted theatre.

  “Nothing.”

  “You seem mad about something.�
��

  Bryan didn’t answer. If he told her, he’d look stupid.

  “Aren’t you having fun?”

  “You think I’m a wimp, don’t you?” he blurted. “Because I wouldn’t go back for my change.”

  “What? No, of course not.”

  “You and Elias seemed to be having a lot of fun,” he said after a moment.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Ellen tried to read Bryan’s face in the dark. “I like kidding around with him.”

  “I’m not, though.”

  “Not what?”

  “Funny. Lots of laughs,” said Bryan, knowing he was whining and angry at himself for it. “Why don’t you go out with Elias if you like being with him so much?”

  “I could. He’s asked me enough times.”

  “What? He —”

  “Shhhhhh. Not lately, Bryan. Take it easy, will you? Before you and I started going together.”

  They sat in silence. A corny Frank Sinatra tune leaked insipidly from the speakers overhead.

  “So why didn’t you?” Bryn asked.

  “Because I didn’t want to. Elias is nice and all, but he isn’t really my type.”

  “Sure didn’t seem like that today.”

  “Come on, Bry, you’re not going to give me that jealous boyfriend routine, are you? The possessive male and all that revolting stuff? You don’t need to feel that way. For one thing, I’m with you, right? For another, Elias is your best friend.”

  I thought he was, Bryan mused. “The movie’s starting,” he said as the lights dropped and Sinatra was cut off in mid-lament.

  “Listen,” Ellen whispered, drawing close. Her hair smelled clean and fresh. “You’re my boyfriend. Now stop worrying.” She leaned close and kissed him.

  Bryan held her hand as he watched the movie.

  Bryan and Ellen emerged from the theatre, blinking and squinting against the bright afternoon sun.

  “Thank goodness,” Ellen exclaimed. “The rain’s gone.”

  Bryan sniffed. The odour of sulphur was almost physical. “So has the breeze. That stink is horrible. How can anyone live here?”

  “You get used to it,” Ellen said. “Sort of. In Nanaimo we smelled it a lot. But it was never this bad.”

  Just then they heard the clatter of the Wilsons’ van and the beep of its horn. On the way back to Nootka Harbour, Ellen gave Elias and his mother a comic rendition of the horror movie, aided occasionally by Bryan, now in a much better mood. They laughed and joked all the way home. Even Mrs Wilson got in on the act, doing her Boris Karloff imitation, which was, Bryan thought, so bad it was extra-funny.

  When they dropped Ellen off, she gave Bryan a big noisy kiss. He felt his face go as red as a strawberry. Elias smirked and Mrs Wilson pretended not to see.

  When Bryan got home, his mother and Uncle Jimmy were sitting down to dinner. The radio on the counter blared country-western tunes, so Bryan knew his uncle had won the music war that day. Iris liked middle-of-the-road stuff. Bryan joined them as Jimmy dished out plates of steaming beef stew and thick slices of bread.

  “You’re just in time,” Jimmy said, “for my famous Dead Cow Delight.”

  “Jimmy!” Iris complained. “We have to eat this glue, you know.”

  “And,” Jimmy went on, unperturbed, “for an important announcement.” He twisted caps off two bottles of beer and set them on the table. “So important, we have Kootenay champagne tonight.”

  “Wait,” Iris interrupted. “Listen.”

  The six o’clock news had begun. Premier Harrington announced today that licence has been granted for logging of the Orca Sound area of Vancouver Island, one of the last remaining untouched stands of temperate rainforest, not only in British Columbia but in the world. A spokesperson for Mackenzie Forest Industries said that the Orca Sound Ecological Preservation Plan, as the project is called, will create hundreds of jobs over the next five years —

  “Oh, my God!” Iris cried. “They can’t !”

  The premier’s announcement was immediately condemned by Greenpeace and other anti-logging groups, which warned that the decision will be fought in the courts. Action of a more direct nature was not ruled out.

  “Stupid buggers!” Jimmy threw down his fork

  Other logging projects in the past, at Tsitika, Walbran, Lyell Island, Carmanah and Stein were met with protests leading to the arrests of hundreds of people. Anti-logging activists warned that, if the clear-cut logging of Orca Sound proceeds, mass demonstrations and disruptions will be inevitable.

  Clear-cut logging, long a controversial practice banned in most countries, was defended by —

  Jimmy jumped up and snapped off the radio. “Well, I guess my news isn’t so good after all,” he said bitterly.

  “Those damn crooked politicians have caved in again!” Iris shouted. “All the corporations have to do is say ‘jobs’ and the politicians do whatever the company wants. Pardon? Sorry, Jimmy, I was ranting, wasn’t I. What was it you wanted to tell us?”

  Bryan’s uncle said, “Well, I landed a job today”

  “Great!” Bryan said.

  “Terrific, Jimmy.” Iris got up from the table and hugged her brother.

  Jimmy struggled free. “You won’t think it’s so terrific when I tell you what it is.”

  Bryan saw the cloud pass over his mother’s face. “You don’t mean—”

  “Yeah, I do mean. MFI is taking on about seventy-five people here and in Talbot Inlet.”

  “And you’re one of them.”

  “I’m a logger, Iris. It’s what I do.”

  “But, Jimmy.” Iris fought to control herself. “I’m glad you found work, but … you can’t.”

  His voice rising with every word, his face reddening, Jimmy said, “Why can’t I? First hint of work I’ve had in a year or more. What am I supposed to do, turn it down and become a bloody tree-hugger?”

  “They’re going to clear-cut the Sound! Didn’t you hear?” Iris responded, her own voice taking on a hard edge. “Do you want to look out over the passage and see raped mountainsides?”

  “Don’t be so damned dramatic, Iris. It won’t be that bad and you know it. You always have to get hysterical and exaggerate. You know, I’m sick and tired of you people. I’ve been a logger all my life. Used to be I could be proud to say that, hold up my head. Now, for the last few years, me and guys like me are bad guys. Where the hell do you think the timber came from that this house is made out of? Eh, Iris? Where did the cedar grow that got cut down so you and that other committee you belong to could build the town’s art gallery? From the forest around here, that’s where! And people like me cut the timber down. We were good guys then, though, eh? Well, I’ll tell you something, sister of mine, I’m proud to be a logger. And it’s crazies like you that put me out of work to begin with!”

  Bryan saw the familiar look of determination on his mother’s face. “Jimmy, that forest has to be preserved.”

  Red-faced, Jimmy smashed his chair against the table, upsetting his untasted bottle of beer. Amber liquid cascaded to the floor. Bryan could see the jaw muscles flexing beneath Jimmy’s skin. “And I need to work!” he shouted, slamming the kitchen door as he left the house.

  Iris rushed to the door and grabbed the knob, but did not turn it. She faced Bryan. “I’d better get on the phone to the committee,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “We’ve got to get organized, fast.”

  “Mom,” Bryan said, “you were pretty hard on him.”

  She let out a long sigh. “This can’t be allowed to happen.”

  “Why not? I mean, half the people around here work in the logging business, one way or the other,” he said, thinking of Ellen’s family as well as his own. “It’s not like there aren’t enough trees.”

  “That’s just it. There aren’t.”

  “Are you kidding? Jimmy’s right, Mom. You’re exaggerating. The whole island is a blanket of trees. Who’s going to even notice? Besides, MFI replants the areas they log. We learned all about it
in school.”

  “Listen, Bryan. In the first place, the sound is public land. Or, if you’re First Nation, it’s native land. Either way, it doesn’t belong to MFI.”

  “Yeah, but they’ve got the tree farm licence, the rights to —”

  “They buy those TFLs for a song because their goons in the legislature help them out. Then when they cut, they pay ridiculously low stumpage fees.” Iris laughed bitterly. “And if the government changes its mind and cancels the TFLs, they have to pay the company millions of dollars in compensation. To get back the so-called rights to our own land! It’s all as crooked as hell. Look, son,” Iris said, calming down a little, “this isn’t just another logging project. Everybody seems to think the rainforest is limitless. That’s the way we treated the ozone layer, the air we breathe, the rivers and oceans. But those ancient stands of timber aren’t limitless. When they’re cut down, they’re gone. All I’m saying is let’s preserve what’s left.”

  “But, Mom —”

  “Take Vancouver Island,” Iris interrupted. Bryan knew that when she was on a roll like this, the best thing to do was stand back and let her wind down. “There are about ninety watersheds bigger than five thousand hectares, okay? You know how many of the ninety haven’t been logged out?” Without waiting for his reply, she pounded her fist into her palm. “Five! There are five left, Bryan, and three of them are in Orca Sound! Some of the trees practically within sight of Nootka Harbour are a hundred metres high, way older than a thousand years. They can’t be replaced. MFI wants to turn them into logs to sell to the States and Japan!”

  When his mother paused for a breath and a pull on her beer, Bryan said, “But, Mom, the government makes sure that the forests are protected, doesn’t it? I mean, look at the parks.”

  “The government is at the beck and call of the big corporations. The government allowed the streams to be polluted by mining and pulp companies. The government doesn’t even follow its own laws. There are First Nation reserves right here on the island, which are under the control of the government, whose sewage systems don’t meet government regulations! These are the officials you trust to protect the forests? The people have to protect the environment from the government!”