The Stranger on the Ice

by Bernadette Calonego

  Her thoughts whirled around in her mind like in a centrifuge.

  “Wait, wait. How come you know all this? About Bella and all that?”

  He cleared his throat.

  “Do you remember how Bella always answered with the word waterfall whenever you asked her about Dad’s diaries? I couldn’t make any sense out of it until one day the penny dropped. You remember that painting of a waterfall in the music room?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I talked to the people who bought Dad’s house, and they let me check it out. We knocked on the wall where the picture used to hang. It had to be that spot. We opened up the wall and discovered a niche behind it. And there they were.”

  “What?”

  “Bella’s diaries.”

  “Oh my God! She wrote everything down?”

  “Yes, and she concealed those records very well.”

  Valerie stood up and sat down again; then she stood up and walked up and down the entire length of the room and looked out the window. Suddenly, everything—the neighborhood outside, the snow, the persistently bright sky, the tangle of pipes on top of the permafrost—seemed unreal, like in a movie.

  Kosta’s voice came through like it was penetrating a fog.

  “Bella tried and tried to find out where her children lived, but she never could. Bliss gave them different names and frequently changed addresses. Sedna began calling herself Sedna later. Probably to make you curious. An American colleague found that out for me.”

  A message appeared on her cell phone, but she ignored it.

  “How in the world did she ever . . . how did Sedna find me?”

  “A relative finally spilled the beans. You know how it is. Family secrets can’t be kept forever. Sedna found Bella and visited her in the nursing home in Vancouver. Bella could only respond to her questions with bewilderment, as she does with us. She didn’t recognize her daughter. A nursing home worker told me that.”

  “Sedna came too late. It must have been a great shock when she realized that.”

  “We’ve come too late as well. We could have shown her Bella’s diaries. She would have known how much her mother loved Glenn and her, and how hard she tried to find them.”

  “I saw so much hate in Glenn’s eyes, Kosta. He hated us for what happened to them.”

  “Perhaps . . . but I think it was more likely desperation. Hopefully, Glenn will come to understand.”

  The old question surfaced.

  “Why didn’t Sedna talk to me? We were friends. I don’t get it, I simply don’t get it.”

  More tears welled up.

  “Maybe she was afraid we’d stop her from publishing the truth. She intended to write a book—you know that, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “That book, Val, you’ve got to write it now. You’ve got to find out what happened and write about it, to make this story your own. Otherwise, other people will pounce on this, and we don’t know what the upshot will be.”

  He paused.

  “I think we owe it to our parents.”

  She waited before responding. She waited so long that Kosta asked, “Val, you still there?”

  “Yes. I . . . I’ve got to think this over, Kosta.”

  “Of course, sister dear. By the way, Ellen and Alex are on the next plane to Vancouver. Their mission is over.”

  “That’s OK. I can take care of myself, Kosta. But we’ve got to brace ourselves for the media.”

  “Yes. That’s unavoidable at this point. And that’s also why it would be a good thing for us to clear up the story of our parents as a family. Nobody’s better suited to write that story than you, Val. James thinks so, too. We need to try to finally find out the whole truth.”

  The whole truth. She let Kosta’s words flow back and forth in her mind like waves on a sandy beach.

  Maybe she could sniff out a part of that truth. She had a hunch where.

  CHAPTER 35

  Clem heard the helicopter from his office as he was finishing his daily report on the Ice Road conditions. Helvin had made himself scarce—no surprise to Clem anymore—and didn’t pick up his cell when Clem called.

  Clem wondered if his boss had heard Waldo Bronk’s radio reports on the explosion on the ice and the other peculiar events in the Arctic. Waldo hadn’t been deterred by the vague justifications he’d gotten from government officials in Ottawa. The young reporter had found out that the explosion was one of many unexplained incidents in a long line of suspicious events over the last several years.

  Waldo had turned up reports of mysterious submarines in the Northwest Passage; of soldiers from foreign countries who showed up in Inuit settlements and then disappeared; and of helicopters that were never identified, at least not officially. He added reports of armed vessels sailing through Canadian Arctic waters without Canada’s permission.

  Clem still heard Waldo’s voice ringing in his ears: “We might ask what our country could do about this. Our Coast Guard is unarmed, their icebreakers are old and continually under repair. They can’t break through very thick pack ice in winter. Our brigade of rangers is understaffed and must patrol an unimaginably huge area. But is it right to simply sweep unsettling events under the rug because Canada is in no position to call a halt to potential attacks by foreign countries on our territory?”

  Clem’s esteem for Waldo took off like a comet after that. The guy’s got guts, you’ve got to give him that. That report will either cost Waldo his job or make his career.

  When Clem heard a chopper flying above the office, he immediately called the hospital. Had there been an accident on the Ice Road? They confirmed that the air ambulance was up but not flying to the road. While on the phone, he heard another helicopter above, so he called the RCMP. The woman at the station confirmed that their helicopter had nothing to do with the Ice Road either. She wouldn’t say anything more. Clem pushed.

  “I need more information—in case people phone in here.”

  The dispatcher knew him and gave in.

  “A woman, a tourist, was found dead in one of the hunting cabins. That’s all I can tell you, Clem.”

  Instant anxiety. Valerie had texted earlier to let him know her group was going on a snowmobile outing. He ran to his truck and drove to Poppy Dixon’s. Poppy’s son was there, and he was not reassuring: he said his father and Valerie had gone back to the cabin on Lake Fowler because a man from her tour had gone missing. She had sent the rest of her group back to the hotel. Poppy’s son didn’t know anything about a dead female tourist. Maybe the dispatcher was wrong—maybe the dead person was a man.

  Clem put the truck into reverse and was about to drive onto the highway when a blue pickup arrived and stopped beside him. Helvin West lowered the window. Clem immediately noticed his bloodshot eyes. From sleepless nights or too much alcohol? He also noticed with some satisfaction that recent events had etched their traces in his boss’s face; he looked haggard.

  Clem told Helvin about the two choppers. “Probably nothing to do with the Ice Road,” Clem said.

  Helvin squinted at him.

  “A dead woman in a cabin, you say? Doesn’t that send your blood pressure through the roof?”

  Clem didn’t respond. He hadn’t expected to find Helvin in a good mood, considering the recent revelations about Toria. Helvin’s tone turned caustic: “Women shouldn’t come up here. They know fuck all about life here. They only cause trouble for people. They’re so irresponsible. Steal cars and push drugs. It’s criminal.”

  Clem remained silent.

  “So now we’ve got another dead woman,” Helvin continued, his voice exuding sarcasm. “That’s just fantastic. We couldn’t wish for anything more. That’ll pump up the tourist trade—you watch.”

  Clem stuck his elbow out the window.

  “How are things with Toria?”

  Helvin looked in the rearview mirror, then back at Clem.

  “She’s got a good lawyer. She’s got nothing to fear. But I hear your pretty baby is Pet
er Hurdy-Blaine’s daughter. That’ll be red meat for the media. I guarantee you it’ll be more interesting than Helvin West’s wife. You can bet on it.”

  Clem heard a message alert on his cell. He withdrew his arm from the window.

  “I’ll give you a tip, Helv. Gisèle told Toria she’d gotten the gold nugget from you. For services rendered. You’ve got to iron that out with Toria. And the police.”

  He took off as he closed the window.

  But his sense of triumph was short-lived. He couldn’t shake off an unsettling feeling. Was the missing man from the tour dead? That could end Valerie’s Inuvik tours. Good-bye to their annual meetings, dammit.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  He remembered the new text message and stopped near the Great Polar Hotel to read it. He had two messages, actually. One from the boy he paid to walk Meteor; he’d brought the dog back home safely.

  The second message took him by complete surprise.

  “You got some time? Must tell you something. I’m in the church.”

  Clem instantly knew what church that was. He was close by. It had been months since he’d been at the igloo church. He wasn’t Catholic, but a friend’s wedding had taken place there. Soon he was standing before the circular building that drew people from all over the world, and he once again was struck by the extraordinary architecture: the outside walls made to look like rectilinear blocks of snow, and the silvery domed roof crowned by a small cupola bearing a cross.

  He went through the door and along the pews until he came to a motionless seated figure. This was a good place to meet. The nave was otherwise empty.

  “This is a fine place for peace and calm,” he remarked as he sat down.

  “Yes,” Marjorie Tama agreed, “and now that we’ve collected enough money to cover the horrendous heating costs, we don’t freeze in here anymore.”

  “So who should I pray for?” he asked.

  “Maybe for the woman found dead in Pete’s cabin.”

  “There’s really nothing you don’t know, is there? Who is she?”

  “Pete rented out his cabin to a woman from somewhere near Vancouver. She called herself Sedna. God only knows why a white woman is named after an Inuit goddess.”

  “Sedna’s dead?” His mouth turned dry.

  “I don’t know. But Pete rented his cabin to her.”

  “Good God! What happened there?”

  “No idea. We’ll definitely know more by this evening.”

  He shook his head in bewilderment.

  “A bit too many corpses these days, don’t you think?”

  He looked up at the rosette in the center of the ceiling: a red flower with some white petals on a turquoise background.

  “Do you think this will have a negative impact on Inuvik?” he asked.

  She pursed her lips.

  “We Inuvialuit have always lived with death. Death lurks everywhere. It’s not death we fear but suffering. Our ancestors sometimes died of hunger. Nobody does now.”

  He didn’t let her off the hook.

  “Reporters will probably descend on Inuvik like locusts.”

  “Then we’ll show them what we’ve achieved here. That we’ve taken our fate into our own hands. That we’ve got things moving, economically speaking. We can’t allow ourselves to be cowed by fear. We have our pride. So bring ’em on! Sure, we’ll tell them about death and disaster but also a story of beauty and self-determination.”

  He waited for several seconds. They’d been talking about other things because Inuvialuit thought it was impolite to come straight to the point.

  “And why did you want to see me? What do you want to tell me?”

  By way of an answer, she began to sing. A song in her mother tongue, Uummarmiutun. She sang softly, almost in a hum. Clem caught a few words, but that was all. He just sat there, waiting patiently, because if he’d learned one thing from the Inuvialuit, it was never to reveal impatience.

  In the middle of her song, she started to speak.

  “You asked me a few days ago about Pihuk Bart’s story.”

  She sang a few more notes. Clem waited.

  “A shaman lived in our area a while back. He called himself Qilalugaq Hupumiyuaq, Whale’s Breath. He was a good shaman for a long time. Then he changed; people reckoned that the spirits took a dislike to him. They trusted his counsel less and less. And there was competition: a relative of his was becoming increasingly influential. That made Qilalugaq Hupumiyuaq mad. The people in Inuliktuuq were the only ones who still believed in him. He prophesized that a fire would destroy their houses. Maybe he meant Russian bombs. Until then, people here didn’t have the slightest idea what went on in the rest of the world. But then they could see the radar towers and military bases with their own eyes. And so they knew about the threat from Russia. That got people frightened. Qilalugaq Hupumiyuaq stoked their fears in order to reestablish his power. And the people followed him to their death. They left one baby behind because he declared that the infant would bring doom. They were putting the world’s doom behind them. That baby was Pihuk.”

  Clem expected her to go on with her story. But Marjorie said out of the blue, “I’ve heard that Valerie’s father’s diary has turned up. It’s supposed to record the Dempster Highway Memorial Trek. The diary apparently disappeared back then, and the police searched for it without any luck; somebody must have hidden it all that time. You have to try to get it back before it falls into the wrong hands.”

  Clem was stupefied.

  “Do you have any idea who has the diary?”

  “Somebody you know. That’s all I can tell you.”

  She resumed her singing. Her voice followed him as he rushed out of the church.

  When he reached home, a second snowmobile was parked in front of his house. Lazarusie. Clem had given him a key.

  Meteor was waiting for him at the door, panting. Clem looked around the kitchen, then in the living room. Lazarusie was asleep on the sofa. Meteor couldn’t have been pleased; he labored under the false belief that the sofa was his sleeping place.

  “Hey, wake up!” Clem shouted.

  Lazarusie opened his eyes in a daze. Catching sight of Clem, he jumped to his feet with amazing agility.

  Clem sat down across from him in an armchair. This time, he skipped the polite chitchat.

  “Laz, do you know where Peter Hurdy-Blaine’s diary is?”

  Lazarusie looked at him, alarmed.

  “What . . . why . . . ?”

  “Has Tanya got it?”

  Lazarusie shook his head.

  “Do you know anything about the diary, Laz?”

  “She was asking about it in the village.”

  “Who?”

  “That woman, the one in the ice house.”

  “She asked about the diary?”

  “She asked about . . . things to do with the Dempster Memorial Trek. She said there must have been a diary somewhere.”

  “Did Tanya get ahold of the diary?”

  “No, she doesn’t have it.”

  He seemed to want to say more but closed his mouth instead.

  “Laz, that diary is important. Tell me what you know about it.”

  “She offered to pay for it. If I’d had the diary, I’d have sold it to her. Then I’d have the money to get my daughter a good lawyer.”

  Clem stood up.

  “Laz, Tanya will get a lawyer from the Mackenzie Resource Corporation. For free. The organization exists just for the Inuvialuit. It’s in the statute. I’m going to see about that diary. Stay here.”

  He went to the kitchen and called Valerie’s number.

  CHAPTER 36

  The hospital’s facade was a playful arrangement of blue, yellow, and red building blocks. Primary colors sparkled against the white of the snow, brighter than a Fisher-Price toy. Faye dropped Valerie off at the main entrance. The tour had a free day—but unfortunately, the weather wasn’t great. A strong wind blew snow around in all directions, and visibility on the road was reduc
ed to about fifteen feet.

  Faye had heard in the hotel that some other tourists had nonetheless ventured out onto the Ice Road, hoping for a change in the weather.

  “I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes,” she said. Valerie could only hope that the day would pass for her charges without any glitches. As for herself, she wasn’t so sure. The receptionist told her how to navigate the hospital corridors, so she found the room sooner than she’d expected. Her heart was in her mouth as she knocked on the door and went in. One bed was empty; a pale woman lay in the other one, but Valerie didn’t recognize her at first. She’d only met Christine Preston once, and that felt like a long, long time ago. But the patient said hello without missing a beat.

  “Valerie! I’ve been waiting to see you for such a long time!”

  Christine wasn’t wearing makeup, and her hair lay flat on her head. But Valerie recognized the high, melodious voice.

  “How are you?” she inquired.

  “Much better. Much, much better. The people here are taking good care of me.”

  Pointing to a chair in the corner, she said, “Do sit down.”

  Valerie pulled the chair closer to the bed.

  “How on earth could it ever have happened?”

  “Insane, isn’t it? Something you only see in the movies.” Christine smoothed the covers with her thin, elegant fingers. “Roy Stevens wanted to show me something in the ice house. I trusted him implicitly—after all, he is a ranger. Then there was that business with the backpack. I was standing on the ladder when I suddenly remembered it. He went to get it . . . and never came back. Of course, now I know why.”

  “So you had no idea then what was happening up there?”

  “No, I heard strange noises, and then the lid slammed down, leaving me literally in the dark.”

  “It must have been awful.”

  Christine nodded.

  “Yes, I panicked in the beginning, naturally. Then I remembered that you and your tour group were coming to the cellar. I heard that from Roy. It could only be one or two days. You were my lifesaver, Valerie!”

  “Clem Hardeven and Lazarusie Uvvayuaq saved your life.”

  “And my little warmers. I packed them into my shoes and gloves. And I prayed.”