Northwest Passages

by Barbara Roden

  “This way, I think,” he said.

  “You think? Where’re we going now?”

  “Further along the midway.”

  “Looking for your Stumble Bugs?”

  “Tumble Bugs,” he said impatiently. “No; well, yes. I mean, I want to see them, obviously——”

  “Obviously.”

  “But there’s lots of stuff here I want to see. I just want to wander down the midway, see what we find.” And he set off, leaving Linda to trail behind.

  They walked for thirty yards or so, Linda looking behind her now and then to see where they’d come from; she wanted to be sure they knew how to get out again when Allan finally got tired and called it a day. She also couldn’t quite shake off a feeling that they were being followed, and she wondered if the woman at the house had tipped someone off that they were in there. She was glancing over her shoulder again—was that someone moving back behind a tree, just out of sight?—when Allan stopped dead and she stumbled against him. She was about to say something when he shushed her and pointed to their right.

  “What is it?” she asked, any urge she might have had to say “Sorry” gone, but he merely made another shushing noise and pointed again. She looked in that direction, but even then it was a few moments before she realised what she was looking at.

  “Ferris Wheel,” Allan whispered. “Wonderful!” And he was off, camera raised, leaving Linda to stand and stare.

  It had been a Ferris Wheel, once, but now it was a shell of its former self. They were sideways on to it and she could see the outer rings which had once supported the cars, which were gone. Trees grew up and through the Wheel’s structure, and it looked like a giant child’s toy suspended in the branches, ready to break free and roll away in a heavy wind. She would not even have seen it had Allan not pointed it out, and Linda shivered, wondering what else was in the trees, then hurried to catch up to Allan, who was at the base of the Wheel, staring at it in admiration.

  “This is incredible,” he said, turning to her, eyes aglow. “I had no idea there was so much of it left. Amazing.”

  “Wonderful.” She gazed up through the branches to where the Wheel sat silently above them. “This place is like a graveyard. No, it’s like a morgue, full of dead bodies. Couldn’t someone have given them a decent burial, at least?”

  Allan shrugged. “Probably cost too much. Cheaper to leave it here than break it up and haul it out.” He raised the camera again. “Just a few more shots.”

  “I’ve heard that song before,” Linda muttered, but stood while he took more pictures, stopping every now and then to throw out some comment that she only half-heard. She glanced back the way they had come, and there it was again; that faint trace of movement at the corner of her eye, as of someone ducking out of sight. She shook her head. If someone had tipped off the police then the cops wouldn’t be hiding behind trees.

  “Okay, let’s go.” Allan was beside her, his eyes sparkling, his face happier than she had seen it in some time. “I’ve got a real treat for you now. No”—he raised a finger to his lips—“I’m not going to tell you. You’ll see for yourself. We’re almost there; it wasn’t too far from the Ferris Wheel.”

  They walked back to the cracked surface of what Linda supposed had been the main course of the midway, and had not gone far before Allan stopped. “There,” he said proudly, as if he had conjured it up out of mid-air in a spectacular piece of magic, and Linda saw the Coaster.

  It had looked impressive and faintly menacing from the road, but now, close to, it was even more startling. They were standing near one end—the turnaround, Linda knew it was called—and could just make out the rest of the structure stretching out through the trees, dipping and twisting. Allan, of course, had his camera up, and Linda gazed at him for a moment, wondering how a person could be so enthusiastic about something like this. She had been wondering for three years now, and was beginning to think the question would never be answered; at least not in a way she would ever understand.

  Her gaze fell to the uneven surface in front of them. The sun was at their back and she could see her own shadow, clear and sharp, on the ground in front of her. Her eyes flicked to the ground in front of Allan, and she noted that his own shadow was much less distinct. Some trick of the light; or the ground she thought, and was about to say something when she caught her breath with a hiss.

  There was a third shadow stretched out in front of them.

  It was clearly the head and shoulders of someone—a man, she thought—who appeared to be standing roughly equidistant between her and Allan, and slightly behind them. She turned her head so suddenly that she felt something pop between her shoulders.

  There was no one there.

  When she looked forward again, the shadow was gone.

  She blinked and shook her head, her eyes darting from side to side. She had seen it, as clearly as she had seen their own shadows; but it couldn’t have been there. She told herself that, firmly, as she followed Allan towards the Coaster, which seemed to emerge from the trees the closer they got to it, as if shaking itself off like a dog coming out of water. Allan was in a fever of excitement; Linda was surprised he could keep the camera steady as he darted about, taking pictures from every angle.

  “Oh, man, this is incredible. I had no idea it was in this good a state!” He looked up at the wooden struts which now rose above them, criss-crossing, supporting the track which looked to be intact. “Amazing. Almost looks operational. Wouldn’t be surprised to see a car coming along the tracks.”

  Linda knew that he was seeing a different Coaster to the one she was looking at; one without maples choking the tracks, or dead trees leaning drunkenly against the supports of the first turnaround, one where guard rails weren’t missing and footings weren’t rotting and sinking into the muddy earth. To Allan, she knew, it looked as it had in its heyday, a place of happiness and excitement and laughter, and for a moment she wished she could see it through his eyes. Before she could say anything, however, he was off again, heading towards a long, low building with an arched roof at the far end of the track, calling “Loading station!” over his shoulder as he went.

  Linda picked her way through the trees, cursing as something caught at her skirt. It took her a few moments to work it free, and when she looked up Allan was gone. On the archway over the entrance she could make out the word COASTER, or at least what remained of it; some of the letters had fallen off, and what was left was the word COST, with only shadows of the other letters marking where they had once stood.

  She dropped her eyes, trying to see into the station, but all she could make out was a suggestion of railings, with a bench at one side. It was full of shadows, and she wished again that she could see it as Allan did.

  She was suddenly aware of how exposed she must look, alone and vulnerable, and her eyes automatically raked the undergrowth around her, which seemed full of movement, although when her eyes fell directly on a spot there was nothing to be seen. She thought she saw someone move quickly behind a small outbuilding on the far side of the track, by the dips, and remembered her earlier impression of being followed. If there was someone else in the park, she definitely didn’t want to be there by herself, so even though she had no desire to go inside the station she trudged towards it and climbed the cracked ramp leading up from ground level.

  Within it was cooler, and she could smell rotted leaves and damp earth and something else, something more pungent, less wholesome. She did not want to think about what it was. From outside came the sound of a voice, and her immediate thought was Allan, calling her; but after a moment she realised that it didn’t sound like Allan at all, certainly not him calling her, more like someone having a conversation. The contrast between the dimness inside and the sunshine outside meant she could see little beyond the station, and she made her way down the platform towards the sound of the voice, noting the rails still standing primly alongside the track, the faded yellow line on the concrete indicating where those waiting had had
to stand, the brake levers standing at odd angles like thin tombstones.

  Something skittered under one of the benches. A leaf, or maybe a mouse, she told herself, and hurried forward.

  There was movement from outside the station, but when she emerged there was no one in sight. She stared, wondering where Allan could have got to. She looked down what she knew was the brake run, and could see more maples and buckeyes poking between the rails, but there was no sign of Allan. She was about to call out when she heard his voice behind her, down at the other end of the platform.

  “What’re you doing down there? Come here! You’ve got to see this; it’s great!”

  Linda had turned in the direction of his voice, and now whipped her head back round, gazing down the brake run once more. No one was there, of course, and yet . . . She shook her head, surprised to find herself on the verge of tears. She didn’t understand what was going on, and she wanted to run, bolt like an animal, back to the car, get the hell out of Dodge. . . .

  Allan called again. “You coming? I want to show you something. Hurry!”

  She was on the verge of asking why; it wasn’t as if anything in the park was going anywhere. Instead she took a deep breath, set her shoulders, and marched determinedly down the centre of the platform, looking neither to left nor right, ignoring the whispers which started up outside the station as soon as she turned her back. Only trees, Linda; it’s only the trees.

  Allan was standing in the stretch of track which left the station heading towards the lift hill; she had somehow missed him on her initial walk past. The track curved sharply to the right and she could see, beyond Allan, what looked like a shed built across the track, curving with it. The open entranceway was choked with undergrowth and blocked by a fallen tree; she could make out blackness beyond, but nothing more.

  “Look at that!” Allan gestured to the shed. “This is really something special. The track is pretty basic—your ordinary out and back layout—but you don’t often see this.”

  “What’s ‘this’?” asked Linda. “Why did someone build a shed over the track?”

  “It’s not a shed, it’s a tunnel. Look”—Allan pointed back towards the station—“the train would have left the station, started into the curve towards the lift hill, and then—wham! into a tunnel.” He peered at the opening. “Hard to tell what sort of doors there would have been; maybe crash doors, like in a dark ride.” He shook his head. “Can’t tell from here. Maybe the other side is better.” And without another word he was off, heading around the inside of the curve, leaving Linda trailing in his wake.

  She caught up to him at the other end of the tunnel. To her right the lift hill ascended, a dead tree suspended across it; to her left she could see the tunnel exit. A corrugated iron door stood across one side; the other gaped open, and for a moment Linda thought that something darted back into the shadows. This is crazy, she thought, you’re seeing things. Yet when Allan moved towards the opening she heard an edge of panic in her voice as she called out “Where are you going?”

  “I want to see inside the tunnel; see how clear it is.” Linda cast her eyes along the structure, which looked more or less intact at either end but appeared badly damaged in the middle, where a tree had come down on the roof.

  “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Allan.” She didn’t move, couldn’t, from where she stood. “C’mon”—this as he approached the entrance, shining his flashlight through the door—“let’s go. We still have to find your Tumble Bugs, or whatever they’re called.”

  “I don’t care about those.” Allan pushed through the open door, and she saw his figure swallowed up by the tunnel. She wanted to scream, but bit her lip and called out again “Allan! Please!”

  “Oh, Linda, you’ve got to see this,” she heard him say. His voice sounded as if it was coming from far away. “Man, this is better than I could have imagined. There’s an old coaster car in here, in pretty good shape. This is just amaz——”

  His voice stopped suddenly, as if someone had hit a mute button. Linda waited for a moment, then called “Allan?” in a voice she barely recognised as her own; when there was no reply she called again, louder, but there was nothing except the sound of branches clattering against each other and, somewhere, a faint snatch of music that was snuffed out almost instantly.

  She knew she had to look, go up to the tunnel entrance and see what had happened—he’d fallen, something had hit him, he’d collapsed—but the mouth of the tunnel seemed—busy, somehow, as if there were too many shadows there. She gave a thin scream, like an animal in a trap; then, as the shadows seemed to thicken and grow darker she turned, turned and ran, like a frightened child, heedless, uncaring, back the way they had come, her bag banging against her side with each step, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her ears filled with sounds she did not want to identify, shadows running alongside her, thin shapes clutching at her legs, until she was somehow—miraculously—back at the door in the fence, shouldering her way through, careless of how she might look to anyone watching, running up to the house, pounding on the door, and only then, it seemed, pausing for a moment to think about what had happened, what had to be done. . . .

  The door swung inward and the woman they had spoken with earlier stood framed inside the opening. She looked at Linda; then her eyes travelled past her, and Linda, even in her confusion, saw a look of pain mixed with sadness settle in her face. She looked back at Linda.

  “My boyfriend,” Linda gasped, trying to form her thoughts into something coherent, something that would make sense. “My boyfriend—he’s in there, in the park, something’s happened to him. . . . ”

  “I know.” The voice was quiet, but there was sorrow contained within it.

  “What do you mean, you know? How can you know?”

  “I do. We all do.”

  Linda took a deep breath, tried to calm herself. “I need to use your phone, call the police, the ambulance, someone. I think he might be hurt.”

  “No, he’s not hurt.”

  “How do you know?” Linda almost screamed. “You weren’t there. He was inside that tunnel, by the Coaster; some of it had collapsed, he might be lying there injured, I need to get help.”

  “No one can help.” The woman’s eyes flicked over Linda’s shoulder again, towards the park. “There’s nothing anyone can do. Believe me.”

  “But you don’t understand,” begged Linda, her voice harsh. “He’s in there, he could be hurt, I need to do something.”

  “There’s nothing you can do. He’ll come out if he wants to. Some of them do. You can wait here with us, if you like.”

  Linda tried to make sense of what she was hearing. “What do you mean, some of them do? Some of who? And who do you mean by ‘us’?”

  The woman half-turned her head, towards the hallway behind her. “Us,” she said simply.

  Linda looked over the woman’s shoulder, and saw that there were others behind her; women, all, half-a-dozen or so. One or two looked to be the same age as the woman in the doorway; the others were older, middle-aged at least, or perhaps they only looked so. It was difficult to tell. All were plainly dressed, in clothing that ranged from threadbare to out-of-date; apart from that, their only commonality was a look that Linda could only think of as resigned sadness. She turned back to the woman in the doorway.

  “Who are you?” she asked, in a voice that sounded as if it came from many miles away. “Why are you here?”

  “We’re waiting,” the woman said simply. “Some of us have been waiting a long time.” She nodded towards the cars parked in the lane beside the house. “Some of us can’t leave. So we wait. What else can we do?”

  Linda shivered. Her mind seemed to be retreating from her body, but she heard herself say “So they come back—sometimes?”

  “Yes. But it can be a long time; if it happens.” The woman looked at Linda, her gaze steady. “You have to be prepared to wait. Are you?”

  Linda took a deep breath and drew herself upright. As
she did so her bag shifted against her hip, and she heard the rattle of the car keys from deep inside it. An image of Allan’s face as she had seen it at the Coaster flashed before her; excited, eager, happy, in a way that she had seldom seen it.

  “I don’t know,” she replied finally. “Can I think about it for a minute?”

  “Yes, of course. We have all the time in the world.”

  There was nothing more to be said. The door closed.

  All the time in the world.

  But it would not take her that long to decide.

  THE WIDE, WIDE SEA

  Blue sky and white clouds above, yellow and green plains below, stretching as far as the eye could see and brushed by the wind which never seemed to rest: no relief, no respite, no indication that either sky or plains had an end. Rolling hills tantalised with hints of what could be just over, just beyond them; false hints. Eliza, raising a weary, weathered hand to brush a limp strand of brown hair from her face, knew that if she were to make her way to the top of one of the hills, she would only see more of the same. The same sky, the same endless plains, perhaps a few trees or low bushes to indicate where water was to be found, a few brave wildflowers—harebells, anemones, prairie roses—striving to bring some colour to the landscape, but none of the landmarks with which she was familiar, that had marked her world in the small village in which she had spent all her life until a few short months ago. That had been a landscape defined by man, with roads and walls and fences, fields still called by the names of people who had lived generations earlier, houses and barns that had stood for hundreds of years and might stand for hundreds more. Here there was nothing old except the land itself, and it had no names, no landmarks to which someone might point, nothing to guide the unwary or the lost.

  Peter was out there, breaking more of the land—their land, the 160 acres which the government of Canada had promised to anyone who was prepared to come and start a new life in a new country. He had been mesmerised by the railway car which had appeared at the country fair near Devizes two years earlier, garlanded with wheat sheafs and promises: of land, opportunity, prosperity in a place which was, to Eliza, as remote as the mountains of the moon. Canada was a large mass of red on the map which Mr. Jenkins, the schoolmaster, had hung on the wall of the schoolhouse with his thin white hands, part of the great British Empire on which the sun never set. When Eliza thought about Canada at all—which was seldom—she had a vague idea of mountains and snow, of trappers and hunters and explorers, of brave priests bringing the word of God to Red Indians. It had never occurred to her that people—ordinary people—might choose to live there, and when she saw the railway car she was unable to muster more than a cursory interest. She and Peter had only been officially walking out together for a few days, and she was anxious that they be seen and noted, and hopeful that Peter would comment on her new bonnet. Not that it was, strictly speaking, new—merely an old bonnet which she had turned and adorned with fresh ribbon—but she had still hoped for a compliment, or a comment about how the blue of the ribbon set off her eyes.