The 53rd Parallel

by Carl Nordgren

  An alarm rang and kept ringing. Maureen ran to help the grandmother to her feet. She studied the bomb's effect after the grandmother pulled away from her to stagger to her husband and throw herself on top of him, wailing just like her mum had at her da's wake.

  Chapter 5

  And the River Flows South

  It was a couple of weeks later in the first days of autumn, the grasses turning yellow and brown, when Brian took the bus to Donegal where his friend Aidan promised an introduction to a fellow who had been operating a bed-and-breakfast fishing operation for a number of years. The B&B owner showed his interest in learning more about Brian's plans for his fishing camp in Canada as soon as Aidan made mention, and said he'd be eager to meet Brian so he could learn more about it.

  They met in the B&B owner's favorite pub. He paid close attention as Brian told him all about his dreams and his plans. Just as Brian approached one of his big finishes Kevin entered the pub with Maureen at his side.

  After the London bombing raid, a radical move of bringing violence to England for the first time, all IRA operatives were listening carefully to the reaction of the people in the countryside. Maureen and Kevin were just starting their own trip to towns and villages to purposefully prompt conversation by carrying a newspaper with the bold stacked headline “IRA Bombing Kills Constable 83-Year-Old-Grandfather”.

  When they realized that this big man standing at the bar had captured everyone's attention with the story he was telling, Maureen and Kevin sat at a table where they could listen.

  “Now for the best idea yet. It's a formula that can't fail to produce for me. Just as soon as I've worked out any early problems, as soon as I know I'm ready for what's to come, I'll be invitin' famous men to the camp, to come fish at the Great Lodge at Innish Cove, an' as my guests, for free, yeah. You're Ernest Hemmingway, an' you get a letter from the best ghillie in the West a' Ireland an' now he's promisin' a wilderness adventure in Canada that can't be matched anywhere else. I'll include pictures of my red men holdin' great big pike or crouchin' over a massive rack of a moose, an' we'll promise a real gentleman's comforts in a magnificent lodge as da top notch.”

  “From what we know of him, he just might come.”

  “An' I send letters to Teddy Roosevelt—.”

  “Ah, I believe Roosevelt's been dead for a number of years.”

  “An' so you can help me make the list of the famous American outdoorsmen, an' I'll offer 'em each a free week in the wild woods, with the Irish country lodge's comforts a gentlemen appreciates, an' then our payin' guests, when they return home an' talk about the trip they had to an earthly paradise where they was fishin' with a big man—”

  “Innish Cove becomes just the sort of place to come to if you'd like to be seeing yourself as that sort of a man. And you can charge extra for that experience.”

  “Exactly right. Aidan, you finally found me someone who gets me dream.”

  “It's your Indians makes this special. Nice touch, them.”

  “Americans love Indians. Being Americans they had to kill millions of 'em before they figured that out, yeah, but they especially love Ojibway, which is what Hiawatha was. So we throw in a little somethin' like this here.” Brian stood up at the table to recite.

  “Should you ask me, whence these stories? Whence these legends an' traditions. With the odors of the forest. With the dew an' damp of meadows. With the curlin' smoke of wigwams. With the rushin' of great rivers. With the frequent repetitions an' their wild reverberations as of thunder in the mountains.” He acknowledged the claps and table slaps with a tip of his head. “We give 'em the poetry of the wilderness an' great fishin' an' huntin', they can sleep in a bed Hemmingway slept in, an' we'll put some true Irish craic right in the middle of it all.”

  “Can't deny it, the power in your presenting it all is grand.”

  “Lots of businessmen in Chicago got Irish in 'em, so we play strong to them. I spend the first winter after we build the camp livin' in Chicago and sellin' as many of them sons of Ireland business owners I can meet.” Brian paused. “You're seein' the potential.”

  The B&B owner slowly sipped the last of his whiskey, then wiped his lips to hide the smile that was forming. He admired confidence. He distrusted over confidence.

  “I do, I do, and I think we should do this, this Great Lodge of Innish Cove, you and me, and we should make it grand.”

  “Yes?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “It's the Great Lodge at Innish Cove.”

  “Sure it is.”

  Brian took the B&B owner's hand, and shook it.

  “You'll be makin' my dream come true and that demands a drink.” Brian signaled to the publican. “I'm buyin' the house here, Johnny boy.” He waved all to join him at the bar and said to his friend. “Ah Aidan, you done me right.”

  “Yes, Aidan, this introduction to the great Brian Burke, well, I won't forget it was you who brought me this opportunity.”

  Brian didn't like “the great” so much but set it aside.

  “I figure it's five thousand pounds to get started an' I commit to you here I won't spend any more than I need to. Yourself, you get a third of the business for your money, or if you'd rather it be a loan, I figure I'll pay it all back plus interest in five years.”

  “Ah, I see. Well… I was thinking something more like I'll put up the money, and I'll hire you to go over and find your Innish Cove and build the Great Lodge of your dreams, but I own it.”

  “You own Innish Cove?” Brian laughed. “Then you weren't listenin'.”

  “Indeed, Brian, I always listen carefully when people are asking me for my money you see, and what I heard you saying is no one else is interested in investing in your dream. If I heard that wrong please correct me here.” He barely paused a half beat. “You see, if this feckin' Depression makes for a good time to be buying and building on the cheap, it means there's little money available for fishing expeditions, so it'll take longer to get the business going strong, which means it will take more money than you are projecting.”

  “I am proposin' it as an investment.”

  “I'm willing to take on all the risk, you see, and I want you to run it for me. That sounds like a great deal at a time there's blessed few with steady employment, am I right there lads? An' after we see just how it's going, we'll sit down then and talk about you getting your fair share. Maybe a five percent interest in five years, maybe fifteen percent in ten, we'd have to discuss that further. I think that's fair.”

  Brian stared at the man, felt his cheeks beginning to burn red, and tried to force a laugh that came out hard.

  “Aidan said you were a slice a' fun. Your man here is playin' with me, Aidan.”

  “Listen, Brian, who pays for the party tells the band the tune to play, 'specially when everyone else has declined your invitation. If this were to fail—”

  “Don't you be sayin' so.”

  “It's possible, no offense meant to you, and then I'm out all me money, and when you say it will need no more than five thousand, I'm thinking it will likely need two or three thousand more, and that's a lot to put at risk. If it fails I lose it all, but you get two or three years of good wages and plenty of stories of wild Canadian adventure to tell your lads back in Cong.”

  Brian thrust his hands in his front pants' pockets and grabbed a fistful of the bottom of each to hold and hide his fists.

  “But it won't be failin' an' it's my dreams an' plans makes that so. Your money don't mean a feckin' thing without me an' me plans.”

  “Your dreams are grand, they are truly magical, but a dozen versions of your plans are just as clever. And to do any one of them others, well, I could do this without you, Brian, but it appears you aren't able to do it without me. It's that plain, it's that simple. So let's not argue, let's make this the beginning of a great adventure together.”

  He held out his hand and Brian reached out to knock it aside, then returned his hand to his pocket, startling himself by the swiftnes
s of his move and afraid of what was building behind it. He stared hard at the B&B owner as he growled, “Aidan, tell your man here to quit feckin' around or let him know who it is he's feckin' round with.”

  “I don' think he's kiddin' ya, Bri, but be careful now, he's already warned you what a dung-heap dwellin' creature he is. I don't argue he's not deservin' a thrashin', but he's got a room full of witnesses.”

  Maureen and Kevin had been sitting at the last edge of the crowd, but when she saw the big man's fury brewing at what seemed like betrayal she stood and stepped forward, afraid the big man was getting close to delivering that thrashing. She called out to the B&B owner.

  “You should see it's time for you to leave now and not a one of us'll be sorry to see ya go.”

  “Yes, but then it's none of your business now is it, so let's have your fella there go back to telling you sweet things and leave this to those who know better.”

  The B&B owner turned back to Brian. “All I've done is offer you the first real chance to make this lodge happen and you're threatening me with—.”

  “I'd take the girl's advice an' get out of here now.”

  Maureen took another step forward.

  “To see one of our own fail one of our own shames me, but it's your shame from now on that your friends here all saw you called out by a girl.”

  He tried to ignore her.

  “My God, I'm offering a piece of the business when there's a piece worth having.”

  Maureen was surprised she was so determined to make this big man's case for him.

  “You're offerin' to take his best an' make him earn some sliver of it back. You'd be stealin' his dream.”

  The B&B owner drained his glass as he shook his head, put the glass down hard, and called back over his shoulder as he departed. “It's ourselves that is keeping ourselves down now if we're listening to a girl's prattling and calling it wisdom.”

  Brian relaxed his fists, and took a deep breath. Maureen smiled up at him.

  “It sounds like a grand dream, mister.”

  Maureen returned to her table.

  Later that evening, Brian and Aidan and two locals sat at a table hosted by Kevin and Maureen. First Kevin had asked Brian questions about his dreams and plans for his fishing camp while Maureen watched and listened, delighted by the vivid pictures this big man created as he told stories of the beauty of that foreign land. They both wished him well with it, then Kevin asked if Brian would share any opinions about the IRA bombings in London.

  Brian nodded.

  “My first thought was bombin' London could be the act of desperation as easily as an act of confidence. My next thought was what can possibly be gained by killin' an 83-year-old man.”

  Kevin's question came as Brian felt inspired by the drink that led to another drink and then the next, and he had been enjoying the excitement of Maureen's interest in his dreams about the Great Lodge at Innish Cove. But it was the pub regulars sitting on either side of Aidan who leaned forward to take over the table talk.

  “Me granda is 83.”

  “Big Johnny Flannigan, yer da's da.”

  “I hain't heard anyone call 'im Big Johnny Flannigan in years. He's 83 next mont'. An' hain't quite so big anymore.”

  “But we got a soldier as well.”

  “No, they got a constable.”

  “You got a British uniform on an' you're the enemy, that's the only way to see it. The only way to see it.”

  Brian recollected his thoughts.

  “What's been shapin' in my head, the strongest notion anyway, it seems less an opinion an' more… Maybe it's a confused confession.”

  “A confession?”

  “Perhaps.”

  The table was quietly attentive and waited while Brian worked through some of the confusion with another sip of whiskey. He collected his first words while he stared at his glass.

  “It's a safe bet you're in the presence of the most violent man any of you will ever meet.”

  The table was quiet.

  “Aidan here will tell you 'tis so.”

  “Now Bri.”

  Brian looked from his glass to Aidan.

  “You've seen the Red Bull Demon start the game and me jumpin' in to play it full on. Yeah, I know that's what you call me when I'm safely put away, the Red Bull Demon.”

  “Whatta you askin' of me here, Bri, because I don't—'”

  “The truth an' nothin' else. Like the offer your man made this evenin'. You saw what I was turnin' to do. Didn't it make this lady girl interrupt her evenin' from across a room to prevent it from occurin'? I'm givin' ya the pass to admit your fear of what I become in the grip of my Red Bull rages. Go on, tell 'em what I've done.”

  Aidan was uneasy.

  “Tell 'em.”

  “Let's put it this way. There's plenty of poor sods who wished someone had stepped in the way Miss Maureen did tonight. There's three pubs where they won't let Brian return to that I know of.”

  “An'…”

  Aidan shook his head, still not comfortable with Brian's demand. “An' he spent more n' a few nights in lock up after particularly ferocious beatings… An' I've been sittin' in the pew behind 'im when he's been called out from front of the church twice I remember.”

  “You're avoidin' what it is I done. Tell 'em.”

  “Those pubs are where the beatings were so severe that… well, we know between 'em that four was sent to hospital. An' I seen him get so angry with a donkey he punched it so hard in its throat it was brought to its knees.”

  “He'd stepped on my foot.”

  “And I'll never forget about Tag.”

  “Poor ol' Tag.”

  “Brian was ragin' one day and his dog Tag just happened by, so he kicked Tag against a wall… We had to put the poor creature down the next day.”

  “The most recent be dogs and donkeys more than men, ya' see, because now men know to hide when they see the Red Bull a snortin'.”

  Aidan signaled he was finished by sitting back and drinking deeply. The table waited for Brian.

  “I try to control it, I feel the Demon comin' on and takin' over, and I try to stop it… It's terrifyin' to me how hard it is, how quickly I can lose so much to it. I can't ignore the damage I do to others, an' I'm sorry for it all, past and future, I am.” He drank, paused, and went on, “But that's not what matters here.”

  He tapped the newspaper.

  “What matters here is this truth. You must understand each time the Demon's violence is released there's a terrible damage done to me as well an' I can see it just as plain as the damage I do to the victim… Each time, every time, my violence leaves me a bit darker. My anger goes deeper, each time. That's why I fight it so… What I'm sayin' is I hate the feckin Brits for what they done to my people an' would give my life to get back our Six Counties. But my bet is this. The more Brits I killed, the more I'd hate the Brits.”

  Brian and Aidan found a cot for the night, and took the first bus the next morning back to Cong. Brian said good-bye to Aidan at the bus stop, walked the road to his cottage, then began to run when he saw people milling about in the yard and road outside his door. As he approached, Eamon came to meet him.

  “Doc says she'll be fine, Cos, an' he thinks the baby is fine.”

  “What happened? Why wouldn't the baby be fine?”

  “Deidre fainted, she must have fallen hard, she has bruises on her back and shoulders.”

  “When?”

  “Soon after you left, as she was preparin' the meal. She's in bed. Doc said she should stay there 'til the baby's born, Bri. That means you got to be here to take care of her.”

  Brian nodded and entered the cottage on those words.

  Chapter 6

  Hunters from Wiishkoonsing

  Later that year, Joe Loon and Albert sat at the fire. It was one of the first autumn nights so cold it smelled of the winter creeping slowly but steadily down from the North. Across the fire sat four white hunters from a place far away, a place they call
ed Wiishkoonsing. This was the second year the hunters from Wiishkoonsing would spend nearly two weeks moose and bear hunting in these woods, guided by Joe Loon and Albert.

  They arrived that afternoon, flown in by bush plane, a rust red Fairchild 71-C. A tent was erected for them at the edge of Joe Loon's village, and the plan was to head out early the next morning.

  The hunters from Wiishkoonsing brought a brand new five horsepower Johnson outboard motor to give to Joe Loon. It lay on the ground next to him and Albert saw how pleased Joe Loon was to have this gift. The last time Joe Loon had bartered for a canoe, years ago, he had waited until he found one with a square-end stern that offered a motor mount. Before he had ever seen an outboard motor, he dreamed he had a canoe that traveled up the River by its own force, and when he saw a white man's boat with a motor he knew he would have one someday.

  Joe Loon spoke to Albert in the language native to this place.

  “We will hunt Big Birch Ridge in the morning's sun. You will hunt North Slope. We will hunt South Slope. Naomi saw many bear this summer feeding on the blueberries. If it is time to kill a bear, it would be good to kill one of them.”

  “The boys will leave then to set up the camp at Red Rock Wall. We will meet them there in two days.”

  At the same time the hunters from Wiishkoonsing spoke of the previous year's hunt.

  “So Gary, how often do you lie awake at night thinking about that monster bull moose you missed last year?”

  “'Bout the only time I think about it is when you're bringing it up, Ernie. Mostly I think about how Joe Loon likes to keep the old bulls around. I could swear after I missed the shot he said something sounded like thank you.”

  “Sure, nice try.”

  Albert had spent four years in a Jesuit-run residential school until the brothers grew tired of chasing after him each time he ran away. Some English had been beaten into him first, just enough to make it possible to guide these hunters.