The 53rd Parallel

by Carl Nordgren

  Brian was surprised they were all white. One of the men stood to direct Brian and Simon to their chairs. Simon removed the shoulder bag and placed it on the table in front of him and sat up in his chair, resting one hand on the bag, maintaining his warrior pose. The staff turned to the regional manager at the head of the table.

  “Mr. Lerner thought your story seemed important. We'd all like to hear it, Mr. Burke, if you don't mind, from the beginning, please. Mrs. Parker is here to take notes.”

  As Brian told them the story, they asked few questions. Once the secretary asked Brian to repeat his answer, after the regional manager asked her to make a special note of it. When Brian finished, the regional manager tapped the table twice with his pen.

  “Do we have any further questions for Mr. Burke?”

  Each of the others said no.

  He tapped the table again.

  “Fine, then, fine. We thank you, Mr. Burke, for bringing this to our attention. Here's how we proceed on a matter such as the one you present to us today. You can leave the report you mention with us.” The regional manager nodded at the bag in front of Simon for he'd assumed the report was there. Neither Simon nor Brian acknowledged the nod. “We will conduct our own examination. And when we have, and we are clear on the nature of the threat, if indeed there is a threat at all… If you would note, Mrs. Parker, that we can't possibly assume, just on Mr. Burke's say so, that there is a threat to life on the River at all, of course, just so we're all clear about that. But if upon our examination, we consider the evidence indicates further action, we'll arrange for a follow-up meeting and notify you once it is scheduled.”

  “You're askin' me to give you the report?”

  “That's right.”

  “I can't.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it doesn't belong to me.”

  “Yes, that's right. Mrs. Parker, let's note that Mr. Burke agrees on a key point of fact here and that is this report, in fact, belongs to the Abitibi Lumber Company, doesn't it?”

  Brian smiled at Mrs. Parker. “Mrs. Parker, if you please, note that what I am agreein' to is that the report may have Abitibi's name on it an' their information inside, but in point of fact, it belongs to Simon Fobister.”

  “Then let me address myself to you, young Simon Fobister, yes, I should, you are the Indian boy at the center of this, who took these items. It seems I am speaking to a boy who thinks it's just fine to sneak into a camp at night to steal the possessions from the representatives of a very highly-regarded Crown corporation.” He looked at his staff. “Let's keep that in mind as we proceed here.” He looked away from Brian's gaze when he saw the strength behind the controlled anger.

  “Listen, son, if you'll let us keep your report for a few days, we'll have a good study of it and decide how we can be of best service to your people. If you cooperate, we'll overlook any punishment that may be warranted for your taking another man's property.”

  “My name is Simon Fobister, and I will keep this report until I burn it.”

  One of the staffers said, “Until you burn it? What is it about you people that you can't figure out how to live in a civilized manner?”

  It was Brian's respect for Maureen's last words to control his anger that had slowed his burn but only delayed combustion. Finally, it ignited and he pounded the table once, hard, and had everyone's immediate attention.

  “Have you no Ojibway workin' in yer office?”

  “I beg your pardon? Are you questioning me?”

  Brian hit the table again, to the same effect.

  “I'm just expressin' my surprise. I figured I'd surely find a number of Ojibway or Cree workin' here. Wouldn't it be the best job a red man could have, wouldn't ya think, workin' to help his people, usin' the might and power of government to do good for his people? I was thinkin' so many Ojibway would want to work here there'd be two or three applyin' for work every day.”

  “Well, for your information they don't apply at all.”

  “I hear your answer as a confessin' to somethin' about what is goin' on here that you don't want to be confessin'.”

  “What's that?”

  “That the people you're supposed to be servin' see no reason nor benefit to what you're doin', or they'd be here lookin' to help you do it.”

  “Maybe they don't understand our purpose.”

  Brian couldn't hold back the disdainful laugh. “Sure, let's hear your purpose.”

  “Our purpose is to assist our native peoples in their assimilation into mainstream Canadian society.”

  “Now how would I translate that? That your job is to get 'em all livin' on one of your reserves? I think that's what I hear you sayin'. I think the Keewatin Ojibway, I think they understand your purpose quite well. An' they reject it.”

  “There's no doubt we're better equipped to help them when they all move to a reserve.”

  “An there's no doubt it's so much easier to take the rest of their land from them if you move 'em off of it first, if you got 'em herded all together.”

  “Your insolence does not serve your cause, sir.”

  “It's your cause, an' I hain't no feckin' sir. Two of your reserves, yeah, Grassy Narrows an' White Dog, they're both on branches of the River downstream from the site of this new mill. If this process dumps anythin' poisonous into the River, well, that won't be good for reserve Ojibway nor the wilderness clans.”

  “I am trying to take into consideration your outsider status, Mr. Burke, but even so, you have now gone too far when you start insulting my staff here by suggesting we would assume a cavalier attitude about a chance these people might be poisoned.”

  “Then I will apologize for my rudeness, but if Mrs. Parker would be clear in her notes that what I'm sayin' now is you an' your staff will not stand by an' let someone poison this last lovely Eden.”

  “I was told you came for our help.”

  “I'm ready for all the help I can get. I'm makin' it clear to what end your help is to be directed if you decide to make any effort.”

  “Ah, I see. Now you're telling us how to do our jobs.”

  “I'm sayin' the buildin' of this mill needs to be slowed down long enough to take a further look at what it is that concerns the dissenter. He may be but one man, but he's a scientist an' there's plenty of times it's the one fellow on his own who gets it right. An' sure, we'll turn over the report to you, an' I will sit with you all day to allow you to examine it an' copy any information out of it you want, so you can execute your duty to determine if there's a threat, but when we leave, it leaves with Simon Fobister.”

  “If we decide that step is called for, we'll call for it.”

  Brian stood. Simon looped the shoulder bag over his head and stood with him.

  “When you decide you want to read it, you should come callin'. You should come visit our fishin' lodge an' Joe Loon's village, or we will meet you at Grassy Narrows an' then we will gladly hand over the report for your examination.”

  The regional manager and his staff stayed seated.

  “Thank you. Yes. We're finished here. You may go.”

  Brian saw Simon's stoic control, and it helped him leave without another word.

  After a good nap and a meal, Kevin caught a plane from New York to Toronto where he barely made the last connection to Winnipeg. He spent the night at a cheap hotel near the bus station, then took the first bus to Kenora the next morning, arriving a bit before noon.

  While he shopped at an outdoor supply store, purchasing a couple of shirts, some trousers, boots, and then a small duffel bag to carry his traveling clothes, he asked where the NOA office was.

  Brian and Simon arrived at the NOA offices just as Dutch and an Ojibway were loading the Norseman with supplies going into camp on a flight scheduled to bring four guests back to town.

  “The way I'm figurin' it, Dutch, is by the time you're ready to return with the guests I'll be ready to come back with you. I'll talk it over with Maureen to see if she don't agree but my argument
seems a good one. I need to find the report's dissenter as fast as possible now that this is all in motion. I need to find out what he thinks of the mill's threat, an' I need to start now, for I'm thinkin' findin' him is just the first step.”

  “Don't be surprised if, when you do find him, he's already been turned. When you spend any time on the frontier you know Abitibi can play rough out in the bush, but others say it's nothing to how the family operates in the boardroom.”

  “It's clear them bastards at Indian Affairs are goin' to need some other source of evidence, since they're seein' the document itself as poisoned. They wouldn't even study it, bein' it's stolen property.”

  “You've got two days of mail at the office; I'll grab it, and we're off.”

  Brian and Simon settled in the Norseman while Dutch retrieved the mail and was locking the NOA office door when he turned to see who was crossing the dock behind him.

  “You must be Dutch,” Kevin said as he held out his hand.

  “That's right.” Dutch took it.

  “I'm Kevin Coogan, a friend of Brian and Maureen's.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “And the same. I don't know if Brian mentioned he and I met up during his trip to Cong. I booked a hunting party with him for later in the year, and then good fortune brought me to Toronto to look after some business interests, so I thought it's just one more short step at the end of many to come out and see the famous Innish Cove myself. I've come to finish off making arrangements.”

  “So then welcome to Kenora. Brian's down there, at the yellow Norseman. He must be aboard.”

  “With Maureen?”

  “No, with an Indian boy who works at the camp.”

  “The honor of flying in to the Great Lodge at Innish Cove with Brian Burke himself, and I get to meet my first red man. I've just arrived and the trip's already a success.”

  “How long you staying?”

  “I'm afraid no more than a day or two. I'm leaving business that needs attending as it is.”

  “The fish are always biting somewhere on the River.”

  Brian turned in the co-pilot's chair when the side cargo door opened behind him. Figuring Dutch found something more to load, he was getting up to help. But Kevin stepped in, and Brian was shocked to a standstill.

  “Kevin?”

  “Hello Brian. Sorry if I've given you a surprise.”

  “Simon, this fellow here keeps poppin' up in the most unexpected places, includin' bein' the very hero I was tellin' you about who saved that little girl from the runaway horse cart back in my village. So welcome, an' if you don't mind, just what in blazes are ya doin' in Kenora?”

  Dutch climbed in the pilot's chair and worked through the last steps of his flight check.

  “I was telling Dutch, I needed to make a business trip to Toronto, and before I headed back to Ireland, I thought I'd come look your place over, see what I've gotten myself into. Tend to final arrangements.”

  “Maureen will be surprised to see you.”

  “She's back at the lodge?”

  “She'll be waitin' at the dock.”

  Dutch interrupted for he was ready to take off.

  “After we get up in the air, you can slide back with your buddy if you'd like. If you haven't buckled in back there, Kevin, Simon there can show you how.”

  In the kitchen at the lodge, Maureen was fixing her midday meal. The radio in the dining room squealed and squawked, calling her. She dried her hands as she approached the small table where the radio sat, the microphone in front.

  “NOA-1 to Innish Cove. NOA-1 to Innish Cove. It's Dutch. Over.”

  She sat at the desk, the microphone before her.

  “This is Innish Cove. Good day to ya Dutch. On your way back? Over.”

  “I've got all the supplies on your list, and a few surprises. Brian and Simon are with me. Let me give the microphone to Brian. Over.”

  Maureen sat back and smiled at the sound of Brian's voice.

  “Hey, Lady Girl. We've got such stuff to talk about, we need to huddle up as soon as I arrive. But someone else here wants to say hello.”

  Kevin was standing behind Dutch and Brian and the microphone cord was stretched tight to reach him.

  “Hello, Maureen, it's Kevin. So I say Over?”

  Maureen shot to her feet, the chair falling over behind her, and she nearly fell when she took a step back and tripped over it. The fear around her eyes was momentary, and she collected herself, setting the chair back in place.

  “Can you repeat that transmission NOA-1? I had so much static my end I didn't hear clearly. It sounded like an old family friend, Kevin Coogan a callin', but that's too good to be true. Over.”

  “It's me. Over.”

  “How wonderful of you to pay us a visit! Over.”

  She stood over the microphone.

  “I found myself in the area and thought I'd drop by for a cup of tea. Over.”

  “I'll start brewin'. I hope you're plannin' on stayin' awhile. Over.”

  “Just a day or two. Over.”

  “I'll get a cabin set up for you. Over.”

  Brian reached for the mike.

  “We've been airborne about a half hour, but we're flyin' into some strong head winds, so the Dutchman figures we're still an hour an' thirty out. The departin' guests are still on the River?”

  “Their guides will have 'em back by half three. I told them we'd get them to town for supper. Dutch has rooms for 'em at the Kenora Hotel, and their flight home is first thing in the morning. Over.”

  “That's what happens when you run things. It all goes accordin' to plan. I'll sign off, Lady Girl.”

  “Over and out.”

  Maureen sat on the floor of her cabin next to her bed, rewrapping one Colt pistol in her coat, then returning the coat to the bottom of her trunk. She stood and held the kept pistol at her side, then turned suddenly to thrust the gun out in front of her. When she found she was pointing it at her image in the mirror, she quickly lowered the pistol.

  She opened a box of ammunition and loaded six bullets into the cylinder. She held the pistol out in front of her again, this time aiming it at a tree trunk through the window. Then she slipped a small handful of bullets in her pocket and stepped outside.

  After a side trip to the kitchen to collect targets, Maureen headed to the far edge of the fishing camp, away from the cabins, where a big tree had fallen over a rock outcropping. She placed an empty bean can on the rock's top edge so the massive trunk was a backstop. She stepped off ten paces and turned and sighted the can with the pistol in her right hand.

  She'd never fired a gun before. She felt its weight and found she held steadiest at the first. Maureen slowly cocked the hammer, then slowly released it back to rest.

  She lowered her gun hand and took a couple of deep breaths. She had wondered for years if they'd ever come after her, if too many breadcrumbs were left to lead them to her. The IRA had rules about physical force, and one of the most honored was that no violence occurred in the new world. She knew the rule, yet still she wondered.

  She aimed again, cocked the hammer, and squeezed the trigger. The blast of the shot was louder than anticipated and the pistol nearly jumped out of her hand as the ricochet whine and an explosion of dust told her she had shot the rock, well below her target and to the right.

  Maureen took her next shot with her right hand cupped in the palm of her left. She aimed, and fired. The rip in the bark was high and to the left, and closer to the can, but still nearly a foot away.

  The interior of the Norseman vibrated with the engine's rumble, and the wind was loud. Brian sat next to Simon, both of them across from Kevin, and as Brian leaned forward to hear better, Kevin leaned to meet him.

  “I never heard you talk about makin' musical instruments before.”

  “I don't make them; I sell them. I represent craftsmen, artisans, from all over Ireland who are making the traditional instruments. I've kept shop in Dublin for some years now and have started
calling on stores this side of the ocean. Exporting is the future, it seems. I have a few stores carrying our goods in the cities you'd expect, like Chicago, Boston, New York. I was in Toronto scouting opportunities there.”

  “And business is good?”

  “Ah, Bri, that's the question I've pondered since I set out on this trip. It's never seemed a business before, you see. It was more a mission. Or if you allow me to say so, it's a calling that chose me. But it's changing. It all went stone-cold dead during the war, of course, and was so slow starting up after. But the last year or two, well there's new blood, and no doubt they see it as a business, which has brought great demands on some of my finest craftsmen an' a whole lot more competition.”

  Kevin leaned back and talked louder.

  “I spend too much time wishing old days were back again and not enough time figuring out the new business end of things.”

  Joe Loon emerged from the trees and found Maureen standing fifteen paces from the can. He found the pistol he had been looking for since he heard the first shot in her hand, at her side.

  She stood still, unaware Joe Loon was behind her, watching.

  She stood still, breathing deeply, steadily, easily.

  Then quickly, she raised the pistol in her right hand and cocked the trigger in the same instant, and just as quickly she raised her left arm to provide support, cupped her right hand in her left, took aim, and fired.

  The shot was just short but so close the can was flipped spinning into the air.

  “Yaway. Raven Hair Woman is a good shot. Her enemies must be afraid.”

  Maureen turned at his voice and answered what sounded like a compliment with a sheepish smile.

  Simon found Brian's hand on his shoulder naturally comforting. Brian's voice easily boomed over the rattling, buzzing sounds of flight.

  “His grandfather is Joe Loon. When I call Joe Loon the camp's number one guide, I do him a disservice. He's so much more than that. He's what we would think of as a chief. We'll make sure you get out on the River with him. This is one of the last places on earth you can be out in wilderness like this with a native born to it. Best I've figured, Joe Loon was born a couple of years before the turn of the century, somewhere around 1895 or '96, an' I'm startin' to see how life then was not much different than it was 100 years before that.”