The 53rd Parallel

by Carl Nordgren

  “You're lucky to have him as a guide.”

  “The actual fact is we wouldn't be where we are without him takin' it on like it was his own. All the Keewatin Ojibway have done us a great turn. Maureen's just come up with the idea we need to offer his clan some part ownership of Innish Cove.”

  They sat quiet for a time, dozing off, each looking up to see the other looking back.

  After a ten minute nap, Kevin awoke to find Brian staring at him.

  “You spend much time in Kenora?”

  “We come in occasionally. This trip was for some meetin's with our solicitor an' with some government ministry types. We're not all together sure, but it seems we might have a threat to what we've just started buildin' here. Sorry, my mistake, the true threat is to the life him an' his people have been livin' on the River and in these forests for centuries.”

  “What kind of a threat?”

  “We're not exactly sure. That's what we need to find out right away.”

  Maureen pulled the trunk from under her bed, opened it, and placed her pistol, fully loaded, on the top of her clothes, just under the lid. After she pushed the trunk back under the bed she stood at the mirror, hairbrush in hand, and worked on her curl. She put a touch of red on her cheekbones. Just the slightest bit worked best for her.

  She returned to the trunk, removed the loaded gun, placed it on top of the closed lid, and pushed the trunk back under the bed.

  When she heard the far-off echoing rumble of the Norseman she gave her hair one more stroke, then headed down to the dock, smiling.

  Because Simon was returning after being away from his people overnight, all of the Ojibway gathered at the dock, or on the beach nearby, to greet him on his return from his adventure. One little girl, Sweet Mary, had become very fond of Maureen, and when Maureen noticed her, she scooped her up and hugged her tightly.

  Sweet Mary rode Maureen's hip as the Norseman taxied in to be met by Albert and Mathew who caught the plane's struts and absorbed the last momentum of its glide to slow it to a stop at dockside. When Mathew caught the strut at his chest, he was a bit off balance. As he stepped backwards with the plane, he tripped over a gas can that shouldn't have been there, that someone left out of place. He stumbled and fell, arms and legs flailing as he tumbled off the dock and splashed into the cove.

  As became his habit, Brian had climbed out of the plane as it taxied into the cove and was standing on the dockside pontoon as the plane approached. When he saw Mathew's spill, he jumped to the dock and ran to kneel down to reach his arm out to Mathew. He had learned that, just like most Irish fishermen, many Ojibway hadn't learned to swim.

  When she saw Brian poke his head out of the bush plane, Maureen handed Sweet Mary back to the little girl's mother so her arms were ready to embrace him. Instead she ran to grab him by the waist of his pants as he bent over to help Mathew out of the water and onto the dock.

  Mathew heard the laughter of his people and once he was on the dock, he joined them.

  Maureen picked up the gas can. She hid her anger but spoke forcefully.

  “Who left this there is who tripped Mathew into the River, and he owes Mathew an apology. He's just wet, but he could have gotten hurt, or it coulda been a guest who tripped. This area is always kept clear so we can load an' unload.”

  Joe Loon nodded once and that was enough for those who had watched for it.

  Mathew began to shudder and held himself tight-shouldered as he fast walked down the dock up the shore to head up to his wigwam, and the young boy who had left the gas can ran after him to apologize.

  Simon was followed by Kevin out of the Norseman's cargo door and down the ladder. Kevin didn't see Mathew's fall, but Simon always looked first for his Big Brother and saw his shivering wet departure and headed after him.

  “How 'bout it, Maureen? An old friend of yours, a new friend of mine.”

  “Hello Kevin, it's good to see you.”

  “Once the prettiest girl in all the Six Counties, you're the prettiest in Ontario, I'm sure.”

  Kevin and Maureen hugged briefly, then Brian remembered he was looking forward to one himself and he took Maureen into his arms.

  “And congratulations on your engagement. To both of you.”

  “Thanks, Kevin. An' I know you and Maureen have plenty of stories to tell, but some of my business with her is urgent. We'll get you set up in your cabin straightaway an' let you settle in.”

  “Of course, when a friend drops by unexpected everything you do is a most gracious acceptance of my intrusion.”

  Chapter 27

  Sweat Lodge

  Simon stood in front of his village camp, surrounded by all of Joe Loon's clan except the two men who were still out on the River with guests. Joe Loon stood beside him, and Mathew, in dry clothes and a blanket draped over his shoulders, was on the other side.

  Simon took Mathew's arm, just above the wrist, and held him as he spoke about his trip.

  “Big Brian took me to a place where we met with a big, important white man who is afraid of the lumber companies. The next day we met with many men from Indian Affairs. They are like the men from Indian Affairs who visit us when we are at Grassy Narrows.” He waited while each of them remembered their time with these strange white men.

  “They all got very angry when Big Brian told them about these papers.”

  Simon removed the document from his bag. He turned to the pages where the dissent was noted, and he placed his finger there.

  “Big Brian says we will leave again, to search for this man who is afraid of what the pulp mill will do to our River. We will ask this man how to stop this. Big Brian says this man is far away in a place called Kings Town. He has asked me to go to this place with him. We will be gone three or four days, he says.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “Big Brian wanted to leave today with the guests flying back to Kenora. Then this friend arrived who has been on a very long journey to come here. Now I do not know when we will leave.”

  “What lessons are you learning of the white man?”

  “I am watching carefully. I examine all the things they place about them. I see that Big Brian is also Big Brian in the white man's world. I see he is the only one who is not afraid of the lumbermen. That is one thing I understand. Most of the white man world is still a mystery.”

  Mathew had heard Joe Loon speak of Maureen's skills as a marksman and had seen for himself her determination as she was coming to understand the pulp mill document's meaning.

  “Raven Hair Woman is also a warrior,” he added.

  Joe Loon stood on the other side of Mathew. “There will be a sweat lodge tonight for Mathew. I will ask my son Brian to wait until the new day before he begins his journey so his son Simon may join us.”

  Maureen led Brian out of Kevin's cabin and entered his behind him.

  Brian turned to take her elbows.

  “If there is or if there ever was anythin' between you two, please tell me right now.”

  “Let go.”

  He let go of her arms as she pulled away.

  “Yes, of course, you're right. I'm sorry.”

  Brian took a seat, a deep breath, and looked up at Maureen standing boldly in front of him.

  “I will tell you one more time. I nearly said one last time, but that's a dangerous thing to say, but yes, if you grab me with anger again, it will be the last time.”

  “I didn't hurt you, did I?”

  “More than you should, an' the only reason I am forgivin' you is that there is somethin' between Kevin an' me, an' it is a deep love, but not in any romantic way. It's a long family friendship; it's more like you an' Joe Loon, an' you need to accept that right now.”

  “Can I ask one more question?”

  “We said if you accepted the money, you accepted the past unquestioned from then on. Here's the first real test of your promise, and rules don't change because we are marryin'.”

  “But why does he keep showin' up, an' when he do
es, why does he seem to be lookin' for you?”

  Maureen relaxed, smiled down at him, then knelt at his feet and looked up at him.

  “An' you should be happy he does, or we'd never a' met in the first place.”

  “One more question.”

  “We agreed none.”

  “I said before I thought it seemed very strange to bump into him in Cong—”

  “Where he saved a little girl.”

  “An' now he shows up here unannounced an' for the whole plane ride, I could tell Simon was made nervous by him.”

  “You're makin' me feel like I have to defend myself for Kevin bein' Kevin. Tell me what you're sayin', an' I'll tell you what I know, an' if that hain't enough, I have to declare all engagements an' partnerships as null an' void because I won't be livin' with suspicion. I can't.”

  “I'm sayin'…” Brian shook his head. “I'm sayin' I'm confused an' I need help unravelin' this mess I've made with Indian Affairs. I'm so tangled an' don't want to make it worse.”

  Maureen stood, pulled up a chair, and sat and waited for Brian to collect his thoughts.

  “Our solicitor is sayin' that except for what you an' I own, all the rest of everythin' else in Kenora, all the businesses are either owned by one or another of these lumber an' pulp mill companies or they depend on them. He's even suggestin' that in this part of Ontario the government ministries are owned by the lumber companies as well. He says to see Indian Affairs first, we won't make any progress gettin' Forestry to reconsider the permit unless Indian Affairs files a protest, but the folks I met with care as much about these people as IRA cares about the cottages in Connemarra.”

  “But IRA does care about the cottages all over Ireland. Everyone benefits when we are one country again.”

  “I'm sorry Lady Girl, I'm not lookin' to bring IRA into this. I'm sayin' I probably mishandled our chance of gettin' Indian Affairs on our side by gettin' so angry at their mousey attitudes.”

  Maureen slid from her chair into Brian's lap.

  “Then I've somethin' for you to consider. About the trip to Kingston an' about Kevin's arrival.”

  “Let me hear it.”

  “You've told everyone I'm understandin' what's in the report better than yourself. If so, then just maybe I should be the one lookin' after the dissenter.”

  “I was plannin' on headin' back to Kenora with the Dutchman today, dependin' on how you was thinkin' about it. I'm fearful I've riled the Indian Affeckers enough they might even tell Abitibi what I'm up to, just to spite me. So I'm thinkin' someone's got to go find this fellow an' talk to him before the lumber company does. Scientists like money, too, an' Dutch was wonderin' if he isn't already been bought off.”

  “So Dutch takes our guests back to Kenora as planned, an' we have him come back first thing in the mornin'. You an' I are here together hostin' Kevin at the lodge tonight, an' after we say good-night to him we'll come back here and decide who leaves in the mornin' with Dutch.”

  Brian stood with Maureen in his arms and he finished the plan.

  “I'll go tell Dutch, an' then I'll see if Joe Loon can take me an' your man Kevin out for some bass fishin' before supper.”

  He tossed her on to the bed; she caught herself and rolled and opened her arms and legs to him.

  “If you're goin' fishin', we've only got us a few minutes.”

  “So we'll do what we can with the few minutes we've got.”

  In the Ojibway village camp, a great fire was blazing in the pit dug to heat the sweat lodge stones. Round, smooth hunks of granite called the Grandfathers, each one bigger than a two-handed hold of them, were collected over many years for their shape and size by Ojibway men as they traveled along the shores of the River and its lakes.

  There were nearly twenty Grandfathers in the fire pit.

  A traveling medicine man tended the fire with a pitchfork, maintaining its furious blaze. He was an old Mediwiwin, hair white and silver and grey in a long thick braid down his back.

  This medicine man told himself his favorite stories as he stoked the hottest fire.

  Men settled at the edge of the fire's heat, holding sacred bags or an ancestor's beaded belt. They told themselves their favorite stories, gave the bags an occasional shake, and rolled beads between their fingers.

  This Man stood behind Simon and Mathew.

  This Man knew these stories and many more.

  The boys stared into the fire, watching the Grandfathers glowing so hot the center of each stone seemed the source of its brilliantly pulsing red.

  Again, Simon held Mathew's arm, just above the wrist.

  “My prayer tonight is you see how your wounds will heal.”

  “Ah, Little Brother. My wounds heal. But I am not the same as before.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “When I was taken away from here, I called out to my spirit to stay behind. To wait for me here. When I came back from the white man's school, my spirit was not waiting for me. I am afraid it is hiding from me. The spirit that is in me now is a visitor. It is a stranger to me. I know when it arrived. I do not know where it came from. It will not leave.”

  Simon put his hand on his cousin's shoulder and rested his head on it, and they watched the fire. When Mathew finally spoke again, Simon heard and felt his sorrow.

  “My prayer tonight is that I find out what I am becoming.”

  The cabin that had been outfitted as the lodge was equipped with a small kitchen and all three of the Irish were jammed in together making supper and sipping whiskey.

  None of the Ojibway would leave the sweat lodge preparation, so before supper Brian had taken Kevin for a boat ride and a bit of fishing and they returned just at dark.

  The overriding goal now, both Kevin and Maureen understood and knew the other did too, was for Brian's suspicions to be fully deflated. Only then would they find a chance for a private conversation.

  As they prepared the food, they spoke of all the crazy happenings in Brian's village back home in Cong.

  “It was your man here who told them to call me a hero, and they treated me as such all night.”

  “You saved that girl's life.”

  “It was nothing more than being in the right place, just letting her jump into my arms. Truth is, I'm not sure I didn't trip you when I stepped forward.”

  “Naw, t'was the horse an' his riggin', got me 'cross my shoulders to knock me flyin' into the street. I got a pain there still.”

  “A hero among heroes is what Bri was callin' you when he returned.”

  The sweat lodge was low and round and covered with blankets and furs to be even tighter than a wigwam's birch bark walls. Its door faced the northwest, for as it was first being framed Joe Loon had been standing there when a loon's cry told him that was where the door must be.

  Gathered between the sweat lodge and the fire pit were Joe Loon, Albert, Mathew, Old George, Simon, and three more Ojibway men preparing with prayer to process into the sweat lodge.

  Some wore breastplates. They all wore thick bandanas that would soon be used to mop their sweat. Many had worn beaded and painted moccasins when they were sitting at the fire, but all were barefooted as they approached the Mediwiwin who held chest high the bowl of smoking cedar boughs. Each man stood before him, tossed a pinch of tobacco into the smoldering fire, scooped the cedar smoke into his face, again, and again, and again, then stooped to enter the sweat lodge.

  The three Irish made a Canadian version of Irish breakfast for supper. Each plate held a mound of beans, thick slices of Canadian bacon, and a couple of biscuits. Kevin ladled the poached eggs onto each plate.

  “When I consider all the Irish immigrants who live in my business territories, and when I see how determined they are to remaining Irish, I have become convinced that in every English settled land in the new worlds it's the Irish who have the stronger and longer lasting influence.”

  “One of our guests, called himself Southside Irish, from Chicago, he was sayin' somethin' just like tha
t. The way he put it we all agreed, that when the Brits became American they stopped bein' Brits, but our cousins in Chicago are still Irish when they become American.”

  Maureen had heard IRA leaders talking this way. “We can win in the world-stakes but can't claim victory in our own county.”

  “It creates a great export business for the bits of Ireland they still want around them, and the sounds of genuine Irish instruments, playing the old tunes, that sound is in our blood.”

  They filed out of the kitchen to a table set for a meal. As they settled, Kevin pulled out a chair for Maureen. Brian noticed.

  “Kevin, I don't think I ever got the story where you two met.”

  Kevin knew to let Maureen handle this, since he didn't know how this had been answered before.

  She started by taking Kevin by the hand.

  “Me da helped Kevin get into the music business. Da was one of the finest fiddle makers around and was lookin' for someone to sell his fiddles and Kevin was lookin' for a business venture. Kevin was so young then that the other craftsmen, they were slow to warm up to him, but me da's support, it signaled to the other craftsmen in the area they should join as well. Then, after me da… died… Kevin came callin' on the family, offerin' his sympathy an' care, an' when I was showin' such a deep, lastin' grief, Mum asked him to divert me, to try to lift my spirits.”

  Brian waited for more.

  Maureen and Kevin knew how to let silence work, knowing the quiet made Brian uncomfortable and that he would fill it.

  “An' within your territory you go round callin' on, who, store owners?”

  “That's right. I'm looking to find more shops to carry more of our instruments.”

  In Dryden, a hundred miles east of Kenora, in the boardroom of the Abitibi Lumber Company on that same night, just two men sat at the end of the massive table, making the large room seem cavernous.