The Back of the Turtle

by Thomas King

  “Sounds a little romantic.”

  “Aye, so it does, for there were drunkenness as well, with hard words exchanged over money and women, and hot blood leading to altercations. It were no paradise, if that be the question. But it were a community.”

  Gabriel looked around. The room was a long rectangle, with a basketball standard at either end. One of the rims was missing. It had been pleasant in the sun. Inside the building was chilly and damp.

  Soldier appeared at the doorway, sniffed once, and then raced away into the warmth of the day.

  “They would set the drum up here and the tables with the food over there. There were folding tables and folding chairs, a microphone for the announcements, the storytelling, and the bingo.” Crisp rubbed his hands together. “I once won a mountain bike in a blackout game.”

  “The water shutoff?”

  “Nostalgia,” said Crisp. “It will surely lead a body astray. Come now, for there’s more to do than listen to windy tales.” The basement of the centre was dark and gloomy. The only light came from the narrow windows set high on the wall, where the foundation broke ground. Crisp made his way to the far corner, wrench in hand. Gabriel moved closer to one of the windows and looked into the rafters.

  “Here’s a puzzle,” Crisp shouted to Gabriel.

  “Another one over here,” Gabriel shouted back.

  Crisp appeared out of the shadows. “The water’s already been turned on.”

  “Mara?”

  “Perhaps,” said Crisp. “Perhaps. What have ye found?”

  “The wiring,” said Gabriel, pointing to the heavy beams that ran the length of the basement. “Much of the wiring has been cut away.”

  76

  CRISP TOUCHED THE END OF THE WIRE THAT WAS STILL attached to the ceramic insulators. “Clean cuts,” he said. “Bright and recent. I was wondering how he was to bind it all together.”

  “Bind what together?”

  “Why, the tower,” said Crisp. “Have ye not seen the tower the boy’s building on the beach?”

  “Sonny?”

  “You must admire the lad’s ingenuity.”

  “He took the wire?”

  Soldier appeared at one of the windows and began scratching at the glass.

  “It seems that Master Dog would like a moment of our time,” said Crisp. “Come along, for he’s not one to be kept waiting.”

  “He’s a dog.”

  “And what better thing is there to be?”

  Soldier was waiting for Crisp and Gabriel when they emerged from the basement. He skipped off the steps, ran out for fifty yards, and then came back on the fly. He began groaning and throwing himself at Gabriel’s legs.

  “Yes, yes,” said Crisp, “we can see that ye has an important matter to put before us.”

  Gabriel watched the dog as he took off on another rambling loop. As Soldier turned to come back, Gabriel saw it.

  Smoke.

  There was smoke coming out of one of the chimneys. Smoke the colour of fog.

  “Your sister’s place,” said Crisp. “And that’s smoke true enough.”

  “Mara?”

  “If it’s not,” said Crisp, “then it must be a surprise. And life don’t have enough of them.”

  This time, Soldier didn’t come back. He kept going, striking a straight line to the house with the smoke. Crisp raised his head and expanded his nostrils.

  “Do ye smell that?” Crisp licked his lips and drew a hand down his beard.

  Gabriel sniffed at the air.

  “Put your lungs into it,” said Crisp.

  “Food.”

  “Food, indeed,” said Crisp. “And let’s hope we’re not too late.”

  Crisp hurried off towards the house, leaning forward, his nose on point. Gabriel had to hurry to keep up. When they got to the porch, Crisp held up a hand.

  “Best to come in quietly, so as not to frighten dinner,” said Crisp, and he opened the front door gently and stepped inside. Gabriel stayed at his shoulder.

  The scene was unexpected. Mara was sitting on the floor, surrounded by plates of food. And she wasn’t alone. Soldier was curled up by the fireplace, next to the trunk from the beach. And sitting around the room on the floor and on makeshift beds were a dozen other people.

  Mara waved a hand at him. “I think you two know each other.” It took Gabriel a moment, and then he recognized the young girl he had pulled out of the water.

  “Company,” boomed Crisp, and he whacked Gabriel on the shoulder. “Ballast and barnacles, but we’ve got company!”

  The girl smiled and got to her feet. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, and she began to sing the song that Gabriel had sung on the rocks that foggy morning.

  And one by one, the other people stood and sang with her.

  77

  DORIAN ARRIVED AT THE TELEVISION STUDIO EARLY, SO HE would have time to relax in the green room and go over the talking points that Winter had prepared for him.

  Athabasca River? Tragedy.

  Oil extraction? National priority.

  Safety protocols? The best in the industry.

  Environmental damage? Minimal.

  Legal liability? Unfortunate accident.

  It was all a waste of time. North American Norm didn’t give a damn about the environment. Cancel a favourite television show. Slap another tax on cigarettes. Stop serving beer at baseball and hockey games. That was serious.

  Spoil a river somewhere in Humdrum, Alberta? Good luck getting Norm off the sofa.

  Of course, Dorian wasn’t going to say any of that on national television. He was going to smile his charming smile, plump up his voice, drop it into a soothing octave, and look regal. No one was going to listen to the interview. It would be his appearance that carried the day, his manner that set the agenda.

  Was he well dressed? Did he look honest? Did he sound trustworthy?

  “Mr. Asher?”

  The woman had a clipboard in one hand and a stopwatch in the other.

  “Ready, are we?”

  “Ms. Khan has to do the top of the hour news,” said the young woman, “and then the two of you will talk. Do you need any coffee, water?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Then if you would follow me.”

  MANISHA Khan was on a set made up to look like a model living room in an upscale furniture store, talking about a murdersuicide gone wrong, in which the perpetrator had died and his intended victim had escaped with only minor injuries.

  Dorian watched Khan work. The woman was sincere and efficient. She exuded power and compassion, with a strong sensual undertone. And she knew how to dress. Tonight Khan had selected a simple business suit with a dark skirt, a plum blouse, and a soft grey jacket with black and green flecks.

  Franco Mirabelli perhaps. Or Vivian Shyu.

  They would look fantastic together on the set.

  “Mr. Asher.” Manisha was up from her anchor seat and on her way to where he was waiting. “I really appreciate your agreeing to be on the show.”

  “Always happy to chat with our friends at the fourth estate.”

  Manisha put her hands on her hips. “I do believe you’re trying to charm me.”

  “Just a simple businessman.”

  “Who happens to be the head of one of the largest and most powerful corporations in the world.”

  “You can’t believe everything you read at the checkout counter.”

  “We have about twenty minutes, and I want to cover as much territory as possible.”

  “You ask,” said Dorian, practising his smile. “I’ll answer.”

  A large man, who looked as though he stocked shelves at a big box store, stepped onto the set.

  “On in ten, nine, eight, seven …”

  As the man counted down, Dorian closed his eyes and reminded himself who he was. A warrior. A scholar. The Regent of Domidion, Protector of the Realm.

  “Good evening,” Manisha began, “and welcome to En Garde.”

 
Dorian drew in a long breath and opened his eyes.

  “Tonight we’re talking with Dorian Asher, CEO of Domidion International. Thank you for coming tonight, Mr. Asher.”

  “Dorian, please,” said Dorian.

  “Not one of the company’s better days.”

  “Energy extraction has its difficulties.”

  “I’m not sure the word ‘difficulty’ quite describes the destruction of the Athabasca River and the Mackenzie River system.”

  “We have crews on the river right now. We expect that it will take several weeks to clean up the discharge. And we will be there until the cleanup is complete.”

  “We’ve talked to experts in the field who say that the damage is already done, that the cleanup is simply for show.”

  Dorian flashed a smile and shook his head sadly. “Let me assure you that Domidion doesn’t spend millions of dollars simply for show.”

  “Well,” said Manisha, “this was Domidion’s fault.”

  Dorian held up a hand. It was something that politicians did to cut off debate, and he liked the gesture. “It may not be quite that simple. As you know, Domidion has been the subject of a series of cyber attacks by a terrorist group known as the Zebras.”

  Khan leaned forward. “Are you suggesting that the holding ponds were sabotaged?”

  “At this time, we have no evidence to suggest sabotage.” Dorian paused to let everyone catch up to the idea. “But I can tell you that we have an investigative team on site and that we’re co-operating with provincial and federal authorities.”

  “Feels like a smokescreen.”

  “Due diligence, Manisha,” said Dorian. “Due diligence.”

  Khan turned to one of the cameras. “We’re told that the Athabasca may never recover. What do you say to people whose health and livelihoods have been destroyed by the spills.”

  “The modern world runs on energy, Manisha. Domidion can’t change that. The spills are unfortunate, but our first priority has to be the security of the nation and the protection of our children’s future.”

  Dorian was getting bored. If the questions didn’t present any more of a challenge, he might fall asleep.

  “That all sounds brave and responsible, Dorian,” said Manisha, “but Domidion’s track record with regard to disasters such as the Athabasca River is not all that sterling.”

  Dorian ran a hand through his hair. “I’m afraid,” he said, his voice full of fatherly concern, “you’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

  Khan sat back in her chair. “Let’s talk about Kali Creek.”

  Suddenly, Dorian was awake. Wide awake.

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Kali Creek,” Khan repeated slowly. “March 9, 2011.”

  Dorian held up a hand, but Khan continued.

  “An experimental defoliant known as GreenSweep was used near Kali Creek in British Columbia to clear undergrowth for pipeline construction. The crew spraying the defoliant made a mistake with the concentration, and the result was a massive environmental disaster.”

  Dorian managed a smile. “Defoliants are used for many applications.”

  “GreenSweep was developed and manufactured by Domidion during your term as CEO, wasn’t it?”

  “I’d like to talk about our cleanup efforts on the Athabasca. I’ve brought some footage that I’m sure your viewers will find interesting.”

  “A storm put the defoliant into Kali Creek, and it was washed into the Smoke River and then into the ocean at Samaritan Bay. One hundred and thirty-seven people lost their lives. Over three hundred were hospitalized.”

  “Manisha …”

  “A Dr. Gabriel Quinn headed the GreenSweep project, and, according to Dr. Warren Thicke, Dr. Quinn has gone missing. Would you like to comment on that?”

  DORIAN didn’t stop at the green room to gather his overcoat. He’d have someone pick it up later. Khan wanted to get a photo, and her assistant asked Dorian to sign the guest book. Instead he walked straight from the set to the Front Street entrance, where the limo was waiting for him.

  It was only after the car had crossed University that Dorian realized he had no idea where he wanted to go.

  78

  SONNY SITS IN THE SAND BY HIS PILE OF BONES AND SHELLS and stones, and he sings as he strings each piece on the copper wire.

  Turtle bone, clamshell, clamshell, clamshell.

  Turtle bone, clamshell, clamshell, stone.

  Sonny hammers the lengths of rebar into the sand and wraps the wire around the iron. Around and around. Sonny can’t remember when he’s enjoyed himself so much.

  He presses the bones and the shells and the stones together so that there is no space in between. The wire glows in the sunlight, the bones and the shells burn bright. The darker stones anchor the pattern with grace and solemnity.

  Turtle bone, clamshell, clamshell, clamshell.

  Turtle bone, clamshell, clamshell, stone.

  Up and up it goes, until the tower is above Sonny’s head, and he has to reach to anchor the last layer. Then, he sets the harrow disc on top and loads the bowl with wood.

  Sonny stands back and looks at his creation. Beautiful. The shells and bones sparkle, and the copper wire flashes in the evening light. The tower leans a little to the right, but if Sonny leans a little to the left, the tower looks straight.

  Now all Sonny has to do is light the beacon and wait.

  Just not yet. Sonny wants to wait for the right moment. He doesn’t want to waste fuel.

  Waste not, Sonny tells himself, want not.

  Sonny takes out his handkerchief and polishes the copper wire, and when he does, he notices something moving down a sand dune behind the tower. A large something. At first, Sonny doesn’t believe his eyes. He rubs them. He rubs them again.

  Rub, rub, rub.

  Wham-wham!

  A turtle!

  Wham-wham, hammer-hammer!

  It’s a sea turtle, just like the turtles who used to arrive on Sonny’s beach during tourist season. A ragged turtle with worn flippers and a wide indentation in its shell, as though it has been carrying a heavy weight for a long time. At first, it appears that this turtle has cut its head, but when Sonny looks more closely, he can see that it’s just a colourful marking.

  Big Red. That’s what Sonny will call this turtle. Big Red.

  Sonny tears some seagrass out of the sand and holds it out, in case Big Red is hungry.

  Come on, Big Red. Come on, Big Red.

  Sonny can see that Big Red wants to get to the ocean, so he quickly gets behind the turtle and sights the water over her shell. There are several large sticks in Big Red’s way and Sonny removes them. There is a log in her path, and Sonny piles sand on both sides so Big Red can slide over.

  Come on, Big Red, Sonny yells. Come on, Big Red.

  The ocean is still two hundred yards away, and Big Red begins to tire. She stops for a moment and raises her head to find the smell of the sea. And then, slowly, she continues on.

  Sonny dances around her. He wants to pick her up and carry her to the surf line, but Big Red is much too large for that. And Sonny knows that she has to make the journey on her own. Sonny remembers telling the tourists to leave the turtles alone.

  Don’t touch, he used to tell the tourists who came to the beach to watch the turtles. Don’t touch.

  So Sonny doesn’t. But there’s nothing wrong with encouragement. There’s nothing wrong with singing. There’s nothing wrong with dancing. There’s nothing wrong with telling jokes. These are entertainments that might encourage Big Red and help her along her way.

  Two bears go into a bar.

  A duck walks into a pharmacy.

  Sonny gets down on his belly and uses his elbows to pull himself through the sand. Come on, Sonny whispers to Big Red. Let’s have a race. You and me. A race to the sea. Bet you can’t beat me. Bet you can’t get there before me.

  Go, Big Red!

  Up and down the sand dunes they go. Sonny and Big Red. Out onto the flats t
o where the sand turns wet.

  Come on, Big Red. Sonny is winning.

  As soon as the turtle feels the wet beneath her shell, she revives and pulls herself along with powerful strokes of her flippers. Sonny’s elbows are beginning to hurt. He lifts one up and he can see that it’s beginning to bleed. When the race is over, he’ll have to get Band-Aids for his injuries.

  But that’s okay. Dad has mentioned sacrifice more than once, and Sonny isn’t going to stop because of a little blood.

  And then the surf breaks over Big Red’s shell, and the surf breaks over Sonny’s back, and the race is over.

  Big Red is the winner!

  Sonny leaps out of the surf and dances in the rapid water.

  Big Red wins!

  Sonny’s whole body is vibrating. His elbows sting. There is sand in his shirt and his pants. And Sonny is happy. Big Red has made it back to the ocean. Big Red has come home.

  Sonny stands on the beach and watches the turtle disappear into the waves. Then he walks back up the beach to the tower, singing as he goes.

  And in the weakening light at the edge of the world, Sonny lights the beacon fire.

  79

  EVERYONE SAT IN A LOOSE CIRCLE AND PASSED THE FOOD around. Mara handed Gabriel a deep bowl. Inside were round balls.

  “This is Mei-ling,” Mara said. “She’s the one you pulled out of the water.”

  “I pulled them all out of the water.”

  “She says she was the first.”

  Gabriel picked up one of the balls. He sniffed it but couldn’t place the flavour. Mara nudged him.

  “Just eat it.”

  “What is it?”

  Mara looked at Mei-ling. “Yu wang?”

  Mei-ling nodded.

  “Fish balls,” said Mara. “They’re very good. And they’re fresh. The Chins have found a beach north of here that has fish.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Tsa bi hoon,” said Mei-ling. “You would call it … spaghetti?”

  “Vermicelli.”

  “Yes, vermicelli. With pig.”

  Gabriel brought the noodles to his mouth. “This is pork?”