by John Hunt
FORTY-FIVE
Matthew was clearing the breakfast table, Bob was cleaning his rifle, the rest of us were doing odd jobs without enthusiasm. Despondency hung in the air like the mist over the lake.
“Mom, we’re out of toothpaste,” Bess complained. “Do we have more?”
“I don’t know, Bess, Mom replied, disinterestedly. “Matthew?”
“It’s not one of those things that got picked up in Anchorage, Bess. We’ll have to manage without.”
“But how am I supposed to brush my teeth?”
Mom thought for a moment. “There are a lot of things we’re going to have to manage without, Bess, and mostly, it really doesn’t matter. Salt or baking soda will do just as well. Or even just dry brushing your teeth. We’re not eating much sugar, so the fluoride in the toothpaste doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, this is so gross,” she pronounced.
Later, I saw her switching her phone on and off.
“What are you doing that for? You know there’s no signal,” I said.
“What’s the point of being here like this, with no phone?” she grumbled, still pressing the button. “This isn’t a life. It’s all so cheesy. I want to go home. I don’t want to stay in this armpit.”
“This is home now, Bess.”
“No, it isn’t, it never will be. I hate it here. I hate it!”
Dad looked up. “That’s enough, Bess. Pull yourself together. You’re feeling the blues.”
“I won’t, I won’t,” she wailed, her lips trembling. “I hate you, too. You brought us here.”
Sue started crying. “I don’t hate it here.”
“Well I do!”
“Look, Bess…” I said, ready to try reason.
Bess turned on me furiously. “I hate you, too! You’ve taken my only friend away.”
I stood up. “That’s mush, Bess, grow up,” I said angrily.
“Stop it everyone,” Mom shouted. “Enough.”
Bess rounded on Mom. “You love this, Mom, you’ve got us all trapped here. I hate it! It’s driving me up the wall.”
Mom actually laughed…and laughed, with a note of hysteria.
“What’s up, Mary?” Dad asked, perplexed.
“Got to laugh or cry, Donald,” she replied. “We’re all here, we’re safe, we have shelter, water, food…now, Bess, what’s eating you? Is it the time of month?”
“None of your business,” Bess almost snarled. “It’s all just horrible. I’m dirty. Look at my hair, it’s stringy. I’ve probably got nits.”
“It’s tough here right now, Mary,” you’ve got to admit, Matthew replied. “Feel like I’m going bonkers myself. The cold…the dark…crowded in here…”
Sue was really sobbing. Jessie was trying to say something. Voices were getting louder. I got up and started to shout, “Shut up everyone,” when an earsplitting crack echoed around the confined space. Our heads snapped around to Bob, standing there with his rifle, gun smoke drifting from the nozzle. There was a shocked silence.
After a moment, Dad smiled. “Hey, Bob, you’ve just gone and put a hole in the roof.”
“Cabin fever,” Bob said. “It happens when you’re cooped up for a long time together. Sends people mad. Or they kill each other. A lot of guys just top themselves out here in the winter.”
We looked at each other. “It’s not that bad here,” Louise said, after a moment. “Think of the Eskimos, they used to spend this time confined to an igloo. We’ve got far more space here.”
“Yes,” Dad said. “Let’s lighten up. It’s difficult, I know, but what can we do? We don’t want a meltdown here.”
There was another few moments’ silence.
“Bess,” Jessie said. “We should wash our hair, and then cut it. I’ve done Sue’s before, I’m sure I could do yours. Fancy a bob? What d’you think? And then you could try mine. It’s too long anyway.”
“That’s a great idea, Jessie,” said Mom. “You could do mine as well.”
“Sweet. Could I have a bob, too?” asked Sue.
“You bet. Let’s start getting some water on the stove, we must have some decent scissors somewhere?”
“Jim,” Jessie said, “you look rubbish, too. I don’t know if that’s just a fuzz you’ve got, or meant to be a beard, but I’m going to shave you, if you can’t do it yourself.”
“Tell you what.” Dad got up. “This place’s been getting into a mess lately. Worse than your rooms back home, kids. Jim, could you give me a hand? We could do with some more storage space. And shelves, and pegs. With all of us in here in this weather, we’re just piling things up. Getting harder to find what we need. I spent ages yesterday searching for a screwdriver. We’ve been getting into a state.”
“I’ll help. And we need to get outside,” Bob added. “We’ll start tomorrow. Just for a couple of hours, in parties, one group at a time. The wind’s dropped. And we could do with building an arctic entry. Stop so much cold coming in when we open the door.”
Matthew looked up. “Mary, I was just wondering, isn’t it Turkey Day soon? Last Thursday of the month?”
“Oh!” Mom put her hand to her mouth. “I’ve been forgetting to check the calendar.” She dug it out of the drawer. “Yes, it’s next week, six days’ time. Let’s do something for it.”
Matthew opened the cupboard. “I’ll start preparing, we haven’t got turkey of course, but ptarmigan would do. I think we’ve the right sort of herbs here, and we’ve got cranberries, how about salmon pate to start with?”
“To be honest,” said Louise, looking more like an Indian than ever, with her hair longer, in a ponytail. “I’ve been feeling a bit of a spare part here lately. Would you let me organize Thanksgiving? It’s not a tradition native to these parts, but we need an occasion, I’d be happy to do it.”
“Great if you could, Louise,” Dad replied. “Just let us know what you want us to do for it, if anything.”
We started to pull together again. Leaving the lodge the next day helped, there was more headspace outside and being outdoors helped you appreciate indoors. We got better at dealing with the cold. After a few days, the temperature dropped back to minus ten.
“We’ll be able to get out more,” Bob said. “Those clouds mean a depression, warmer weather, it’ll start snowing again soon. In clear sky the warmth just disappears upwards. Now, who wants to come on a beaver hunt?”
Bob, Jessie and I walked over the ice to the beaver house, carrying some long, cottonwood saplings. A thin trail of heat was rising from it, as if someone was burning a fire inside.
“I reckon their stick pile’s down here,” Bob said, prodding through the snow. “They use it as a store room through the winter. We need to dig down to the lake ice and then make a hole through it, a few feet in diameter. So get digging.”
Jessie and I dug through with ice picks. It was hard going. A stench rose up as we broke through, methane bubbles popping on the surface. Bob attached a wire snare to the end of the pole.
“The idea is that the beaver comes to chew the end of the stick and gets his head caught in the snare. He can only swim forwards, so that will tighten the noose. We leave it here, dig a couple more holes, and come back tomorrow.”
The next day, one trap hadn’t been touched. On the second, the bait had been nibbled around, but the snare was still intact. The third pole was really heavy. We couldn’t pull it out of the ice.
“It’s getting stuck beneath the ice,” said Bob. “Start digging, guys. Don’t fall in – if you get lost under the ice here, you won’t be coming back up.”
Half an hour or so later and we pulled up a large beaver, male, over three foot long, about thirty pounds. It had frozen solid.
“We’ll have to hang it inside to thaw it out,” Bob said. Lots of good meat on this, and it’s fatty. Fat is what we need in the winter, not your lean meat – it’s why Eskimos do so well on seals. We can trim our hoods with the fur, it’s going to help.”
The lower temperatures now felt tropical
. We were back in touch with the world, and with each other. We slept better and went back to using the outhouse. The emotional level simmered down; Bess and I got to be friends again. The three of us were out collecting wood a few days later when Bess said, “I’m sorry about what I said back there, Jim. I don’t really hate you.”
I stopped in my tracks. I couldn’t remember Bess talking to me like this before. Maybe this is what “family” meant. I liked the feeling that grew inside me. “Bess,” I said slowly, “I guess I have taken your best friend away from you. You’ve got every right to feel pissed.”
“No, that’s not right, Jim,” said Jessie. “I’m still your best friend, Bess, it’s just that I’m Jim’s as well, in a different kind of way. But I feel closer to you because of it. We’re sisters, rather than just friends.”
Bess put her arm around Jessie’s shoulders. “God, I’m so glad we all met up. Can you imagine what life would have been like, stuck here with just Jim? Hell, I’d have died.”
I gripped her arm. “Bess, I’ll look after you, but you’ve got to pull yourself together, get real, stop talking about Anchorage as if it was still there, OK?”
She gave a nervous laugh. “Jim, you’ve changed. All these years you’ve been boring me, and now you’re scaring me. Where have you been hiding all these years?”
We hugged.
“Bess is going to come with us tomorrow, Bob,” I said as we went back inside, with armfuls of logs.
“The three of you go,” Bob replied, massaging his leg, “I’ve got twinges on the hinges. You’ll be fine.”
From then on the three of us often went out together, each with our rifle. I think, actually, that we got closer than we had been before. We’d seen the precipice and decided to walk away from it. It made us stronger.
FORTY-SIX
On Thanksgiving Day we gathered in the lodge, the smell of sizzling hotcakes drawing us in. We’d spent the previous day cleaning and preparing.
“Wow, isn’t this beautiful? I love it!” Sue ran around the place.
The room was decorated with boughs of spruce and holly. Paper chains hung across the ceiling. On the table there was the most extraordinary candelabra, two feet across, two feet high, a whirl of branches in a bed of pine cones, leaves and acorns, with a dozen lighted candles.
“Bob’s been working on this for the last few days,” Louise said. Jessie went up to him and kissed him on the cheek.
“It’s lovely, Bob, thank you.”
For the first time, I saw Bob blush. “Just bits of driftwood,” he mumbled.
“Now, it’s a nice day, not too cold,” Louise said, as we sat around the table eating the hotcakes drizzled with blueberry jam. “When I was a child, my mother’s family used to go in mourning today, remembering the times that their lands were taken over by the white people. Thanksgiving Day for them was a time of bad memories. We’re also in mourning today, because we’ve been overtaken by disaster. We have bad memories. The future’s uncertain. But here we are, today, and have a lot to be thankful for. We’ve survived, we’ve met each other, we have new friends. So today I’d like us to focus on that. There are only a few hours of daylight, so we’re going to use those for a treasure hunt outside. We’ll have dinner this afternoon.”
“A treasure hunt!” Sue squealed, jumping up and down. “I love treasure hunts.”
“There are a few clues you’ll need to work out,” Louise continued. “Here’s an envelope for each of you. Everything’s within the perimeter of the fence, you don’t need to go beyond that.”
I took mine. The first part said;
Birch is good, but spruce is better.
High is dry, lower is wetter.
East is cold, west is warmer.
Search for the shoe
To find your next clue.
The wood stack? I found the shoe, high up on the west side amongst the spruce logs, the next clue inside. There were a dozen clues to follow. The treasure was in a hollowed out oak, wrapped in greaseproof paper. I opened it and gasped, it was a ring, looked like a diamond set in a gold circle.
I was the first to finish. The others were wondering around, Louise giving occasional “hot” or “cold” hints. I took her to one side.
“Dang, Louise, who’s is this?
“It was my mothers. She gave it to me, I’m giving it to you.”
“I can’t take it, it’s too much.”
“I don’t want it any more, Jim. And anyway, you don’t have to keep it, you can give it to Jessie.”
“But…”
“I mean it, Jim. It’s not my business. But if you’re serious, do it. You don’t have to do it now, just take it, see how things go, and we’ll keep it a secret between ourselves. I’ve got some nephews and nieces somewhere, but I know I’m not likely to see them again. I’d love it if you could use it.”
An hour or so later and we were all back in the lodge.
“That was wonderful, Louise,” Mom said. “You must’ve spent ages on it. So what’ve we all got?”
Bob held up a framed print showing all of us on the porch outside – it was the picture Louise had taken in the summer.
“I’m just choked,” he said, struggling to get the words out. “The last picture of me I saw, it was a police mugshot. I’ve never seen one of me with other people.” He ran his hand across his face. “How can I give you something in return?”
“You’re very welcome, Bob,” Louise replied. “And you already do, give back, I mean – not just to me, to all of us. We’ve much to thank you for,” she ended quietly.
Matthew held up a rack of kitchen tools, hand carved.
“These are just so great,” he said, a big grin splitting his face. “I don’t know where you got them from, Louise.”
“Bob carved them. I hope they’ll come in useful.”
Dad had a picture of Bess and me. Mom, a beaded pouch.
“For your first aid things, rather than carrying them around in those plastic boxes,” Louise said.
“Oh my gosh!” Bess was stunned. “These jewels, Louise, it’s too much!”
“They look valuable, Louise,” Mom said. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t know what they’re worth, they’ve come down the family on my grandfather’s side. He was wealthy, so they might be valuable, but what’s the point of that today?” She smiled at Bess. “Keep them if you like them, Bess. I’d be grateful. You’ll be doing me a favor.”
Bess started laughing, and laughing.
“Bess, what’s up?” Mom asked anxiously.
“I was just thinking, Mom, about when you said we could play games like we did at that Thanksgiving, when we were kids. And here we are, doing it again. Things haven’t changed that much, have they? And maybe it’s not so bad after all.”
“I so love this, thank you,” Sue said and went over to Louise to hug her. It was a traditional native Alaskan doll, in costume, with gold seams in the dress.
“Louise, are you sure?” asked Jessie. She was holding up a native Alaskan headdress. It was incredibly intricately worked, with hundreds of colored beads that fringed the face and hung down over the shoulders.
Louise got up, went over to Jessie and arranged it on her head. “It’s been in our family for generations. I wore it when I got married. I’ve got no one to pass it on to, and no point in it piling up dust. I’ve got too much stuff, that’s why I’m giving it away. I’d be honored if you would take it, Jessie.”
“But how did you know it was going to come in useful, Louise?” asked Mom. “Why bring it?”
“I just reckoned there might be the possibility of not going back to that house, Mary. So I brought along what mattered to me. My mother used to say that if you can’t carry what you value with you, you’ve got too much stuff.”
“I wish I’d done that,” Mom replied.
“Louise,” Matthew looked troubled, “I’m ashamed to say, I didn’t know you’d been married. What happened?”
Louise laughed. “I’
m too much of an old crow to have ever been young? Yes, I was a maiden once, Matthew, and a mother. My husband and baby were killed in a car crash.”
I was stunned. It had never occurred to me that Louise had ever been anything other than a rather old lady. I looked closely at her face, imagining it without the wrinkles – yes, she must have been beautiful once.
“I’m so sorry, Louise,” Mom said. “It must still hurt?”
“I didn’t actually know my husband that well to begin with, my brother found him for me – we didn’t exactly go in for courtship where I grew up. Choices were limited.” She smiled wanly. “But we got to love each other. I’ve never really got over it. But I say a prayer every morning, it helps.”
“A prayer to God?” Dad asked.
“Depends on which God you mean, Donald. I don’t believe in the Christian one who sent his son Jesus down to earth to save us. Back in those days, gods were always coming down to earth and sleeping with women or men or swans and producing semi-divine humans, going back to heaven, and so on. If I was going to be a pagan, like that, I’d sooner believe in the gods of my tribe, those of mountain, water, the gods of nature. But that’s just my opinion. In my tradition, every tribe has their own gods, and you respect them. I respect the belief of Christians. And an intelligence behind everything, a spirit, that the universe is conscious in some way, rather than just matter, I believe in that, yes. And that in some way I’ll be with my husband and child again. It’s why I could never remarry.”
“I don’t mean to attack your beliefs,” Dad said. “But that’s just not true, Louise, there’s no evidence for it.”
“You’re a good man, Donald,” Louise replied. “But you know what they say; when an engineer wants to know about life he asks a biologist, and when he needs to explain his evidence he asks a chemist, and a chemist has to ask a physicist, who has to say that there is no evidence, that we don’t know what matter is, and can’t find most of it, so he has to ask God. And maybe there’s no purpose or meaning to anything. But people have believed in Spirit of some kind since we came down from the trees. Now that we don’t believe in anything, except possessions, where has that got us? Look at what’s happened over the last year…we’re going to have to believe in something if we’re going to hang together. Something to hold us.”
