by Janine McCaw
Tan’s face was beginning to swell, his face covered with lacerations. Pieces of wood and glass were embedded in his forehead, which was bleeding profusely.
“Should we move him?” Frank asked.
“Well,” McMichael paused, “we really don’t have a lot of choice, we don’t know how secure this area really is. Clear the rubble from around him as best you can. Keep his neck straight and slide that stretcher under him. It’ll take a few of you to do it. That’s why I wanted you in fours. Get some cloth and put some pressure on that forehead wound. Don’t worry, it looks worse than it is. The head tends to bleed. That’s the least of his troubles.”
“Thanks sir,” Frank said.
“No, thank you men. But that’s the only time I’m going to say it to you tonight, so make it count for everything you do.”
Sarah Lieboldt crept up to McMichael. He turned towards her. She was shaking, and white as a ghost.
“What is it Sarah,” he asked, this time, with patience.
“I was just thinking sir, it’s Monday now. Should I get the police on the phone?”
There was almost a smile from McMichael.
“Indeed it is, Sarah. That would be a wise thing to do. Don’t tell them about Ruby, we’ll deal with that another time. Tell them I will try to be there in a minute. And get yourself a blanket, okay?”
And as McMichael headed towards his office, he too, saw something quite extraordinary. There, candle in one hand and cart handle in the other, was young Jimmy Yada, pulling an injured man over to the hospital in his rickety old wagon.
“Do you need some help there?” McMichael asked.
“I think his leg is broken, but I can manage, I’m almost there,” the boy said, rather matter of factly.
McMichael took a closer look. The boy had taken a piece of lumber from the rubble and secured the man’s leg to it with some torn clothing, making a quite reasonable splint for the leg. The man, who spoke little English, made an O.K. sign with his thumb and his index finger and flashed it at McMichael.
“So you can doctor,” McMichael said, highly impressed with the lad. “Carry on.”
Chapter Nine
The sun was rising lazily over the Cyprus trees as if nothing about this day was out of the ordinary. A hawk circled above the town, its massive wingspan casting large shadows on the sand. It hovered and cried, waiting to scavenge the dead and decaying if only the humans would leave. Eventually it was chased away by a majestic bald eagle, which, while equally as curious, found more sustenance with the offerings of the Pacific Ocean.
Olivia and Frank awoke from what had been a very restless sleep for both. It had been almost five a.m. before Frank was able to go to the town hall and bring Olivia back to their house, a home that had been thankfully spared from destruction.
“How are you?” he asked, brushing a delicate strand of chestnut coloured hair from her face as she lay in bed, nestled in the pillows. He was hoping she didn’t want to turn around and go immediately back to Seattle.
“Fine, I think,” she yawned. “Although I certainly didn’t expect to spend my honeymoon like this.”
It was not as if Olivia had grown up with the notion of marriage being the be all and end all of her life. Her mother had instilled in her the knowledge that the roadway of life was full of ups and downs, and marriage was just a stepping stone on the path along the way. Still, it had been what she desperately wanted, to be wed to Frank, her high-school sweetheart, and be accepted into a couple’s society. She was so much unlike her older sister Anne, who had chosen to forsake marriage and children, and give her life to God. Olivia did not expect to become rich, but a life of service and poverty was definitely not for her. Some couples, her mother said, had very rocky beginnings to their marriage and wound up happy for their entire lives. Others, she had told her, looked outwardly blissful but were internally self-destructing. Olivia hoped her own marriage was coming in like the proverbial lion and would go out like a lamb.
Frank entwined some strands of her hair around his finger.
“No, I guess you didn’t. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you Liv,” he said. “Tell you what, come summer, we’ll go away for a bit. I hear there’s a nice resort on Vancouver Island, across the water. We can get away for a few days, lie on the beach, and go to a fancy restaurant or two. Would you like that?”
Olivia smiled, but said nothing. She stretched her slender arm across her husband’s bare chest, and tried to return to slumber. But the image of her new friend Lucy, and the anguish of the night before, played over in her mind, keeping her awake. She had asked Lucy to come home with her, but Lucy had shaken her head, declining the offer. Olivia felt Lucy must have wanted to be with her friends in town that she had known for some time. They would probably know how to comfort her better, appreciating the despair of the situation more. That would be only natural, after all the two women had only just met. Still, Olivia felt a kindred spirit to the woman who had unconditionally offered her friendship on the boat trip up the coast. She hoped that sometime she would eventually be able to repay that kindness.
Olivia rolled over, her bare back now turned away from her husband.
Frank reached around her and cradled her breast in his hand. He came closer, kissing the nape of her neck and holding her tightly. She could feel him pressing against her, his body getting harder with each quickening breath he took. She turned and put her arms around his broad shoulders, drawing herself nearer to him, to the comfort she was yearning for.
His lips delicately traced her face. A simple caress on the tip of her nose. Tender butterfly kisses on her eyelids. He licked her ear, and feeling her rise, he breathed softly into her lobe. She moaned softly. He reached down and touched her gently, stroking her until she responded with long sighs. She needed his closeness and continued to encourage him. He slid inside her, and what energy the two had left was now involved in a sensual cadence, each body keeping time with the other. He waited until he could feel her tighten around him, and then he began to move rhythmically, causing her to completely lose control to him. It was then that he let himself go, with an eruption that shook his entire body. The emotion he had bottled up for the last eight hours had now been sweetly released, leaving him utterly exhausted. He rolled over and finally, fell fast asleep.
Olivia held him, her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, until eventually sleep overcame her as well, if only for a short time.
The sun was rising through the window, rays of light coming across her eyelids. She got up and went to the window, intent on shutting the blinds so that Frank could get some more sleep. She could see down to the waterfront from her home. The streets were empty, except for a young Oriental boy passing by. She could see that man, McMichael, standing defiantly steadfast with no outward signs of weariness. He must have had a night even worse than her own, she thought. She stared at him for a few minutes, somehow fascinated by the man the town called “boss.”
She looked over at Frank, who was still asleep. How peaceful he seemed right now, and how handsome he was, the blankets strewn haphazardly across his naked body. She glanced at him for a few moments, thinking about how much she loved this man, this man she had known for what seemed like forever, this man who brought her to this strange little town. She smiled. It would be all right.
Chapter Ten
McMichael stood on the steps of his office building, surveying the damage. The night had been long, cold and never ending. Most of the men, including him, had not been home, not even to change out of their sweat-drenched, bloodstained clothing. The town was virtually silent, its people exchanging not words, but looks of either sorrow or relief, depending on whether or not their loved-ones had made it through the night with their lives intact.
He saw Harry Yada coming around the corner. His clothes were dirty and torn from the night before, which, for the immaculate Harry, was quite out of the ordinary. McMichael motioned the man over.
“Harry,” McMichael said to the as
sayer. “There’s a rumour I’m hearing circling among the men that John Howser had threatened to show me who was boss last night and was responsible for all this.”
The two men looked at the ruins from the mountaintop on down.
“I somehow doubt that the story is true,” McMichael continued. “You understand the language of the rocks better than anyone does. Harry, what the hell happened last night? What brought the side of the mountain down?”
“I cannot say for sure,” Harry said. “But, I do not believe that this wrath was man-made. I heard the talk too. They think Howser threw some dynamite down a fissure? That’s what they’re saying, hei? But even that wouldn’t do this kind of damage as you know. I have also heard the Chinese say that it was Buddha, avenging the landlord because they could not get any rice wine at the general store.”
Harry paused and surveyed McMichael’s face after his bold comment. McMichael controlled what was and wasn’t stocked at the general store, and for many of the Orientals, this had been a bone of contention. There was a brief recognition of the insult in his words, but McMichael let it pass for the time being.
“Well you want to hear all the gossip, hei? I suspect the truth, is somewhere in between,” Harry commented.
McMichael remained silent for a moment.
“I understand they found his body near the top of the mountain.”
“Yes. Parts of it anyway. His torso was entwined with that of a young woman from Ruby’s when they found him. I do not think he blew up the mountain, boss. I think he was busy.”
It struck McMichael humorous how sincere Harry was in his statement. But he did not laugh out loud as he did not wish to offend him.
“Harry, we haven’t had any aftershocks today. Would you go up to the top of the mountain and take a look around? Let me know what you think.”
Harry looked warily up the slope. A look of uncertainty fell upon his face. McMichael noticed this.
“The crews have been up and down all night Harry, I believe it is reasonably safe now.”
Harry hung his head.
“Reasonably is not one hundred percent,” he said.
“I am not asking you to because I want to make you the sacrificial canary.”
It was McMichael’s turn to watch the face of Harry, to see if he recognized the reference to the inhumane practice of sending Chinese railway workers into the tunnels with only a live bird to see if the air was poisonous or not. He knew this would get a reaction from him. He knew that Harry did not like being mistaken for someone of Chinese decent, much as some of his Chinese workers found it offensive to be thought of as Japanese. He knew the assayer to be a man with his own hidden prejudices. Harry’s body stiffened. He grunted.
“They say Chinese workers were in the mine yesterday. Very bad luck, you know.”
“Harry, this act of God hit us all. The Canadians, the Americans, the Indians, the Brits, the Japanese, the Chinese…it did not play favourites. The Chinese cooks always take the shortcut through the mine to the galley. Always have, and always will, and you know that. This has nothing to do with superstitions. This has nothing to do with the rice wine that, by the way, your own wife was asking me to stock the other day, never mind the Chinese. We need to set aside our differences. I asked you to go up there Harry, quite frankly because you are probably the most astute man of science I have here in Britannia, now that Marty is dead, God rest his soul. I trust your judgment and your knowledge of the rock. News of this disaster has reached Vancouver and I’m sure the authorities are going to want some answers. I don’t expect you to know “one hundred percent” what happened, but we’ll be able to rule some things out I suspect. For example, people will want to know if an earthquake caused this. I don’t personally think so, as the damage seems to have originated from the top of the crest. We need to be able to give people answers. The true answers.”
Harry thought about this for a moment. He turned and gazed towards where the Bentall home had been only a day before. They had always shown such kindness to the Yada’s, not like some of the other Caucasian families living at the beach. He had heard Lucy call him a Jap, but he didn’t think she really thought it was demeaning when she said it. It was almost like a nickname, unfortunately, to her. Marty just called him Harry. Or sometimes, Mr. Yada. Harry liked that. Marty often called him Mr. Yada in front of McMichael, giving him respect.
The Bentalls had invited the Yada family over for Christmas turkey this past year. Harry and Marty had drunk wine until the wee hours of the morning, discussing the uncertainties of the world’s politics. Marty had told Harry that Europe was having some problems, some big, bothersome problems that weren’t going to go away. Harry tried to explain the problems in the Far East. Eventually the wine bottle was empty, and Harry had run home for his own bottle, and introduced Marty to sake.
His wife Akiko had brought some colourful squares of paper over and showed Lucy how to make little animals by making folds in the paper. An introduction to origami. Akiko was able to pass the time with Lucy without talking in this way, and Lucy had truly appreciated the lesson. Akiko was a master at it, and could make the miniature objects quickly, with perfection. Lucy’s took longer, and her unskilled hands made rather strange shapes, but she found the art fascinating and admired Akiko’s talent. The children had loved them. Akiko strung them together and hung them from the baby’s crib so she could play with them, the colours enticing playful swats from Melissa. Lucy made sure she brought more pieces of colourful paper back for Akiko on her next trip out of town, a generous gesture to show Akiko how much joy that evening had given her. Akiko had beamed ear to ear, Harry remembered.
Little Jimmy had split the turkey wishbone with Robbie that night. The bone was tiny and it hadn’t taken much strength for the boys to snap it in two. Jimmy had wound up with the short end of the bone, but had remarked that Robbie needed more luck anyway, in a not so hidden attempt to save face. Perhaps Jimmy had been right about that, Harry now surmised. It was a wonderful evening, two families from different cultures sharing the celebration. Although Marty had been Harry’s boss, there had been no posturing. Marty was a fair man and a hard worker. Harry was going to miss Marty. Marty was an educated man, something Harry held in extremely high esteem. Marty would have known what caused the slide. He owed it to his friend’s memory to try to find out why it happened.
“I’ll go with you if you think it’s necessary,” McMichael offered.
“It is true. I probably am the smartest scientist you have now,” Harry agreed. “But I am not a coward. I will go. Alone.”
“Thank you,” McMichael said. And he meant it.
Harry headed up the mountain. McMichael began to walk towards his office.
“Now where the hell is Sarah?” McMichael said to himself.
He had not seen his secretary in the office when he had strolled by the front window earlier. He knew she had gone over to the hall after calling the Vancouver police for him last night, but he had been so busy, that he never had a chance to find out what had been the outcome of that conversation. It was probably a conversation that he should have had with the police himself, but there just hadn’t been the time. They were most likely going to send a man up to investigate. McMichael wasn’t all together certain he wanted another constable at Britannia. There had been a small force in town once, until budget cuts sent them back to Vancouver, and he hadn’t been all that bothered to see them go. There had been a drop in ore prices, McMichael had laid off a third of his men, and had been able to justify a smaller community able to police itself. It was easier running the town his own way. He had elected Les Ferguson his town enforcer. Les was one tough character, who had a passion for cheap women and beer. McMichael saw to it he got everything he needed to feed his vices, and in turn, Ferguson did everything McMichael asked, legal or not. It was a good working relationship, but he had a feeling it was about to be curtailed. McMichael thought whoever they sent up was going to be staying for a while. Stuart Collin had b
een keeping tabs and knew the town was prospering again. The town was getting too big to police itself, Collin had warned. Until last night McMichael had proved him wrong. No one stepped out of line in town for long. The small jail they had built on the outskirts by the cemetery was rarely used more than a night. The men would sleep it off with a reminder of life’s frailty near by. But this time, this was different, McMichael admitted. He needed some help, at least initially, sorting all this out. But how would he get rid of the officer when things started to get back to normal? That would be a problem he would have to ponder later, he thought to himself.
For now he had to concentrate on what the owners of the mine were going to be asking questions about over the next seventy-two hours, let alone what the authorities would want to know. The authorities would be immediately pre-occupied about the care of the townspeople, who actually, were being very well cared for under the circumstances. But the owners, well, they would be worried about liability. Thankfully McMichael had commissioned an engineer’s report on the structural safety of the mountain only the month before. Having learned from an earlier unpredicted landslide at Tunnel Mountain in Alberta, McMichael had wanted to ensure that this mountain was stable and talked the mine’s owners into paying for the analysis. They had been reluctant to do it at first, but had eventually agreed. They would be very pleased with that decision now. The mountain had passed with flying colours. McMichael had done all he could to provide for the safety of the people. This would, in the end, prove to be his saving grace, putting an end to the police investigation. It would eventually be deemed a force of nature, the freezing and thawing of the rock taking its toll from centuries of wear and tear. But where the hell was the copy of the report now? Sarah was the last one with it, and that, was a potential problem.
He was distracted for a moment by the sight of Jimmy Yada pulling his wagon through town yet again, this time loaded with tea pots and cups.
