Alaska

by Sue Saliba

  and they might have stayed like that forever if it had not got darker in the bedroom bit by bit.

  how the sun disappeared a little more each day. mia tidied her room and she helped em around the house and she avoided terrence, but most of all – in those weeks before the meeting – she returned to the notice from the newspaper.

  death of a forest. how could that be? the forest was so vast, so endless and so strong, how could the forest die? part of her refused to believe it. she remembered trusting her teachers at school – surely people in authority who made these kind of decisions knew best? surely they couldn’t, they wouldn’t, do such a thing?

  mia began to think that perhaps the pipeline wouldn’t get built, or if it did, that it wouldn’t harm anything. perhaps the pipe would be built above the forest somehow and out of some kind of special material that caused no harm. perhaps em had been mistaken with her ideas of excavation and security fences, and this jessie mcpherson, the person who had put the notice in the paper, had got it wrong when she thought the animals would be at risk.

  mia said to herself, i’ll just go along to the meeting tomorrow night to listen, yes, that was it, she’d listen, that was all. and maybe she’d decide then that there was nothing to worry about, that the forest and its creatures were safe, and that she could simply call ethan again and go and see him, and they could pick up things just where they’d been left off that day em had arrived and taken her home.

  mia felt herself relax then, and she turned to put out the bedside light and position the blankets up over herself, closing her eyes to sleep.

  eleven o’clock, midnight, one a.m.

  mia straightened her legs, then pulled them up towards her with knees bent, then turned, then turned again, she could not sleep.

  all through the house it was quiet. terrence and em slept and so did christian. only the ticking of the clock beside her sounded. tick, tick. that was all she could hear, wasn’t it? she turned once more and this time pulled the blanket right up over her head so she was entirely buried inside, she was beneath the covers, she would not hear it now – she was sure.

  but she was wrong. still it penetrated. deep and low, an unfamiliar sound. there it was, again and again, it wasn’t just that she heard something; it was as if she somehow felt it throughout her entire body.

  on and on, it was unrelenting – a kind of mournful cry. she could try to ignore it, but she could not escape. over and over, the haunting cry of an arctic owl called from deep inside the forest.

  how late she slept. it was one o’clock by the time mia woke. it was still and dark, darker than she’d ever seen it outside her window in the middle of the day. em had left the house on errands, terrence was at work and christian had obviously gone with em. mia was in the house alone.

  she waited as the afternoon passed and night-time began to arrive, she knew em would return soon and would drive her to the meeting at the library. mia would try to get em to come too. perhaps em had thought about it and changed her mind, perhaps – and this thought frightened and emboldened mia all at once – perhaps em too had heard the arctic owl. mia couldn’t be sure.

  em arrived, then terrence. they ate an early dinner and mia dressed in her warmest mittens and coat and scarf, and at last, climbed into the car beside em.

  ‘thanks for taking me tonight. you know, i think it might be really important,’ mia said.

  em nodded and started the car.

  slowly, slowly they began to move up the driveway, away from the shed where the deer had been.

  ‘em,’ mia tried again. ‘em, maybe, do you think …

  you might like to come to the meeting with me after all?’

  ‘mia …’ em said.

  ‘yes.’

  em only sighed and kept her eyes on the road ahead.

  ‘em, will you come? you can just listen, you can hear …’

  ‘mia, you don’t get it, do you?’ em’s voice was raised and tight, sharp.

  ‘get what?’

  em shook her head.

  ‘get what, em?’ mia asked.

  ‘get that there are limits.’

  ‘limits?’

  ‘yes.’

  ‘what do you mean?’

  ‘i mean there are points beyond which …’

  mia waited.

  ‘there are points, mia, beyond which you cannot go.’

  limits, points, places beyond which you cannot go.

  mia did not get it, she did not understand. surely if something was important. surely.

  ‘but if something really matters, em.’

  but em would not answer. the conversation was over. they drove in silence for the rest of the journey.

  for mia, though, it was not over, not yet. inside her head, she kept thinking, surely, surely if something really mattered – and this did. she was sure it mattered to em.

  at last they arrived at the library, em had not spoken again, and mia, much as she wished her sister would change her mind, knew she wouldn’t.

  ‘i’ll pick you up at eight,’ em said.

  ‘thanks,’ mia answered. ‘i’ll be waiting here.’

  she closed the car door behind her and watched em drive away into the dark.

  seven, twelve, fourteen. mia counted the people in the foyer. she’d thought there would be more, many more. she’d expected the whole town.

  ‘is this the meeting for the forest?’ she asked. ‘the one against the pipeline?’

  ‘yes,’ an older woman answered her. ‘we’ll go into the library public area in a minute, once the library officially closes.’

  mia felt nervous. she’d never really participated in any serious meetings, she hadn’t even liked speaking out in class at school. part of her wanted to run out into the night, to get away. but another part remembered the forest, an eagle she’d seen gliding above the trees that afternoon when she’d stood on the balcony, looking out. what if no one spoke? she thought. what if everyone stayed home and drew the curtains?

  mothers filed past with their young children, clasping colouring books, painted masks and drawn houses and hilltops and clouds, they were heading home to safety, mia thought. warmth, familiarity.

  ‘come through this way,’ the older woman said. she had dyed red hair and blue, blue eyes. it should have made her look harsh, but didn’t.

  ‘welcome,’ she said to mia and she held the door open for everyone to come inside. ‘i’m jessie mcpherson.’

  jessie mcpherson had written the notice and put it in the newspaper. now she took her place at the front while two men set up chairs for everyone, she sat perched on the edge of a table and waited while mia and the other people found their way in and sat down.

  ‘thank you for coming, everyone, for those people who don’t know me, my name is jessie,’ she said. ‘and a special thank you to the library for letting us meet here, even though alaxoil is offering to donate a substantial sum to the library if the pipeline goes ahead. thank you to the library staff for having the courage to have us here.’ she nodded at the librarian, who stood behind a desk, and the librarian smiled back at her.

  ‘well, it’s no surprise,’ jessie continued, ‘that alaxoil wants to make more money now that its profits are soaring from its oil exports from up north, they are proposing to transport twice the amount of oil they currently do down south for export by building a pipeline right through one of our most pristine forests here in fairbanks. everyone who lives here knows this beautiful forest – hopefully those who aren’t here tonight will join us.’

  there was a murmur in the group then and mia couldn’t help but think of em, and then she thought of ethan, and terrence.

  ‘it won’t be easy,’ jessie went on to say. ‘there are those living here in fairbanks who think it is an opportunity for them to profit – and alaxoil have sent their recruitment officer, sarah jin, here to win over our local workers. there’s even talk of their staff visiting people in their homes with offers of lucrative positions – but …’ everyone
waited.

  ‘… but,’ jessie repeated and her voice had quietened, ‘who profits from destroying what is beautiful and precious, and irreplaceable?’

  there was another speaker then, a woman from the university who talked about the importance of the different plants in the forest and how the animals would all be affected if the pipeline were built, she even mentioned a special kind of rainbow-coloured fish, vulnerable to extinction, that lived in the forest’s moss ponds. mia thought of ethan’s fish.

  there were more facts, so many facts. and mia, much as she tried to keep up, felt overwhelmed, what could she do, after all?

  she turned her head and looked down at the notepad that the girl beside her was writing on – a girl of maybe eleven or twelve. she’d sketched a picture of a bird. not an eagle or a hawk, but a tiny bird, an unfamiliar one with thin wisps of legs and wings so small you could hardly believe it could fly.

  underneath it, the girl had written something.

  if only we did. mia was suddenly transported. what an enchanted world it would be. every bird, every tree, every blade of grass would be deeply alive and special, sacred. what a rich world. she felt herself surrounded by possibility.

  she left the library, buoyant again, hopeful.

  there she stood at the edge of the footpath, waiting for em and clutching a piece of paper she’d been given by jessie as she left. there was no moon to read it by, only the library’s fluorescent light behind her.

  ACTION PLANNED

  friday 15th october. alaxoil’s office

  in fairbanks. protest outside the alaxoil

  office and let their recruitment manager,

  sarah jin, know that the company is not

  welcome in fairbanks – and that we care

  about our forest.

  yes, mia would do it. she would stand with the woman from the university, and the young girl with her notepad, and jessie and all the people from the meeting. and perhaps there would be more who would join them. she would stand there and she would say all the things she needed to say and had to say for the forest.

  mia knew what she must tell em when em arrived.

  ‘em,’ she said at last when the car pulled over to the curb and the door opened.

  ‘em, i’m going to join the protest group. i’m going to be arrested if that’s what it takes.’

  ‘mia, you need to be careful,’ em looked at her and mia felt em’s power – it was the same power that had swayed her as a child when she had closed the door to adrian.

  she felt her stomach tighten, and the sound of her heart all through her body.

  ‘you shouldn’t do anything unsafe.’

  mia thought of christian then, that afternoon in the sunlight and the forest, and she thought of ethan. she remembered him saying, ‘don’t forget the deer.’ that’s what he’d said.

  ‘i want you to take me to ethan’s,’ mia said.

  ‘what? i’ve come to take you home.’ em took her hands from the steering wheel. she rested them in her lap.

  ‘mia, why do you want to go back there?’

  ‘i know you don’t like him.’

  ‘it isn’t that. i hardly know him, really.’

  ‘i feel … like … he understands me … i feel more comfortable there.’

  em was silent. then she said, ‘i thought you came here to be with us … with me.’

  mia didn’t answer.

  ‘i feel like you’re slipping away.’

  em started the car and she drove to the end of the street.

  she turned right and drove along the road to ethan’s.

  mia heard nothing but the engine’s sound, and a softness that told her that her sister was crying. no more words.

  at last they stopped at the front of ethan’s house. as she got out of the car, mia wanted to say that there was no need for em to worry, that she could make her own way home, but em did not look at her and the car had begun to move away before mia could speak out loud.

  what was mia doing at ethan’s house unannounced? after all, she hardly knew him. why was she choosing him over her family, over em?

  perhaps she should have gone home with em. perhaps this decision had been a mistake.

  mia stood there and the night was darker than any she’d known so far in alaska. she might have stayed there forever, if a light hadn’t appeared at ethan’s front verandah, she looked over, there he was, framed in the doorway.

  ‘hey, i thought i heard someone,’ he said, he was squinting into the blackness, ‘did you come back for your …’

  ‘ethan,’ mia said.

  ‘mia?’ he sounded surprised.

  ‘mia … i … hey … i didn’t know it was you … how’d you get here? ‘

  ‘em brought me.’

  he nodded. ‘well, come in quick. it’s cold out there.’

  it wasn’t quite the welcome mia had expected or hoped for, but then, of course he would be surprised to see her standing there in the dark unannounced. how was he to know that she would be coming back right now?

  as they walked inside, he said, ‘i’m surprised your sister brought you back. she seemed …’ and then he stopped when he saw her in the light of the kitchen.

  ‘are you okay?’ he said. he put his hand to her cheek.

  ‘yes.’ she was flushed, she knew. red and upset after her time with em.

  and then he pulled her closer and she began to cry.

  ‘sit down,’ he said. ‘come on.’

  it was warm in the kitchen, comforting,

  they sat at the table, he held her hands in his.

  ‘it probably isn’t easy, staying with family,’ he said. mia shrugged, and then she looked at him. ‘things have changed since we were kids,’ she said. ‘or maybe they haven’t.’

  he nodded. ‘you used to be really close,’ he said.

  ‘yeah. but now she has her family, her child, her husband.’

  he waited.

  ‘and we’re different. we’re so different,’ mia said.

  ‘i guess it’s a bit boring for you there, staying with her family all the time,’ ethan said. ‘you know, people with kids … they’re interested in different things.’

  mia gazed up at ethan’s borderless windows that let in the night sky, and then at the fairytale blue of the hallway with the picture of an arctic tern beside the front door.

  ‘yeah, maybe,’ mia said. ‘different things matter to us, i guess.’

  ethan looked at her. ‘i’ll get you a drink,’ he said.

  ‘like the deer, ethan. remember the deer i told you about, and tonight –’

  ‘what do you want with the soda water?’ he said. ‘i’ll make you something special.’ he turned to her from where he stood with his head inside the buzzing fridge. she felt suddenly foolish, as if she was overreacting to everything.

  ‘anything,’ she said.

  mia could see more of the room around her now. the kitchen’s old-fashioned wood stove, hand-painted cups and much-loved recipe books gave it a sense of warmth and nurturing, and then mia looked at the sink full of so many dishes – it was a strange thing to notice, dishes and plates and glasses – two glasses – and on the stove top, a pan that held the skeletons of two fish, their rainbow scales charred around them.

  ‘here, this will make you forget things for a while,’ he said and he handed her some clear liquid.

  ‘and mia, you know, if things are too tough at your sister’s you can always stay here for a bit.’

  ‘really?’

  ‘yeah.’

  she sipped the drink, it was hot like fire as it passed inside her. she closed her eyes and she thought, a sanctuary. yes, at last, she had found home.

  ethan was gone when mia woke the next morning. he’d told her that he would have to leave early for work, but she was surprised that she had slept so soundly through his departure.

  she stretched her hand out and expected to feel some evidence of him, some slight indentation or imprint of his body against
the sheet, but there was nothing. it was as if he were as light as the air itself.

  she turned to the window; it was beyond sunrise, it must be ten or eleven by now. she closed her eyes and remembered ethan against her in the dark. she thought how they had lain there together afterwards, silent, and she had heard her heart say that surely this intimacy must mean there was something very special between them, that surely – yes – it might even be true that he was falling in love with her.

  what an enticing and entirely frightening thought. she opened her eyes and there, on the floor in the dimness were her clothes of the night before – a shirt, her red jacket, and a pair of jeans. she climbed from the bed, cold and naked, but she didn’t reach down. instead, she found ethan’s dressing gown, a shape at the end of the bed, and she wrapped herself in it. it was soft and warm and she tied its cord around her waist and felt protected. then she saw his slippers near the door and she walked over and put one bare foot and then the other into each one. they were too big for her, but if she shifted each heel back, the gaps disappeared.

  down the stairs she went, first through the lounge room, and then further down again to the hallway and kitchen. through the windows she saw the base of the trees and the leaves on the ground. ethan had left no note, but she understood he would be back at the end of the day when he finished work.

  on the wall above her a clock said it was 11.15 a.m. mia tried to imagine what ethan might be doing right now, and it struck her that she did not know what his work was, not really, he was an engineer, but she didn’t know what kind of engineer or what he did in any day-to-day way. she knew he worked for some part of the government and she imagined it was for the indigenous people or for the environment, perhaps helping to care for the forests or the tundra of the nearby national park.

  he had told her about the lynx that had followed him the previous summer in the forest and the normally shy snowshoe hare that had built her warren beneath his house. perhaps they, too, felt the protection he offered. mia remembered what he had told her about the bohemian waxwings – birds that had lost their way on a journey from russia and ended up living in fairbanks. ‘imagine that,’ he’d said, ‘finding yourself lost and yet feeling so at home.’