by Jay Forman
“I can only trust those who are honest with me and I knew you were being dishonest.”
“All I can do is apologise. I should have told you the truth.”
“Debwewin – truth – is represented by the turtle. Do you know why he moves so slowly?”
I shook my head.
“Because he understands that the journey is just as important as the destination.”
“And I tried to take a shortcut by not telling you everything.”
He smiled. “Yes, but I trust that you won’t do it again.”
“I won’t.” Besides, my body hurt too much to even think about taking any shortcuts. I’d be moving like a turtle for a long time.
“Perhaps you can tell me the truth about what you see on this?” He unrolled a map that was almost as big as his desk.
I stood up to get a better look at it. It was of a section of the mainland east of Webequie and labelled as a CLAIMap from the Ministry of Northern Development and Mines. A grid of lines, lined up like the strings on a tennis racquet, marked off small squares and most of the squares had a bunch of numbers and symbols printed on them. “I don’t how to read this.”
I saw the circular lake that Eagle Rock looked out over and the river that ran east of it. The river zigged then zagged, like a big ‘Z’, turning right at the spot that Joshua had told me was the eastern boundary of Webequie territorial lands. After that turn it ran southwest for quite a distance, then turned to the east again. I followed the bottom line of the ‘Z’ all the way to the far edge of the map, where the river joined up with the Attawapiskat River.
“This is what Jack brought to me this morning. He had a program on his computer that he used to identify and explain what some of the numbers meant.” Chief Troutlake tapped on the empty squares near Eagle Rock. “He was particularly interested in these.”
“That’s where Joshua and I found Ross and Aileen’s prospector stakes.”
“Yes, I know. I showed him the photographs you took of the marked trees.”
“How did you—”
“Marlee copied them for me.” He picked up a black marker and drew a straight north-south line through the top right point of the zed down to and beyond the bottom line of the ‘Z’. “This is the boundary of our lands.” The squares east of the line he’d drawn all had numbers in them. Most of the squares west of the line were empty. “These …” he pointed at the squares on the east side of his line that had information in them, “… have all been recorded as Dorian claims. And these …” he pointed to a block of squares well above the top line of the zed, but west of his line, “… are Huntington claims, with our permission. But these …” he pointed to the empty squares on Webequie territory that filled and surrounded the zed of the river, “… these are where Ross and Aileen have been staking. You’ve now spoken to Aileen. Why do you think she hasn’t recorded the claims she and Ross staked?”
‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask her about her claims because Jack said he’d be able to get the information. But Jack said something to me about prospectors not having to record their claims for up to 30 days after they’d finished staking. How long ago did Ross and Aileen come here?”
“Almost four weeks ago. She doesn’t have much time left to record them.”
“Maybe she’s planning on going down to Thunder Bay soon to do it?”
“Maybe.”
The phone on his desk rang and he answered in Oji-Cree, then quickly switched to speaking in English. “We have no comment at this time … You’d have to ask Mr. Hughes about that … No, I wasn’t at the airport so I have no idea who the woman was … No comment … No comment … The Transportation Safety Board would be able to answer those questions.”
He ended that call and then basically repeated himself to the next two callers who rang almost immediately after the first. He ignored the fourth call, choosing instead to stand up and go speak to the woman sitting at the desk at the front of the band hall.
“The media are asking about the accident,” he said as he came back and sat behind his desk. “Someone sent them a video of Jack being helped from the helicopter to the Hercules. And CTV News has a video of you and Jack on the airfield.”
The teenagers with the cell phones! They’d recorded everything. I’d spent over twenty years hiding from the press. Was my anonymity about to be obliterated? “I heard you say that you didn’t know who the woman at the airport was, will everyone else—”
“We’ve just sent out a blast email to everyone on the reservation. All press enquiries will be handled by this office and we won’t be giving out any information. Jack’s private life should be just that – private.”
“Thank you.” I hoped everyone in Webequie not only read the chief’s email, but also did as he asked and kept their mouths shut.
“Now, back to this map. Where is Aileen’s camp?”
I leaned in closer to the map. I could see where the river widened after it turned southwest. We’d still been on the ATV then. It was hard to guess where the shore had started to change from rocky to grassy, but I used the scale at the bottom of the map to make a fairly educated guess and then let my eyes follow the river. I’d seen the second turn in the river behind Frazer when he’d been coming back to the camp with his dead squirrels and fish.
“I think her camp is somewhere in there.” I pointed at a spot far enough into the forest to be maybe a 45-minute hike from the shore. “Jack flew over us when I was at Aileen’s camp. Do you know where he was going?”
The chief pointed to the empty squares at the far end of the lower bar of the ‘Z’. “He wanted to see if there were any posts in the ground there.”
“Is that where the cra— … accident happened?”
“From what I understand, they landed on the river shore very near that last square on our territory. Something happened when they were lifting off.”
Joshua said Jack had mentioned hearing gunshots. I looked from that last square to where the lodge was –in its own empty square – and then back again. “Do you know how far Joshua’s Texans might have travelled to go deer hunting today?”
“Not far … and they wouldn’t have gone off Webequie lands.”
Definitely too far away from where Jack might have been for him to have heard them shooting. Maybe Joshua was right about Jack being confused? Besides, was it even possible to shoot a helicopter out of the sky?
Blaze’s grandfather had been released. The OPP, NAPS and Peacekeepers would figure out what happened to Ross. And to Bernice. The investigators from the Transportation Safety Board would figure out what caused the accident.
All that mattered to me was that Jack and George were going to be okay.
It was time for me to leave Webequie. I’d book my flight out when I got back to Sara’s place.
****
I walked all the way down to the Northern. Heidi was talking to a man at the front of the store. He sounded angry as she kept leafing through a pile of papers she’d picked up from a shelf behind the counter. I walked the aisles, looking for something to buy to make dinner for Sara and Joshua. The pickings were slim. I finally settled on the three most expensive chicken breasts in the world, a ten dollar can of spiced tomatoes and a box of linguine. The carbs wouldn’t kill me, but I still wished that the Northern stocked whole-wheat pasta. It wasn’t much of a dinner, though.
The angry man had gone by the time I walked back to the counter. Heidi was standing by a fax machine, staring at the buttons on it. “Do you know how to work these things?” she asked me.
“I can give it a try.” I put my groceries down on the counter and walked around to stand beside her. “What are you trying to do?”
“Fax these pages. I think Bernice was supposed to send them out the other day, but I just found them in with the orders paperwork and she never showed me how to send a fax.” She shoved the papers into my hand.
I looked at the top sheet. It was a cover sheet, addressed to the Thunder Bay office of the Ministry of
Northern Development and Mines. The sender was one Aileen Barlow. Not Ross McKay and Aileen Barlow, just Aileen Barlow. The pages behind the cover sheet were filled in forms that listed dates and times and GPS coordinates.
I put the cover sheet back on top and punched in the phone number on the keypad on top of the fax machine, then put the sheets into the feeder and pushed the ‘Send’ button. Instead of hearing the squeal of a fax call trying to connect to another fax machine I heard a voice coming out of the machine.
“Is this the Northern in Webequie? Hello?”
“Heidi, I think you have a phone call coming in.”
“Another one?” She picked up the phone that sat on the counter at the same time as she reached over to unplug the phone cord from the fax machine. “Hello? … No, sorry, we’re all booked up … We only have three rooms … No, the lodge is booked up, too … You could try calling the band hall. Sometimes they have a list of people who are willing to rent out rooms in their houses, but you’re like the bazillionth caller so there probably won’t be any available … Okay, bye. The phone line’s all yours.”
I picked up the phone cord and was just about to plug it in, but decided to tuck it under the machine instead. I pushed the ‘Copy’ button and watched the papers get pulled into the machine. “Why are you getting so many calls from people who want to stay up here?”
“Reporters. Mr Hughes’ crash is a big deal.”
It was definitely time for me to leave Webequie.
The man who’d come into the store came back up to the front to pay for his frozen macaroni and cheese dinner as the original pages came out the other side of the fax machine and the copies piled up above the paper tray. I wasn’t sure what those forms meant but I knew who would be, so I folded the copies in half, then in half again, and shoved them into my parka pocket. Then I plugged the phone cord back into the fax machine.
“All done.” I put the originals down on the counter as Heidi rang up my ridiculously high bill. I only felt slightly guilty as I left the store.
Lights were coming on inside some of the houses. I zipped up my parka to seal in whatever warmth I could and flipped up my hood. The silence of Webequie amplified the sound of my boots crunching on the gravel road, the loose dogs barking, even the sound of one of them panting as he ran by me was loud. Mother Nature was turning on her little lights in the sky; stars were appearing in the darkness north of Webequie. I heard the fax papers scraping against the fleece lining in my pocket.
Why wasn’t Ross’ name on those papers? Was Aileen trying to record their claims under just her name? She must have asked Bernice to send them the day I’d arrived in Webequie. I remembered how surprised Joshua had been to see her at the Northern when we pulled up there. What other reason would she have had to be back in Webequie? She wouldn’t have needed supplies, because Ross had come back to the island specifically to get supplies – and have sex with Bernice.
But Ross never made it back to his camp with Aileen. So the supplies he’d purchased shouldn’t have made it back to their camp, either.
I turned around and walked back to the Northern.
Heidi was just turning off the lights inside the store.
“Heidi, the day I got here – the day Aileen and Bernice had their argument – was Aileen here just to send the fax or did she buy supplies for her camp, too?”
“Nope, she came to send her fax and have a hot shower.”
The only reason she wouldn’t have needed supplies was if Ross had returned to their camp before he was killed and delivered the supplies he’d bought. I could see the lights of the NAPS station way up the road and knew that I should probably go up there to tell Marlee what I was thinking, but I didn’t want to deal with her attitude. I was too drained. And the information, if it really was information, could wait until the morning.
Was it information? Useful information? I could work out a plausible theory about Aileen killing Ross … but Bernice? What was it that had made Bernice so upset with Aileen?
I tried to stop thinking about it.
Except … could Aileen have killed Bernice, too? I didn’t know enough to come up with a theory for that one. And Aileen had looked truly shocked when I told her that Bernice was dead. She hadn’t even known that Bernice was missing.
A group of boys were playing ball hockey on the grass that would soon be covered by ice inside the hockey boards. They were using a bright orange ball, so even the setting sun wasn’t going to stop them. What else was there for them to do at night in Webequie, I wondered. ‘Nothing’ was the only answer I could think of. It explained why the blue glow of a television being watched flickered in so many of the windows of the houses I walked by. The big satellite dishes at the band hall delivered the excesses of cosmopolitan life to the people of Webequie 24 hours a day. But those excesses were only attainable behind the big screens. When the kids in Webequie turned away from those screens they saw the reality of their existence. As they drank bottled water and looked out their windows they saw a school that could barely give them the education they’d need to go anywhere, and jobs that were so far in the future that they must almost feel like science fiction. It was hardly the stuff of a cheery travel article. I still wanted to write about it, but I knew that I’d have to find someone other than Tourism Canada to get it into print.
****
Joshua and Sara were watching the news on CNN when I came into the house with my groceries.
“Billionaire diamond magnate Jack Hughes has been critically injured in a helicopter crash a thousand miles north of Chicago in the Canadian wilderness …” An old stock photograph of Jack wearing a tux with Lisa, his glammed up ex-wife, standing beside him dripping in diamonds, was on the screen wall behind the newscasters.
Sara changed the channel. “Critically injured? He wasn’t critically injured!”
“I bought dinner.” I put the chicken breasts on Sara’s little kitchen counter. I didn’t want to hear about critical injuries.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Sara came over to see what I’d brought.
I heard a very British announcer’s voice coming from the television. “… Canadian diamond magnate Jack Hughes has been involved in a helicopter accident near a First Nations community in northern Canada …”
“The BBC’s got it closer to the truth,” Joshua called out.
“Can you switch to CTV?” I asked. That was the network that Chief Troutlake said had the video of me running to Jack on the airfield.
“A helicopter carrying Canada’s richest man, diamond magnate Jack Hughes …”
Jack had bumped Lord Thomson of Fleet out of the number one spot on Canada’s list of richest people? I didn’t know that. There weren’t many Lords in Canada and none of the others ever made it onto the list, especially not the one who’d been convicted of fraud in the States. And Lord Black of Crossharbour wasn’t even Canadian anymore. He gave up his citizenship in order to get the fancy British title.
I went over to stand closer to the television. I wanted to see which video CTV was going to show.
“… has crashed near the First Nations community of Webequie in Northern Ontario.”
The shaky video they were playing was of Jack being helped off the De Beers helicopter by one of the men in an orange jumpsuit. Jack stumbled and leaned on the SAR tech. A big orange blanket was draped over his shoulders. With the SAR tech’s help, he limped over to the open mouth of the Hercules and walked into it. He was limping?
“… a Canadian Armed Forces Search and Rescue C-130 Hercules is transporting Mr Hughes and his co-pilot, George Allard, to Toronto at this time. We have been unable to confirm reports that Mr Allard was critically injured …”
A second video started playing. It was just as shaky as the first, but shot from a different angle, looking straight into the open end of the Hercules. Jack was sitting down but then stood up quickly and flung the blanket off his shoulders. I could see his mouth moving and didn’t need sound to know what he was saying �
�� ‘What did you just say?’ A huge smile spread across his face and his lips moved again as he walked out of the plane. ‘Say it again!’ He stopped limping when he stepped onto the ground. For the first time I noticed the big tear in his trousers that ran down his left leg. And the blood stain around that tear. And that his left foot was bare. And that he wasn’t wearing his glasses. I’d been so damn happy to see him alive that I hadn’t paid attention to anything else.
“… Mr Hughes was seen conscious and walking …”
I saw myself running into the shot just as Jack started running toward me. The person holding the cell phone that recorded the video hadn’t captured my face, they’d only seen me from the side and then the back when Jack grabbed me.
“… we don’t yet know the name of the woman …”
Thank God!
A third video started playing. It was of George’s stretcher being wheeled into the Hercules.
“Mr Allard is a decorated military pilot, who flew missions over Afghanistan and Iraq …”
I wondered where Jack and George were now. Had they made it to Toronto yet? “Would you mind switching over to CityNews?” They were the fastest at covering local stories in Toronto.
Joshua changed the channel and I saw Adaya, looking as perfectly put together as always, standing in front of a forest of microphones, each one with a different network’s logo on it. Behind her, on the other side of a driveway, was a set of sliding glass doors. Above those doors was a white awning with bright red lettering on it – ‘Sunnybrook Emergency’. All of the reporters were firing questions at Adaya and she was answering them calmly … without saying anything. I’d never seen anyone be so skillfully vague before.
The female reporter on the far right of the picture suddenly fell into the reporter standing beside her as if she’d been pushed.
A short woman, with curly white hair, wearing sensible shoes and carrying a Mary Poppins-sized bag, barged past the reporters and marched into the emergency department.
You go, Auntie Em!
