“Oh look at him, I think you’re right.”
“Give me the mirror.”
“Here.”
“We’ll check.”
“Check what?”
“For the spark of life. Hold it over the lips, real close like this.”
“He’s alive! There’s a smudge on the glass!”
“That’s your fingerprint.”
“You think?”
“Look at the whorls! Give me that hankie.”
They rubbed the mirror carefully with one corner of the handkerchief until the mirror was perfect. The red of the rising sun reflected off it, and the light flickered over Ralph’s face too, and then along the ground until it disappeared into the bushes. Ralph’s eyes were stuck open.
“Eyes look dry.”
“That’s the stare of death.”
“Ralph!”
“Ralph!”
“Push him a bit, on the shoulder. See what happens.”
“Like this?”
“Like that but a little bit more. Harder.”
“There. Oh Christ lookout!”
Ralph toppled right over onto the flat of his back. They were camped, the three of them, by the side of the Skeena River which flowed by, smooth and silent for a river of that size. There were mountains in the distance and, close-up, there were trees, lots of evergreen trees that grew up by the campsite. You could see the ashes of a fire.
“Hey, go blow on those embers.”
“The embers?”
“It’s coffee time.”
“Coffee now?”
“Regardless.”
“Okay. Back off, I’ll blow on the embers.”
“Harder than that. Briskly.”
“I’m dizzy. Oh, there we go.”
“Good.”
“There, how’s that?”
“Now fire, that’s the real spark of life. Without fire, there’s no civilization.”
“Here’s the mirror, try again.”
“Okay.”
“Hold it closer, maybe he’s breathing wispy.”
“Wispy?”
“Real low. I saw it on TV.”
“There.”
“You touched the lips.”
“I did? I did not.”
“Maybe. Anyway, there’s nothing there. Nothing.”
“He’s gone. Gone for good.”
“You’re right. The mirror doesn’t lie.”
Birds flew about the campsite every morning. They were mostly grey jays and they flew real close, trying to pick up little crumbs with their beaks. There was some kind of sparrow too, jumping around in the low bushes. You could tell it was going to be a fine day, but it was still cool. They were glad they had on their checked red-and-black wool jackets.
“You know, this is now some pickle we’re in.”
“Just the two of us.”
“That’s right. Just us. It’s just kind of hitting me.”
“Long way to go?”
“I’ll say. Three hundred miles, from the map.”
“Portages?”
“Three.”
“Big ones, little ones?”
“Two are big.”
“Uphill?”
“Uphill.”
“Jeez.”
Then there was one of those silences you sometimes get in nature. The river spun against the rocks on the shoreline but for some reason it didn’t make a sound.
“Better check him out for animal bites.”
“Animal bites? What do you mean?”
“Well, maybe he didn’t just die on his own, maybe he got killed.”
“Killed? How could that happen?”
“A cougar, one of those grizzly bears.”
“The ones we saw upriver? They were eating fish.”
“At that time they were eating fish.”
“I guess, that size, they eat a lot.”
“They eat fish, they eat berries, they eat meat. They are carnivores. In fact, they are the world’s largest carnivore, after the polar bear.”
“There’s no polar bears here. Right?”
“No. At least I hope not. They are merciless killers, polar bears, relentless in their pursuit of meat. They will track a human being a hundred miles.”
“They like seals better. That’s what I heard.”
“Ralph. You think he looks like a seal?”
Ralph’s pack, the grey one, was right there by the closed flap of his pup tent. Everything looked in perfect order. The stones around the fire formed a circle.
“Not really like a seal, no. But then I’ve never seen a seal. They got soft pads on their feet, grizzly bears, polar bears.”
“I heard nothing all night. Did you?”
“No, nothing. Not a peep.”
“They can walk on twigs, soundless as a ghost.”
“A Wendigo.”
“Oh, don’t say that, that gives me the chills.”
“Big cats now, they bite you in the back of the neck, right?”
“Definitely. They are sneaky. Bears on the other hand, they come right at you, they have fetid breath, they knock you down with their paws. Then they chew your head.”
A red canoe was pulled up on the rocks by the river and there were three paddles leaning on a tree. There was no sign of a violent struggle. The forest floor was smooth with pine needles.
“Let’s look for blood.”
“You mean inside the clothes?”
“First close his eyes. I don’t like that stare, that unseeing stare. It gives me the willies.”
“Ralph’s eyes?”
“Yes, Ralph’s eyes.”
“Touch them?”
“The eyelids, that’s all. Use your fingertips.”
“I blew on the fire. I rolled him over. You close the eyes.”
“Okay, I guess that’s fair. You got that hankie?”
“Hankie’s no good. Just use your fingertips, like you said.”
“Fingertips.”
“There. That’s it. Push down, be firm. Hold them there for a bit. Good. Now let go.”
“They’re half-open again.”
“Let’s push him over. Then we don’t have to look. Push him away from the fire.”
“Altogether now1-2-3…”
“Go!”
“Heavy.”
“Heavier dead than alive. That’s why they say dead weight.”
When they pushed him over, there was no sign of damage to the back of Ralph’s head. All he had there was a few red welts from mosquito bites, and deer flies. They all had lots of those.
“No blood, no bites.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“I’ll say.”
“Killer bear, that’s the last thing we need on this trip.”
“I think we got freaked out over nothing. Heart attack, that’s my guess.”
“This trip, I thought we planned it real well.”
Seven months before the trip had started, they each had a list to go over. They checked off all the clothes they needed, the pills they might need. They were careful in every way, right down to the salt and pepper. They even went to the doctor and had checkups.
“Hey, what about CPR?”
“CPR?”
“You know, mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?”
“For Ralph? Here?”
“Of course for Ralph, look at him, he’s the one that needs it.”
“We rolled him over the wrong way for that.”
“I’m not skilled in that, CPR. I couldn’t do it.”
“You hold their nose, you breathe into their mouth.”
“You know how, you try it. We should do it.”
“We?”
“You. You know how. Here, I’ll flip him back. There. Give it a go.”
“He’s got a cold sore.”
“Where?”
“There on the upper lip.”
“This? It’s all crusted.”
“That’s it though.”
“They’re catching a
ren’t they, cold sores? They’re viruses?”
“Damn right they are.”
“Then there’s no CPR for Ralph. Besides, he’s not fresh enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dead too long. It’s hopeless. Look, whatever killed Ralph, it happened in the night. His fingers are stiff.”
“That’s normal, stiffening, right?”
“Right, but not if you’re freshly dead. Then, fresh, your fingers are still loose, supple like ours.”
“CPR is hopeless then for Ralph, now.”
“Right.”
“No CPR then. Forget it. I don’t like the look of that cold sore.”
“Then what are we going to say to Phyllis? He died and we did nothing for him?”
Ralph had been married for forty years. He was a retired pharmacist with grown-up children. They’d known his wife, Phyllis, forever. They played bridge together, and Scrabble.
“There’s nothing we could do. Nothing useful.”
“Maybe we can make up this part, what do you think?”
“You mean, how we did CPR?”
“That’s right.”
“Two hours non-stop, for Ralph.”
“We took turns.”
“We pushed on his chest.”
“Till God knows we could push no more.”
“Slapped his face?”
“That too.”
“Shouted out Ralph, Ralph, over and over.”
“We actually did that, the shouting. Remember?”
“That’s right. It’s not all made up.”
“No, we did that all right.”
“That’s good then. That’s the story.”
“That’s what friends do for friends. CPR.”
“Even, Phyllis, with the cold sore he had. We didn’t care.”
“How many hours?”
“Two hours, I’d say. Felt like six.”
“I’ll say. It feels like that already.”
They’d been on the canoe trip for twelve days, and they had another three days to go. Resigned, they left Ralph where he was and made some coffee. They fried up back-bacon too, and the smoke from the frying pan curled around the clearing. As yet, there was no wind.
“I guess we don’t have to scrimp and save quite so much.”
“How do you mean?”
“The bacon. Only two of us now, but there’s food for three. It’s the silver lining.” “Oh, the silver lining. Sure, I see. Another slice then please, my stomach is growling. It’s been a tough morning. Thank you, Ralph, old friend.”
“That’s good?”
“Better than good. Crispy.”
“Mine too. Now what are we going to do?”
“With Ralph?”
“That’s the first question.”
“I say bury him. Bury him right here like they would in the old days.”
There was sand and pebbles on the ground but it was all packed tight. Digging through that would not be easy. There’d be roots from trees.
“This is where he’d like to be, I bet. Out in nature.”
“Oh I don’t think so.”
“He loved the north.”
“He also loved the easy chair, the Laz-Y-Boy.”
“Well that’s true, I grant you that.”
“It’s against the law, burying. We can’t dispose of Ralph right off, bury him without some sort of official check.”
“We could be charged with murder. You’re right. I just thought of it.”
“Murder?”
“They could say we banged him on the head with paddles, we smothered him with a life jacket, then we buried him. We’d be old men by the time we got out.”
“We didn’t kill Ralph.”
“Prove it, with Ralph buried here.”
“We’d come back with the police, dig him up.”
“If we’re going to do that, then let’s not bury him now in the first place. Digging with spoons, that’s no fun.”
“I see what you mean.”
“He comes with us, Ralph does, that’s all there is to it.”
“The grizzlies, they’d dig him up too, if we left him here.”
“Probably, and where’s the evidence then of our innocence, our CPR? He’s got to come with us. All the way home.”
You had to have resources to travel in the north. You had to adjust. You needed a compass, a watch, skills with rope, strong legs for portages, and courage for the wild animals you saw along the way. You could not get knocked down by bad luck, you had to overcome everything thrown your way.
“Well, how do we pack him up?”
“He goes in the canoe with all the rest.”
“With the baggage.”
“That’s it, baggage. That’s what Ralph is now.”
“He’s getting stiffer.”
“In the fingers?”
“Everywhere. Soon he’ll be stiff as a board. Feel him.”
“That’s what nature does. Rigor mortis, that’s what it’s called.”
“Rigor mortis. I heard of that.”
“Latin. Stiffness of death, something like that. It means we got some thinking to do. Quick thinking.”
“I don’t see the rush.”
“You don’t? Think about it.”
Up till now, all three of them had paddled the same canoe at the same time, with Ralph in the middle. Compared to the others, Ralph was inexperienced. He did not have the stamina for long hours on the river, nor the skill for the bow or the stern. He made up for this deficiency by singing songs.
“Yes, think about it. There’s Ralph. Straight out the way he is, he’ll be like that soon, forever. Frozen up stiff as a board. Next portage, a straight uphill for five miles, what are we going to do with Ralph like that? Carry him, the two of us, like he’s a plank? No thanks, that’s what I say.”
“Drag him on saplings. Tie him on, drag him the way the Indians did.”
“They knew how to do that. We don’t. Also, they had horses.”
“We could try.”
“Sure, we could try. And you know what? There goes Ralph slipping down the trail and over a cliff. Tumbling through the air, I can see it plain as day. Then he’s at the bottom, food for the weasels and wolves and then the Mounties say, well fellows, where’s your friend Ralph, the one you beat over the head with paddles, where’s he now?”
“That does not sound good.”
“We need another plan. Before the rigor mortis sets in, we put Ralph into a better shape.”
“What do mean by that? You lost me there.”
“The river’s no problem. He can be in any position for the river. Plank shape, it doesn’t matter. But for the portages, stiff as a board, forget it, that’s impossible. We’d have to make two, even three trips. One just for him alone. No way.”
“So what should we do?”
“Bend him. Turn him into a shape like a back-pack. Look, he’s got some give left in him still. We can twist him this way, that way, anyway we like, but not for long. Then, we get him into the right position, we hold him there so he freezes like that. Simple. Twenty minutes, half an hour.”
They went over to where Ralph was lying. They grabbed his coat and bent him at the waist, so he sat up at ninety degrees, and then they took his arms and raised them up to the height of his shoulders. Then they bent his elbows, and they pushed and pulled at his wrists and his fingers till they turned into claw shapes.
“Look. He’s got talons now, like an eagle.”
Then they hiked up Ralph’s hips and bent them outwards, and they held Ralph in that position for a half-hour or more while the grey jays flew by and the sun rose ever higher in the sky.
“There. We can let him go now. Try it.”
“That’s good. Look! It worked.”
“Perfect, I agree. He’s fixed like this forever. Now, try him on.”
“Try him on?”
“Like a back-pack. That was the whole purpose of the exercise.”
“You try him on.”
“I closed the eyelids, right? It’s your turn. Try him on. Next portage, it’s the canoe and the rifle for me, and there’s Ralph for you. Up on your back, easy as pie, one-man job. Then, there’s no getting around it, we both make a second trip for all the rest of the gear.”
“For me, that’s not so good.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well first off, there’s Ralph breathing down my neck on the portage, plus the fact he weighs one hundred eighty pounds.”
“He’s balanced, he’s easy to move along with. Try him on. And there’s no way he’s breathing down your neck. He’s dead. The dead don’t breathe.”
“The canoe weighs fifty-two pounds.”
“Okay, we’ll take turns with Ralph, how’s that, that’s fair.”
“That’s a deal.”
“You do the first turn, I’ll do the second.”
“Okay. Boost him up, I’ll give him a try. We can’t stay here forever.” “There.”
“Hey that’s not too bad. What about the hands?”
“Tie them across your chest. Like this. How’s that feel? Solid?”
“Well, he’s no featherweight.”
“But you can do it.”
“I think I can. How far off my neck is that cold sore?”
“Lots of room there. An inch. Funny thing, from behind, I can’t see your head at all. Just his. Looks funny.”
“Take him off, that’s enough for now. Stop laughing.”
They broke camp. All the gear was carefully stowed away in the middle of the canoe, and on top of the gear, they placed Ralph’s body, firmly tied onto the very top, on his back, with his legs and arms sticking up skyward. He looked like the rack of a deer, so stiff he was, with the rigor mortis set in solid. Nothing could move those arms and legs. They grabbed their paddles and they pushed off into the current.
“Tally-ho!”
It felt good to be back on the river. Cleansing, after what they’d been through. They slipped and danced through the easy small rapids and they made good time.
“Hold on tight there, Ralph!”
Now and then they rubbed the canoe on a low boulder but they slid on by, harmlessly.
“Don’t shift your weight like that, Ralph!” they laughed, “That’s a good boy! Hold on there, just twelve miles to the next portage! Tally-ho!”
Unknown to the canoeists, on that next portage, three miles up the steep and brambled path, sunning itself on a rock, was a large male cougar. This cougar was four years old, and in those four years, there was nothing this cougar had not killed, dragged and swallowed whole, so big and powerful he was. Now, the cougar felt a pang of hunger, and he yawned, and moved his massive limbs into a more comfortable position. There was still time to wait, he thought, for what might come by. No need to start prowling around.
How Loveta Got Her Baby Page 15
