by Howard Engel
Lorca’d made coffee and brought a blanket to wrap around me. Patten stood by like he was directing a play or movie.
“Fix a fire, Lorca. How you feeling now, fella?” I nearly chipped a tooth smiling my assurances that I was on the mend. Lorca put birch logs together, crumpled a two-day-old copy of all the news that’s fit to print and started a fire in front of the couch I was sitting on. Patten finally settled down at the other end and watched me like I was a burning fuse. When he thought I was calmed down enough to talk, he started with the questions.
“What happened out there?” I shook my head as though I’d just arrived on the scene myself.
“Boat leaks,” I offered, sipping the coffee and feeling light in the head.
“Leaks? Hell, it was full of holes. What were you trying to prove, fella?” He leaned forward like a referee waiting for a foul. “I have to know what’s going on on this lake, fella. I don’t believe in chance.”
“Somebody chopped holes in the hull up on the north side of the lake,” I said, “Not my idea of clean sport, exactly. I bent it back into shape again and used pine gum to seal it.”
“So,” said Lorca, “that explains the disinfectant smell.”
“Saw somebody do it in a movie once,” I said. My shivers had turned my speech into clipped British publicschoolboy understatements. Lorca took my empty mug from me and retreated to the kitchen.
“That took fast thinking. Any idea who did it?”
“No, but I guess it probably has something to do with you.”
“Yes,” Patten said through his teeth, “I wanted to get around to that, fella. It didn’t hit me until I was being processed at the hospital that you’ve known who I was right from the start. What’s your game, Benny? I know you’re on my side, but who are you working for? Did Van send you? P.J.? What’s your story, Benny?”
“That’s not my secret, Mr. Patten. Sorry.” I stirred uncomfortably under the blanket. It must have made quite a show—half drowned rat, half drowned Sinbad.
“Not your secret? What kind of talk is that? Don’t forget who I am, Benny. I could have you blown away in a minute. I won’t have secrets. Get that straight. There’s no secret you can hide from me.” He was getting red in the face and those lidless eyes were bulging in their dark hollows. If there’d been a crack of thunder right then, I would have got up and run. There was that crazy look on his face you see on television. He looked like he was possessed.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Patten, but it’s not my secret to tell.” It wasn’t any better, but I hoped he would accept it the second time around.
“We’ve got to have a serious little talk, fella,” he said making each word a poison-pen letter.
“Fine,” I said, “fine. Always glad to talk.”
“They’ve tried to get me twice, and now they’re shooting at you. They know you come here. That’s it.”
“You can’t lump these things.” He was calming down now, letting his right hand pull the fingers of his left, one finger at a time. “All we know is that three things have happened. For all I know there are three guys out there with grudges. And we can’t forget Aeneas, the Indian guide. He’s part of this, too. He didn’t die of old age. I don’t have any answers, I’m just trying to ask better questions.”
“Well, there are bloody well answers about you I’d like to hear. I’ve been lied to, taken advantage of. Security’s out the window.”
“That’s the only safe way to look at security. Relax. You’re getting the shakes from me.”
“Cooperman, I’m staying on top of this. There can only be one man in control, you understand? I’m the Lord’s anointed, not you. Remember that.” I told him I would.
Noises from the kitchen sounded like they were coming to a head. In a moment Lorca brought me a cup of warm soup—vegetable from a can, the way my mother makes it. It tasted good and I said so. My clothes had been hung up on the backs of chairs in front of the fireplace. Patten sat in the full glare of the fire, the flames reflected in his lenses. He looked into the fire which was curling the bark and taking hold of the hardwood logs. Lorca seated herself on the step to the left of the fireplace with a pillow at her back and started brushing her damp hair so that it too shone in the flames. She moved like she knew I’d been calling her Body Beautiful at the beginning of my stay in the park. “There’s more coffee on the stove,” she said.
“Thanks,” said Patten without looking up. After a while he went on as though he’d been interrupted in the middle of a lengthy self-justification. “You know, Benny, I always knew I had enemies. The forces of darkness have always been turned against me. And I looked around and I was friendless, and daggers grew behind every smile. Lord, I was prepared. He prepared me, but fella, I wasn’t ready for the enemies within, the enemies of my bosom. Van Woodward was the best friend a man can have. I’ve known him since I was a teenager. I met him right here in this cabin. He showed me that there was a great world out there, and that I could get out and shake the dust of this place off me. And now, now … I don’t know about him any more. I don’t trust him. I don’t know who I trust.”
He looked like he’d just got news of an overdraught and a tax audit in the same mail. I excused myself and went on a bathroom hunt. When I found it, it looked just like a city bathroom. Up here in the park, that ordinariness must have cost a fortune. I took the opportunity of having a locked door between me and the others to ransack the drug cabinet. I saw signs of expensive items for sensitive skins, sleepless nights, contraception, and nervous stomachs. Lorca was devoted to odd shampoos and hair conditioners. I sniffed three of these before I found her supply of bourbon. Smart not to leave it in her room. Out in public was as good as in a vault. The label alone would keep a mere man well away. I bowed to her cleverness before rejoining the party in front of the fire. I was still shivering and could feel the welcome heat of the fire.
“Don’t misunderstand me, Lorca,” Patten was saying, “My idea of hell is a half-filled stadium. Hey, that’s good! Write it down.”
“It’s not original.”
“It will be. Write it down. Ah, feeling better? I am.”
“That soup went down well. Thanks.” The thanks was directed at Lorca. She short-changed me with her responding smile.
“Sure, anytime. By the way,” she said, getting up, “I took these things from your pockets.” She handed me my wallet and some keys. As she put the wallet in my hand, she gave me the whisper of a smile. I found a place in my borrowed trousers for the wallet and keys. So, the game was up as far as she was concerned. How long would it take before she mentioned it casually to Patten?
“How would you like a roll in the hay, Mr. Cooperman? For medicinal purposes of course.” She was looking at Patten. “I saw it in a movie.”
“Just coffee, thanks.” She went back to brushing her hair. Patten’s eyes moved from the fire and settled for a moment on Lorca before coming to me. They looked pained, even persecuted.
“Lorca’s rebellion sometimes takes strange turns,” he explained. “She’s really very immature, fella. I wouldn’t take her seriously. I never have.”
“Norrie, you’re a bastard you know? There isn’t anything to do up here but screw, and you won’t even talk to me. You didn’t tell me it was going to be like this.”
“You may do as you please, Lorca. I wish you wouldn’t whine in public. I told you we would be here for some time. You came because you wanted to and because of certain favours—“
“You don’t have to go into that. It’s just that I get so lonesome without anybody to talk to. No telephone, nothing. I just want to know how long it’s going to be, that’s all. Pardon me for living.”
“Would you count Lorca as an average sinner, Mr. Cooperman?”
“I’m not the only sinner, am I, Mr. Cooperman?” She was going to make her big play now. I wondered how fast I could run in my condition. “You must tell us all about your real-life experiences selling ladies’ ready-to-wear. I’ll bet it’s more excitin
g than we thought.”
“You should use a little hair conditioner before brushing your hair. It gives it more body. It’s amazing what a belt of conditioner can do. It can sometimes turn you right around so you see things differently.” It was my best shot. After that I had nothing but blanks. Her hand stopped mid-stroke and stayed that way while a smile slowly warmed her face. Then she continued brushing her hair until it gleamed with life.
A car drove up outside. Lorca jumped up and took a fast look out the window, while Patten gripped his knee.
“It’s them;” she said, shaking her hair from her face.
“And about time.” Spence came into the house along with Wilf. They each set down cardboard boxes of groceries on the kitchen counter. When they saw me camped out in front of the fire with my clothes drying they looked at Lorca, who slipped them reassurance and me a conspiratorial smirk.
“Wilf,” Patten said, “you remember Ben Cooperman from over at the lodge. I brought him forth from the waters, you might say. Somebody hacked up his boat.” Wilf bobbed his impressive bald head impatiently. There was something on his mind. He tried to catch Patten’s eye.
“We saw somebody as we were driving through the lodge.”
“Benny,” he paid no attention, “Wilf’ll see that you get home safely. Spence, see to his boat, will you?” Wilf nodded in the same abstracted manner, like I wasn’t the most important celebrity of his day. Spence, too, was trying to find a way into my host’s face. I excused myself and headed again for the bathroom, where I moved a yellow terrycloth robe away from the door to make way for my ear. I couldn’t catch all of it, but I heard a little.
“We both saw her.… It’s her all right.… What could she want now? She was just walking across the road as we came through the lodge from Hatchway.… She didn’t see us.”
“Damn it!” said Patten at intervals, drowning out more interesting news. “She must know I’m here. It can’t be an accident. She knows the lodge from years ago. Damn it! She wants me dead!”
They were looking back in my direction as I rejoined the group. The only extra information came from Lorca who called whoever it was they were talking about “a revengeful bitch.”
“Well, we should pack you off back to the lodge before you catch cold,” said Patten without much warmth. Lorca brought my clothes wrapped in a sopping towel, and my shoes in a plastic shopping bag marked “Onions.” “Keep the things you’ve got on. I’ve got other stuff, fella. I’ll send somebody over with your boat later on.” I tried to show that I was grateful, and that I would return the clothes as soon as I’d turned around. Both Patten and Lorca walked out to the Mercedes with me. I got into the front seat, since that was the door Wilf was holding open. He slammed the door shut, so I opened the window.
“We’ll have to have another game before I go back,” I said.
“Any time, fella. So long!” He waved, and the car backed up, turned around, and carried me off through the trees.
EIGHTEEN
The OPP detachment at Whitney was manned by a redheaded constable with pink eyelids and freckles. He didn’t come close to filling the swivel chair he was sitting in. I wondered if there was such a thing as a summerrelief policeman while he took the information about George McCord and made a few calls. Soon I got to do my song and dance all over again for my old friend Harry Glover. I mentioned the body, the mine, and my bump on the head. Details that were still unattached to recent events I kept to myself. No sense confusing either one of us. The main thing I didn’t tell him was that I’d walk back to the cabin with him. He didn’t press me, but he let me draw him a map.
“I suppose you’ve told everybody about it?” Glover looked his question at me like I was on the carpet.
“I came right here. Nobody knows about it except the Indians and you.” That was a line from the Camp Northern Pine hymn. It didn’t mean anything to Glover.
“Well, let’s try to keep it that way. Better tell the old lady, but apart from that leave the police work to the OPP.”
“Suits me.”
“We can get a plane in there easy from Smoke Lake,” he said, and the freckled kid went back to the telephone. Glover didn’t waste any further time with me after I told him I was returning to the lodge. He didn’t like me any better than he had at our first meeting, but this time he didn’t pick away at me. For some reason I think he trusted me, which was a leg up for one of us. We left the office at the same time. He watched me settle behind the wheel of my car and didn’t move back to business until he’d seen me take the road back to the park.
The beavers had been at work again at the culvert as I came back towards the lodge. But two beavers can’t plug a hole the way a body can. I splashed through without reducing speed. I was driving with the devil-may-care abandon of a drunk or a fool who doesn’t know what time to go to bed. Bed: that was the name of the game from now on. Just then I could have fallen asleep on Dick Berners’s stained and torn mattress without thinking the tumbling stuffing was anything other than friendly.
Joan was waiting for me when I finished parking the car. I hadn’t even brought back a bag of milk. I remembered with horror that if I got hungry I had some fillets of lake trout in the cabin.
“You went through so fast before, I couldn’t catch you. When you didn’t come back, I was beginning to get worried. Are you all right, Benny?” I wasn’t purposely falling asleep in my shoes, but I was close to it.
“Joan, a lot of things have been happening. I don’t know where to start. I’ve just come back from telling Harry Glover that I found George McCord’s body back in there. I’m sorry to tell you, but it looks like he was killed. It was no accident. Glover is flying into the lake to take charge, but I guess we should tell Maggie. Are you feeling strong?”
“George dead? I can’t believe it. First Aeneas, now George. Benny, what’s happening?”
“Honest, I wish I could tell you. I wish I knew.” Joan was pushing her glasses farther up with a finger on the nose-piece.
“I still can’t believe it,” she said, shaking her head.
“I’d better get over there while I can still walk. Can you find Cissy? It’ll be better if there are other women around.”
“They’re all down on the dock. Maggie went swimming. It was quite a sight. What happened?”
We started walking down to the dock. For the first time in hours, since the sun bore into my back at the break of dawn, I was conscious that there was weather going on outside. I’d been feeling wet and cold so long then, I felt like that was the normal condition of man. This one anyway. I could see Cissy standing on the edge of the dock addressing something large and white in the water alongside it. Most of the regulars were there, although I was too sleepy to count noses. There were several greetings, sour grins, and faint-hearted waves from the deck chairs. Maggie was walking out of the lake towards me, blocking out the sun and dripping. I couldn’t do it, not then. I felt like I was facing the bear again. It was a dirty trick to say anything when she didn’t even have a towel to protect herself with. So, I waited until she had dried off and slipped into a purple bathrobe. She looked like two wrestlers standing in the ring talking to the referee. I moved closer. Cissy placed a skinny arm on my shoulder. There was no chat. I guess my face was spilling the beans. I couldn’t help that. I told Maggie to sit down. I didn’t ask her, I told her, and she took it from me. The heat had gone out of the sun again as she looked up at me, her eyes puffy, her chins stretched, her face going white.
“Maggie, it’s George,” I said, “He’s dead. I’m sorry.” Pause. “I found him up at Dick Berners’s cabin.” I thought maybe she’d take it well, so I didn’t pad it or stretch it out. I said dead not passed away or any of the other cushions I couldn’t seem to think of. Maybe I thought if the words hurt her, she’d somehow take the news and the shock better.
“Not George! Not George!” The words seemed to snake out of her in a rising whimper that became a cry. Cissy moved in at the right time. “NOT GEORGE
! Ohhhh!” I couldn’t see her face any more. That was as it should be. What happened now was private, The women shielded her, supported her. She didn’t say anything more, just issued great sobs and unrecognizable halfsyllables. Joan was on one side and Cissy on the other, with Delia Alexander holding close to the huge purple shape, a shape which was now gently rocking back and forth as though she was cradling something. I stood back like an extra holding a spear in some moth-eaten revival of Julius Caesar. There’s an extra in Macbeth who comes in at every performance and says “The Queen, my Lord, is dead.” I always wondered whether after the first few weeks of the run if he wasn’t tempted to alter the line to: “The Queen, my Lord, is better.”
At the first telling of the news, Lloyd had walked off quickly to get his car. By the time the gaggle surrounding Maggie had got her to her feet, the car was waiting in the sodden grass as close to the dock as possible. They moved towards the car, a cooing and a whimpering filling the afternoon air. They tucked her in; Cissy and Joan got in with her. Delia climbed in beside Lloyd, and off they went. I told Desmond that Harry Glover knew all the details I did, and excused myself before I fell on my face again.
I wanted a bath badly, but I doubt whether I could have coped with knobs and plugs let alone the pump and pails and the propane stove. I pulled the curtains together where I could find any and addressed myself to sleep. I didn’t seal the envelope. I didn’t add a return address.
NINETEEN
When I awoke, it was dark, I closed my eyes again. This time I was trying to row my way out of the way of a huge freighter, which kept coming at me from all directions through a fog. When it was clear that there was no escape, whichever side I was sleeping on, I threw my legs out of bed and followed them. I looked at my watch at the side of the bed, where I’d left it behind as I sloughed all my city clothes nearly a week ago. Eleven thirty-three. But the Delco was still pounding away, and the electric lights were burning in the Annex. Maybe Glover was grilling everybody. Maybe somebody from CIB had taken over. Maybe it was like the hotdog roast I missed.
