“Sergei. Nice to see you. Where’s Alec?”
Sergei was as tall as William, but thin, built like the cross-country skier he had been as a youth. He was not smiling. William threw his bag in the car.
“He will tell you,” Sergei said, starting the car. “He had things to do at the museum today. We will meet him when we get there.”
Petro lies at 53 degrees north latitude, same as Haida Gwaii. That June, just before the summer solstice, the days were long, the twilight evenings endless. Alec lived 30 miles south of Petro near a hot spring, on a knoll surrounded by birches and spruce. His daughter was away, studying for a nursing degree somewhere. William had thought Sergei lived in Magadan, south by the Chinese border, a big city. He knew Sergei held a doctorate as a genetic scientist. He’d studied in California. They’d met once or twice when William had visited earlier. Alec was proud of him.
William knew something was wrong as soon as Alec walked from his front door to meet him. William had lost weight during the hike, but Alec had lost more. When he’d seen Alec the last time he’d been almost as big as William, covered with a winter pelt, as he would say, robust, ruddy. He now was drawn, pale. His eyes still blazed and he’d lost none of his bushy eyebrows.
“Come,” he said. “Sergei will drive.”
They went to the hot spring, as always. This was a former camp for party officials, close to Alec’s home and museum. The springs themselves were a deep pool and several smaller pools, lined with rough concrete, reached via steep stairs, surrounded by bare lights strung on poles. The water was sulphuric and hot. After two weeks on the ship it was heaven to sink into the brine, lean back, look at the sky above. Across lounged a couple, all over each other. They were both large. Three younger women were in the smaller pools, laughing.
When Sergei walked from the dressing room to the pool, the three women noticed. He was thin, but thin the way an elite athlete is thin. His father, standing beside him, was thin the way a man with a terminal illness is thin, bones jutting, skin pale, loose and hanging. Alec needed help descending the three steps to sit in the pool. William wondered what was wrong, how much time he had.
“You have lost much weight, William. What is your secret?”
“Alec, I went on a two-week hiking trip. The trip was difficult. I lost weight.”
“You look very well. Better than I have ever seen you. I should take such a hiking trip myself, but as you can see, my winter coat has left, deserted me.”
“What is it, Alec?”
Alec sighed. “This battle is one I will not win, William. Seven bears, three years in Afghanistan, two times, shot. All those, I survived. This lymphoma, I will not. I laugh because otherwise I cry.”
Sergei was staring into the water, jaw tight.
“You cannot come to the conference, can you?”
“I will be with my ancestors, William. Sergei will deliver my paper, and his.” Alec seemed small next to his son. “We were to have a battle, he and I, at that conference. My paper argues that humans lived in Berengia many years ago, and may have travelled to North America long, long ago. His paper argues that genetic data shows that humans came to North America at most 15 thousand years ago.” Wincing, Alec shifted his body. “I was to be the token other point of view, there. The one paper arguing for an older arrival. Me, a hobbyist.”
“You are not a token, father. But you are wrong.”
Alec’s booming laugh had left him. Now he sounded reedy. “At least we still argue. We agree, Sergei and I, that modern man arose 70 to 100 thousand years ago. Something happened then, because while brain size did not change, behavior did. Burials, art, painting appeared. We also agree that the Toba eruption, 75 thousand years ago, created a decades-long dark period, due to the ash in the air. Humans dwindled to a few hundred, maybe a few dozen. From this small group, all modern humanity arose.” Sergei was nodding. Then he smiled, rueful, and started shaking his head as Alec continued. “I speculate that moderns may have arisen in Berengia, scattered over the earth from there. Arisen when Neanderthal joined with Erectus, or Denisovian, and the mixture made us modern.”
“Too cold, that far north, father. Ridiculous. Absurd. And convenient, to argue this occurred on a land mass now beneath the sea. Too convenient.”
William felt the hot water soothe his legs. Sergei was still shaking his head. William realized this was an argument Sergei and his father had had many times. He saw how much Sergei would miss this battle when Alec died.
“I was looking forward to sailing with you on the ship, Alec.”
“I, too, William.” Alec gently tapped his son on the shoulder. “I am trying to convince Sergei to take my place on that ship. He needs to go to California for a few days before the conference and I am hoping he will travel with you on the ship first. Perhaps you will show him this park you speak so highly of. Like you, Sergei is a fisherman, but he fishes for the delight, not for the money.”
“We have some great trout fishing, Sergei.”
“I should remain here, with you, father.”
“No. William, my revenge on my son is he must deliver my paper. He will have to argue against himself.”
Sergei frowned. The women across the way stared at him.
“A romantic,” Sergei said. “My father here has romantic notions about ancient history. I use data.”
Alec snorted. “Pah. Every year there is a new theory after every new find. And you speak of romantic notions, Sergei. You are 37, yet never a wife. You had a future wife in Vera but she broke your heart 10 years ago. Now you have girlfriends. Many girlfriends. I was hoping for grandchildren. Don’t you have a daughter, William?”
William pictured Myra with Sergei. Myra had nothing but contempt for scoundrels and players. But a scoundrel and player with a doctorate in genetic biology? William started to laugh. “Myra has a mind of her own, Alec.” Then he settled back deeper into the wonderful brine. He knew Alec would miss his son, but he knew Sergei would miss his father more.
“Well,” William said, “I have a story for both of you. One I think you will both find interesting.”
Alec coughed, racking. Sergei fetched him some water.
They sat in that hot pool for hours while the afternoon sun crossed the sky. The couple across from them left, the three women left. Alec and Sergei listened as William told his tale of the journey, Sarah’s sighting, her disappearance, and her return. At one point he rose from the pool, retrieved his pack, and showed them the copies of Sarah’s sketches. Then he told them Sarah’s tale, just as she had told it to Tom, Myra and him.
Back at Alec’s house, Alec asked if William would leave the atlatl sketches with him, and he did. It was time to return to the ship. William reached in his pocket and removed the case holding the sliver.
“Tom took this years ago, to have the atlatl dated, but he never got around to it. As I told you, the atlatl’s missing, lost somewhere up where Sarah disappeared. Can you date this sliver?”
Alec removed the sliver from the case. “This is bone. Yes, I think I can date this. I must invent a small story for the university here. A month, perhaps.”
“The less said the better, Alec.”
“Nobody listens to me these days, William. I have been humored these past few years, invited to conferences as a gesture only, welcomed as a hobbyist. My theories of the past are not mainstream.”
“He is lying, as always,” Sergei said. “His theories are junk, but many experts pay attention to him. Even I pay attention, despite my training. The atlatl and sliver interest me, very much. I will help with this.”
“William you must return to that valley. You must retrieve that atlatl. You must.” Alec was weak but intent. “If she took it and can find it again, then you will be able to answer many questions. Many.”
William said goodbye to Alec. They shook hands. Alec had been a good friend and William
was not someone who had many friends. He held the picture of Alec standing stooped before his door, holding the copies of the atlatl drawings, watching them leave. William knew he would never see Alec again.
They drove back to Petropavlosk. The waning moon hovered over the gravel road. When they reached the port gate, William had to wake the sole customs agent on duty. The summer solstice, even near midnight, kept the sky light.
“After hearing your story, William, I will come on this ship in August to visit you, see this park. This is my father’s wish. Now this is my wish, too. Your story was most interesting. Most interesting.”
William took the ship back to St. Paul, then Dutch Harbor, then Seattle. In Dutch, he went ashore, went online, and learned from Sergei that Alec had died three days after he visited.
The rest of his trip across the Gulf of Alaska was easy. They docked in Seattle, but because they had to do some emergency repairs on one of the hatches, he was unable to get off the ship. He did manage to telephone Tom.
“What did you learn, ‘Eye? How old is that splinter?”
“I won’t know for another trip, Tom. I just left it with Alec and Sergei. Alec was very ill when I got there and he passed away just after I left. I’m pretty sure Sergei is following up on the sliver. How’s Sarah?”
“Ruth and Fletcher got Sarah back, ‘Eye. They went to child services and then contacted Sarah’s stepfather in Europe. I fought them, but the stepfather supported Ruth and Fletcher after he learned where we’d taken her. They put her in school to finish the year. Some Sol Duc members at that school told Myra Sarah seemed like a zombie. She never talked, sat in class quiet, and went home alone on the bus.”
“You haven’t seen her at all?”
“Talked to her on the phone twice, that’s all. That bastard Lynch won’t let me over there. But she’s not the same, ‘Eye. Ruth doesn’t know what to do; she’s even called me. Says Sarah stays at home. Disappears out in the back yard. Plays with sticks. They took her to Seattle, had her checked out. The doctors said Sarah’s had a great shock. The dehydration, exhaustion, the lost finger, the head injury, may take months to recover. Most disturbing to me, she does whatever Ruth and Fletcher ask. Ruth thinks it’s because she and Fletcher provide a better home environment. I’m damn worried.”
“Did Sarah say anything to you about the atlatl, Tom? The spear thrower?”
“The atlatl? No, nothing.”
“She told me she took the thrower, not the surveyors. Says she knows where it is. I think she wants to go back and find it.”
“I was too rough on her about seeing that bear, wasn’t I, ‘Eye?”
“You were honest, Tom. Being honest with a child is a gift. I think she accepts you as her grandfather and the reason she’s so angry at you is because what you think matters to her.”
“I’d sure like to hear the rest of her tale, ‘Eye. I don’t think she knows that, though. She knew I wanted her to stay with me after we came out. I fought to keep her from Lynch’s, but Ruth is her blood, too.”
“I know.”
“So she took my atlatl.”
“I think she thought Myra was going to talk you into bringing it out, for use as an artifact, and Sarah wanted to help you honor your wish that the thrower remain in there.”
“Now even I’d like to find that thing to stop Buckhorn and Lynch, ‘Eye.”
“Ruth and Fletcher have any idea about all this?”
“Not a clue, unless Sarah said something. Hell, it’s bad enough, her over there, if they found out what she’s been saying they’d put her away somewhere.”
“Well, Tom, stand by. I’ll be back in a month.”
In Petropavlosk, two weeks later, Sergei came aboard after passing through the tiny customs shack at the port. His visa was in proper order. He had two enormous bags, so large that in the end they used the stores crane to bring them to the deck. William brought him up to his cabin. Sergei met Captain Steve, who, desiring a chess opponent, was on his best behavior.
When they left the harbor the captain set the course and remained on the bridge. William made fresh coffee. He seated himself in the secured chair near the wheel and Sergei braced on his stool, leaning an elbow on the railing that extended beneath the windows facing forward. He kept looking around, nodding.
“Alec went fast,” William said. “Was it difficult?”
“He was in pain, of course. But he died at peace, still defending his ridiculous theories. I am donating his museum contents to the state museum in Petropavlosk. My sister came back from school and we arranged the funeral.” Sergei reached in his pocket, pulled out the plastic case. “Your friend will have little remaining to take into the park, William. The dating process consumes material.”
William opened the case. Little remained of the sliver. “What did you learn?”
“I have good news and bad news.” Sergei pointed at the case. “This is mammoth. Unmistakable. I knew as soon as I first saw it, but tested it nevertheless. This would be the first atlatl ever found made of mammoth. This makes it an amazing find, if you could recover it. This is the good news. Unfortunately the dating process failed. This is the bad news.”
“It didn’t work?”
“Many times this happens, if the material was in acidic water, if the way it is fossilized brings in other chemicals with different signatures, if it is older than carbon dating can register. We need to find that piece, William. There are other dating methods, but we need more material. I took a small piece of the splinter, had its DNA checked also, but the results were confusing. Very confusing.” Sergei paused, pursed his lips. William expected him to add something else, but he did not. Then he went on, “William, think of it. You may have seen and handled an artifact created and used by the first people who came to your land. Such a find would be dramatic. We must convince Sarah to return to the park. ”
“Even if found, Sergei, even if Sarah goes back up there and finds wherever she dropped it, there is no proof it was originally found or placed where Tom first saw it. For all Tom knows, it could have been given to his grandfather, or his great-great grandfather, by someone else after discovering it in, say, South America. Or New York.”
“But if we can recover it, then it can be properly dated, analyzed. Imagine. A spear thrower carried by the first people who ever visited the western hemisphere. Now that would be the paper to deliver at that conference. Sensational. I would go to the podium, everyone expecting a dull discussion about genetic clades and DNA, and instead I would raise the spear thrower, really tell a story. With your permission, of course.” Sergei’s eyes burned, looking forward, imagining.
The ship began to work easily in a gentle southeast swell. The roll was slow, steady, back and forth. Sergei braced on his stool. The bow rose, then fell. The ship drove ahead. Twilight was descending. The water ahead darkened as it met the sky, seamless, merging at the eastern horizon, beyond which lay, far to the east, past the Aleutians, past southeast Alaska, past British Columbia, the silent peaks of the Olympics awaiting the next dawn. On the bridge, fans hissed, the deck vibrated, and steel creaked. Steve connected his iPod to a small speaker mounted by the chart table, began playing blues. Lights glowed on the electronic console, the radar screen. Here in the dark throbbing wheelhouse they were secure, comfortable, and well underway.
“So we are sailing over the land bridge, the route taken by the first people, then?” Sergei waved an arm toward the water outside, the Bering Sea.
“We’re not far away, Sergei.”
“I am pleased to think I am following the ancient route. This is one reason I wanted to ride this ship.”
“You’d think there’d be legends, memories, of such a journey.” Steve had been working on the chart table.
“That time was at least 12 thousand years ago, sir.” Sergei got off the stool and stood, bracing as the ship slowly rolled. “At 30 years a g
eneration, 400 generations have lived and died. Memory is short. The eyewitnesses to history die. Those who hear the eyewitnesses die. Stories become second, third, fourth hand. Who among us knows what our great grandparents did? Do you?” Steve shook his head. “I am not surprised there is no memory of those times of ice, of the big mammals. All we have, today, are random discoveries, debris, ancient garbage, fossilized shit, occasional bones and tools, and now genetic sequences. Theories. Many theories. To think my ancestors may have been the first to reach your land. To think you might be my cousin, William.”
“We have always been there, Sergei. This means you may be my cousin.” This was an argument William had had had with Alec many times.
“I am glad I chose to make this trip, William.” Sergei stretched. “I feel I am walking an ancient path.”
They stopped in St. Paul on the way to Dutch Harbor and there they discharged some empty containers. The weather was clear when they arrived and they could see the high headland rising above tiny St. Paul harbor from well offshore. William and Sergei went ashore and hiked as high as they could. From that high the view was far. They could see hundreds of square miles of ocean.
They arrived in Seattle at the end of the third week in August. The skies were clear, the sun hot. Riding the ferry across to the peninsula, they had to wait an hour because the Friday weekend traffic had backed up even before noontime. On the ferry, tourists took pictures from the rail and children ran screaming across the upper decks. Just off the ferry landing, they saw dozens of skiffs, fishermen with rod and reel seeking salmon. Mt. Rainier loomed to the south, huge and white. To the north, Mt. Baker gleamed even whiter than Rainier. The Olympics stood like a wall to the west, sharp against the sky, peaks still with patches of snow.
As they drove through Port Angeles, William saw signs in lawns. No Mining. We Want Jobs. Use Our Pier. No Buckhorn. Yes, We Need Buckhorn.
The battle was on, it seemed.
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