Worlds Between

by Nordgren, Carl;

  “If some of the time the water is high, and some of the time the water is low, that will make it much harder for the big beaver to learn how to make their home here. It will make it much harder for me to learn what is happening here now.”

  The sun set and rose again, and it was near dusk in the world of dams and fishing camps when This Man greeted the visitors he had been waiting for from the next world.

  Hunter came first, from out of the West. He carried the bow and arrow he used to shoot three arrows into the side of the big bull moose that kept his village alive one terribly cold winter.

  Young Sister came from the South. In one hand she held a doll of woven willow, and clutched in her other hand were the child-sized eating utensils she was learning to make.

  Grandmother came from the North. She carried her weaving frame strapped to her back and her best birch basket under her arm.

  Trapper came from the East. Slung over his shoulder was his first Hudson Bay trap, and a killing club hung from his waist.

  The items each of the travelers carried were laid upon their graves by their families for use in the next world.

  As the travelers gathered around This Man, they sang the same farewell that Joe Loon had sung the day before in his world.

  Maureen avoided the two Jameses when they were in camp; the night before they were to fly home, at two in the morning when the camp was sleeping, she made her way in the dark forest to the Chapel to recover the bundle she had hidden there earlier in the evening. With the bundle tucked inside her jacket she followed the path that led through the forest, past the quiet cabins, to the beach, to the office and storage sheds at the foot of the dock. She walked past the dock to the icehouse sitting on a short rocky ledge. She opened the big walk-in icebox and found two cardboard boxes of fish fillets marked Conaty and two marked Brislanne; she removed one of each. She cut open the tape, removed half the wrapped fillets, and slipped something from the bundle into one box and then the other. She repacked the boxes, taped them up again, and returned them to the freezer.

  The next afternoon at the Minneapolis airport the two Jameses claimed their luggage and boxes of fish and lined up to clear customs.

  “She’s something else.”

  “Best I could tell we got no less service than any other guest.”

  “But nothing for Kevin except she claims to have burned his first package and we saw her in the vicinity of his second package, and when we went to the same spot later that day it was gone. She had to pick it up. She couldn’t let anyone else find it.”

  “But she probably burned it, too.”

  The two Jameses were next in line. Operating on a tip phoned in that morning, the U.S. Customs officers asked if they could inspect their luggage and boxes of fish.

  “Its limits of walleye and northern pike and a couple of smallmouth bass, all packed in camp.”

  “And we got dry ice in Kenora.”

  “Yes, sir. What I am saying is I would like to open these boxes and determine the contents for myself and so I am asking if I can report that you cooperated and gave me your permission.”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  The Jameses hadn’t noticed the presence of other men in uniforms close by, two with pistols holstered at their sides, but now the lawyer did.

  “I should say, we did not pack these boxes in camp, but rather our guides did, I guess it’s them, unless she…”

  Two customs officials opened the boxes and removed the shiny brown butcher paper packages of frozen fillets, stacking them. One stopped and called the other over. A uniformed man with a side arm joined them. When he saw what was inside the box his nod called the other armed man to attention behind the two Jameses who could see it coming.

  “…unless she… that goddamn bitch.”

  The officials picked up the boxes, the senior official led the way, and they all followed, the homebuilder shaking his head, a wry smile barely there, the attorney explaining that he was a lawyer, so they were advised to do whatever was about to happen with full respect for their legal rights.

  They were led to a room with a table and some chairs, then left alone. After a few minutes the area supervisor and the shift leader entered; two men with side arms stood by the door. The shift leader placed two boxes on the table, and they sat down across from the two Jameses.

  “What do you think we found in two of your boxes?”

  “Fish.”

  “What else?”

  “I’m sure if you contacted Brian Burke at The Great Lodge at Innish Cove he would tell you they don’t allow their guests to clean their own fish or pack them. They insisted on doing that for us.”

  “And then the boxes are in your possession for, what, hours certainly, before you arrive here. They had clearly been opened and then taped closed a second time.”

  “What did that bitch put in there?”

  “And who is this person you refer to so unpleasantly?”

  The homebuilder was sure the lawyer had made a mistake, so he took over.

  “The Indian girl who actually boxes the fish up, after the guides fillet the fish she wraps ‘em up and boxes ‘em. Well, she wasn’t bad looking for an Indian fish girl and my friend here had too much to drink one night and I guess you could say he kind of insulted her honor, said something stupid to her, but he’d been drinking all day and when he drinks, he acts like an asshole.”

  The supervisor reached into the boxes and pulled out two pistols, Colt .45s.

  “You must have been quite an asshole. This morning we get a tip. About guns. And we find you with these, which leads to some very interesting questions.”

  The attorney was grateful his partner had saved him and was back on his game.

  “Like, why does anyone need to smuggle guns into the United States?”

  “Okay, we can start there. Why would you smuggle guns into the United States?”

  “My point is we don’t need to. We can buy them. So we’ll answer each and every one of your questions to the best of our ability and with complete transparency, which is just going to frustrate you, because how they got there is just as big a mystery to us as it is to you. And if there’s a fine, we’ll pay it, or you just confiscate the guns…”

  “I assure you, the guns are confiscated.”

  “Please, ask your questions so you can assure yourselves there’s nothing to learn from us, but keep in mind that so many folks have access to these boxes there is no way you can accuse us of anything other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Sure. You know your rights and we’ve no case and the fucking bitch is really an Indian girl who won’t fuck.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “Just let me consult with Officer Brown and we’ll be right back to talk about how we need to proceed here.”

  They left the room and closed the door behind them. Officer Brown said, “He’s right you know. We can fine them for carrying a concealed weapon but there’s nothing else to make of this.”

  “I know. But he’s being such a mick asshole, let’s just let ‘em sit in there for a while. I’m behind on some paper work.”

  Chapter 3

  This Man Brings Fire to the People

  Joe Loon’s clan camped at Innish Cove the first three years of the fishing camps operation. By then the fishing camp had grown so large, that each season thereafter the clan returned to the place on the bank of the River where their village was the day Brian and Maureen first arrived to scout the area, on the shores of a shallow cove just a couple of miles north of Innish Cove. The village was also growing, as steady employment at Big Brian’s camp attracted other families. Many were Loon clan members, many were Sturgeon clan members, and all were welcome. They came and they went, some families staying for a few weeks, others for the full season.

  On this evening everyone living in the village followed the path that led through the grove of trees behind the cluster of tents and wigwams to the fire circle at the base of a granite ridge, at the foot of a wide flat ro
ck wall.

  The men sat close to Joe Loon, the women gathered together across the way, the youngest children with their mothers, the oldest sons with their fathers and uncles, the rest of the children in their own groups, all around the blazing fire.

  Joe Loon told a story to everyone gathered that night while the fire threw dancing shadows on the rock wall. Those shadows soon became the images of the story Joe Loon told for Little Stevie and then for Old George.

  “The story of how This Man brought Fire to his people. One day before our ancestors’ time, This Man asked Nokomis why the people must suffer from the terrible cold all winter. He wanted to find some way for his people to stay warm through the long dark winters.

  “Nokomis told This Man the stories she knew of a place far away where an old man had the gift of warmth. He called this gift Fire. But he was a selfish old man. That is why he lived in a land far away from the Original people. He refused to share Fire with anyone else. He wanted to keep it for himself and his daughters.

  “This Man told Nokomis he would journey to this land to get Fire from the old man to bring back to his people. Nokomis was afraid when she heard this. She did not want This Man to travel alone so far from his village. She told him to stay with her. But he was determined to go. She wished him well as he set off. As This Man left their village, he told Nokomis to be ready with the kindling when he returned.

  “This Man walked for many days. He walked for many moons. He traveled through the forests and across the great plains. He climbed many mountains and swam across many great lakes. When he came close to the lodge of the old man, he hid behind a bush to think of a plan to get inside the old man’s lodge. He saw a rabbit running by and he decided to change himself into a rabbit, so when the old man’s daughters saw him they would feel sorry for him and they would carry him inside to protect him from the cold.

  “This Man’s plan worked, for the youngest daughter saw the rabbit shivering in the snow and she ran out and tucked him under her robe to carry him inside. The old man was very angry when he saw what his daughter had done. He did not allow any strange creatures in his lodge house, not even a tired rabbit. But the old man was weary in the warmth of his Fire and soon he fell asleep. The daughters put the rabbit near Fire to warm himself and left him there as they set out to prepare their father’s meal. As soon as the daughters turned away Fire cracked and popped and the rabbit dashed forward to catch a Fire spark on his back. When the daughters saw this they knew they had been tricked. They called for their father, but by then the rabbit had run out the door and over the snowy meadow into the woods and was gone.

  “As rabbit, This Man ran for many days, the spark of Fire on his back. When he neared his village he called to Nokomis to have the kindling ready. She did. She took the spark of Fire from the rabbit’s back and soon had Fire burning, warming their lodge.

  “Now the rabbit changed back to This Man. He went outside to call all the people to come and take a spark from his Fire. The people were glad to learn they would be able to keep their children and themselves warm through the long cold winters.”

  Joe Loon’s wife, Naomi, stood over the fire. They had allowed it to burn down as the night went on, but now she was shaping it for one last good burn, feeding it sticks and two small logs, enjoying the heat on her skin and the rise of her blood. As she tended the fire, the last of the old men and old women stood and headed down the path through the forest, two lanterns marking their progress through the trees to the village.

  When she turned from her labor she was alone with her husband.

  Until then Joe Loon had been sitting with the elders, discussing village matters, listening to news about the new dam changing life on the River for an upstream clan, and sharing stories about recent guests at Innish Cove. Naomi sat next to her husband now as he relaxed from the strong posture a chief assumed when others were with him at the fire; he met his wife’s body with his as they settled in next to each other.

  As the new logs began to blaze Joe Loon and Naomi scooted forward, closer to the fire. The fire warmed both their faces now and tightened the skin. They edged closer still, each smiling at what was to come. Joe Loon put his arm behind his wife, and she leaned into his chest. He pulled the blanket they were sitting on up over their shoulders while slowly but deliberately her free hand worked through layers of his clothes to find his offering, and his free hand unfolded hers, and the heat of the fire stoked their passions.

  Chapter 4

  Plans Made

  Brian and Maureen were in bed, in the middle of the night. He breathed steadily, making the sounds Maureen knew came from his deepest sleep. She listened, waited longer still, then slipped from between the sheets and pushed her pillows up against Brian as she left him. She pulled on her robe and stepped softly into the hall.

  She stopped at the door of her daughter’s bedroom.

  She was sleeping peacefully. The rocking chair next to her bed was caught in the full moon’s glow through the window. Maureen settled into the chair, watching her daughter sleep, and she slowly rocked in the moonlight, humming an Irish lullaby.

  After a few moments Maureen leaned forward, her face was so near her daughter’s she could smell her breath. She poked her hand between the mattresses, burying her arm to her shoulder before she pulled it back, holding the two envelopes that she taped together before she hid them there. She leaned back in the chair and opened the second package, looking straightaway for another letter from Kevin, and finding it tucked in another edition of The United Irishman.

  In the moonlight she quickly scanned Kevin’s letter for mention of her father’s name, found none, then read it carefully. Kevin skipped any personal message this time and was insistent that right now was the last chance to drive the British out of the North. He was asking her to come lead a flying column, or assist in training, but in any case they needed the support of all their best right now, or the cause was lost; the Six Counties would be part of Great Britain, forever.

  A section of an article was circled on the front page of the newspaper. It wasn’t in Kevin’s familiar heavy pencil, but rather in black ink, and Maureen wasn’t sure if it was Kevin’s hand or not.

  The circled lines read, “This is the age old struggle of the Irish people versus British occupation. This is the cause for which generations of our people have sacrificed their lives, have suffered and died…” Someone had written “D O’Toole’s murderer located” in very small letters in the margin next to that line; instantly the tears began to form, and again she said a quick prayer for a peaceful rest and final justice for her da, then she continued reading. “…In this grave hour, all Irish men and women, at home and abroad, must set aside all differences, political or religious, and rally behind the banner of national liberation…”

  But she found they were just words, empty words that meant nothing to her, for she couldn’t stop thinking about what she would do if she had a gun in her hand with the Black and Tan who shot her da standing in front of her. She turned her back on her daughter and held an imaginary pistol in her hands, aimed at the murderer’s forehead, and without hesitation she fired, miming with satisfaction the recoil of the shot. She turned back in her chair, and rocked and rocked.

  After a few minutes she picked up the paper from her lap and skimmed it, looking for names she knew and finding but a few. She reread Kevin’s letter, then returned the contents to the envelope, the envelopes to the hiding place. She kissed her daughter’s forehead before she backed out of the room, watching Grace sleep as she went. She climbed back in bed with Brian.

  “Everythin’ okay?”

  “I was just checkin’ on Gracie.”

  There was but a week left in the fishing season. Albert had said something to Maureen during the previous hunting season that she and Brian interpreted as Joe Loon growing tired of the trophy killing of black bear and moose by the white man, so they decided to take a year off from booking any hunting parties. While they served their guests they were a
lso preparing the camp for the winter. Half the cabins were empty and being cleaned and closed by Mary and her crew. Not an hour earlier Dutch had flown in with the last party of the season, four manufacturer reps from Chicago.

  The guests had just left to fish the River’s lakes with their guides.

  Brian and Maureen were returning with Dutch to Kenora for the day to tend to various business matters. Simon continued the practice of traveling with them regularly, when it seemed it might be a trip that could teach him about the white man and how he thinks. They boarded the Norseman as Dutch started the engine. To say goodbye to her parents Grace was allowed on the dock, and she stood there with Mary and Little Stevie and waved goodbye to her ma and da as the plane taxied out of the cove. Grace waited for the plane to soar over the lake and disappear behind the far ridge before they turned to walk back down the dock to shore. Half way down the dock, Grace O’Malley began to run, and Little Stevie ran after her.

  When they passed the ridge Dutch told Brian to remove the papers from the satchel behind his chair, and after Brian examined them and asked Dutch a couple of clarifying questions, he joined Maureen and Simon on the bench seats along the cargo hold.

  “The Dutchman put this together for us. Looks very interesting.”

  He handed the papers to his wife.

  “If we buy that Otter the boys at de Havilland are not only droppin’ the price another ten percent, but if we sign before our trip to Chicago they’ll rent us a plane for the trip at their basic operating costs. Dutch says he’ll fly us, which means he comes too, all for almost half of what our commercial flights cost just you and me last year. Plus the Dutchman is there so we can take some breaks.”

  Maureen had seen the numbers. Dutch asked her advice as he was building them. She didn’t indicate her familiarity as she studied them now.

  “An’ you’re urgin’ a go ahead?”

  “Me an’ you flyin’ into Chicago with our own pilot? Sounds grand. We’ve been talkin’ about gettin’ an Otter for a couple of years now an’ this is very competitive pricin’.” Maureen was quiet. “An’ imagine introducin’ our blues club to Dutch.”