by Ponzo, Gary
“He’ll be here any second.” Justin scanned the parking lot for Jim’s white Honda and stroked the little boy’s blond hair. “We’ll see the whole hockey game. Don’t worry.”
They were pacing in front of the main entrance to Scotiabank Place, the home of the Ottawa Senators, as hordes of joyful fans swarmed toward the gates. The Senators were going to battle against the Anaheim Ducks that night. In the words of five-year-old Olivier, they were going to roast some duckwings, instead of ducklings. Jim, a university classmate of Justin who had taken a different career path––financial advisor in a big bank––was supposed to join them for the game.
“Is he even going to show up?”
“Of course he will. When Jim says he’s going to do something, you can bet your life he’ll follow through with it.”
“Oookaaay.” Olivier sighed.
He ran to a backlit decorative post featuring one of the Senator players performing a wrist shot. Olivier imitated the player’s body positioning and flicked an imaginary hockey stick. The little boy wore the same red, black, white, and gold jersey as the Senators, a gift from Justin. The first time the Big Brothers Big Sisters local chapter introduced him to Olivier through their Mentoring Program, the gift-wrapped jersey immediately melted the ice, transforming Justin from a complete stranger to Olivier’s best friend. The only thing that mattered to the little boy was wearing the colors of his dream team. When Justin was growing up, his older brother never took him to a hockey game. Justin tried to take Olivier to a game as often as his schedule allowed him.
“There he is.” Justin pointed at Jim, who was jogging toward them.
“Yeaaaah, quick, hurry, hurry,” Olivier cheered him on, and Jim broke into a sprint.
“Uh, eh, sorry . . . sorry, I’m late,” Jim said, shaking Justin’s hand and trying to catch his breath.
“Don’t worry, Jim, this is Olivier. Olivier, this is Jim.”
“Nice to meet you. Can we go in now?”
“Sure,” Jim said.
They found their seats just as the teams were about to begin the game.
“I told you we wouldn’t miss a second,” Justin said. The little boy was to his left, Jim to his right.
“Uh-huh,” Olivier replied with a mouthful of popcorn. “Why are we so far from the rink tonight?”
“We’re not that far,” Justin replied. “It’s the center ice section, and we’re only a few rows away from the glass.”
“The kid’s a real handful, eh?” Jim whispered as Olivier stuffed his mouth with another scoop of popcorn.
“You’re right about that. He’s afraid he won’t see the puck.”
“Yes, I can’t see the puck,” Olivier mumbled.
The start of the match put an end to Olivier’s yawping, and he lost himself in the game.
* * *
Regardless of Olivier’s cheering and the spectators’ repetitive chants, encouraging the Senators to “charge,” the first period was not very memorable. The occasional fights among the players could not make up for the overall slow pace and the discouraging lack of goals.
“Do you need to use the washroom?” Justin asked Olivier, whose sulking lips and sinking eyes showed his complete disappointment. The intermission had just begun, giving the players and the crowds a much-needed break.
“Oookaaay,” Olivier replied.
“I’ll get you another thing of popcorn,” Justin said, but his words did not lighten up Olivier’s mood. “You’re coming, Jim?”
“Sure, I can’t stand these Zambonis and the silly music from the nineties.”
They struggled with the steady stream of people and made their way into the large halls. The fans had already begun to cluster around the concession stands.
“Do you need some help in there?” Justin asked Olivier when they came to the men’s washrooms.
“No, I can do this all by myself,” Olivier replied.
“I’m gonna grab a pop,” Jim said. “You want anything?”
“Water, get me a bottle of water. Thanks.” Justin waited a few steps away from the washrooms.
“You said there was something you wanted to tell me,” Jim said when he returned. He handed Justin a bottle of water.
“Actually, it’s a favor I need from you,” Justin replied and took a sip from the bottle.
“Man, I knew there’s no such thing as a free hockey ticket.”
“It’s a simple thing, Jim.”
“I can’t afford to run any credit checks, Justin, with or without a CIS order. One day, I’m gonna lose my job for pulling such tricks.”
“It’s nothing like that. I promised to go to Olivier’s game this Saturday, but I can’t make it.”
“Oh, and you want me to babysit him?” Jim’s voice suggested he would rather work through a stack of credit checks for a week.
“Only for the afternoon. His peewee league match takes place at 3:00 p.m. You pick him up, take him to the game, and then go out with him for supper at a burger joint.”
“Hmm, I think I already have plans for the weekend,” Jim said.
“On the phone you said you had nothing going on because Brenda is visiting her parents in Barrie.”
Jim frowned. “I did?”
“Yeah, you did. And when you signed up as an Alternate Mentor, you agreed to help me. You remember that?”
“Yes, I do, but I thought it was just a formality, to help you do your volunteering.”
“It’s only a couple of hours or so. C’mon, it’s for the kid.”
Jim sighed. “OK, I sit through his game and cheer for his team. But what do I talk about when we go for burgers and fries?”
“Talk about your job, your life, your family.”
“My job’s too complicated for five-year olds.”
“Not really. Say it’s like playing Monopoly, just with real money of other people.”
“Exactly, that really covers it all. Very smart observation.”
“You know what I mean. Make it kid-friendly.”
“What did you tell him your work is like?”
“I told him it’s like playing Risk.”
“Ha. So why can’t you do this?”
“I’m going to be out of town on business for a few days.” Justin took another sip from his water bottle. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“And you didn’t know about this trip earlier?”
“No, I didn’t. It came up today in a meeting. Look, I’m not trying to dump this on you and go golfing somewhere.”
“Well, you kind of are dumping this on me, but . . . where are you going, if not golfing?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Europe?”
“C’mon, Jim.”
“Who’s going with you? Can you tell me that much?”
“Carrie’s coming along. And a few other people.”
“Aha.” Jim’s eyes flashed a wicked grin. His nod meant he knew something was going on. “Rekindling the old flame, aren’t we?”
“It’s nothing like that. It’s been over a year since we broke up.”
“Yes, that may be true, but the two of you keep falling into each other’s arms.”
“No, not really.” Justin shook his head. “But we work at the same place, sometimes on the same tasks, and I can’t help it that we end up in the same mission. But work was what got in the way in the first place. So I doubt it will reunite us at the end.”
“You never know.” Jim looked around for a trash can. He was already done with his pop.
“This time I know for sure. I’ll never fall in love again with a co-worker.”
“Then you’ll remain single for life. Work is all you know.”
“Look who’s talking.”
“Hey, it took a while, but I married Brenda. You need to go out more often and with a woman. Leave the national security to the old and grumpy kind of guys who can’t wait to get away from their families.”
“Dating Tips from the Love Guru. Volume One. T
hank you.”
“More like Volume Ten Thousand, but you never listen to any of them. Do you want another drink?” Jim eyed the closest concession stand.
“No, I’m good, thanks,” Justin replied.
Jim disappeared into the crowd.
“So are you going to do me the favor?” Justin asked when Jim returned with another pop in his hand.
“What favor? Oh, that one about the kid? I thought you’d forgotten all about it. By the way, shouldn’t he be finished by now?”
“Give the kid his time. Yes or no?”
“All right, I’ll do it.” He sounded like he was agreeing to a capitulation treaty. “But, man, oh man, you owe me big this time.”
“Oh, I won’t bug you for credit checks over the next month. That will do it.”
“That doesn’t even come close.” Jim began coughing after taking a big gulp of his pop.
“Or I can give you a Heimlich, so you’ll stop choking.”
“I’m fine.” Jim regained his composure. “It’s these kinds of favors that will kill me one of these days.”
Justin consulted his wristwatch. “We’ll have to get back soon to avoid the rush of people during the last minutes.”
As he turned around, Olivier came out of the washrooms.
“Hey, little buddy,” Justin said, “Uncle Jim will get you some popcorn while I use the little boy’s room.” He leaned toward Jim and whispered, “You two bond.” He winked at Olivier.
“What do you do, Uncle Jim?” Olivier asked.
“Hmm, I am a fin . . . do you like Monopoly?”
Chapter Three
Nanisivik, Canada
April 11, 12:50 p.m.
The bright sun bounced off the hard sheet of ice covering the gravel road and blinded him for a second. Kiawak squinted. All he saw were yellow sparks and black dots. His Arctic Wolf sunglasses—coated for extra protection against the sun rays’ sharp reflection from the snow—and the semi-tinted windshield of his Toyota truck were nearly useless. The permafrost, which had been agonizing under the weight of several feet of snow for months, mirrored all of the sun rays.
At minus two degrees––but driven down to minus thirteen because of the wind chill factor––the sun, although bright and blazing its way across the skies for sixteen hours a day, provided absolutely no heat. A man stranded outside without heavy protective clothing could experience the first signs of frostbite within minutes. The exposed skin would begin to freeze, the tissue turning red and burning at the lightest touch. Hypothermia would set in soon thereafter, and death could occur in the next hour.
Inside his truck cabin, however, the heater blasted hot air onto Kiawak’s unshaven face as he drove around the corner toward his destination. Parting Waters was the only bar, restaurant, and grocery store in Nanisivik. Kiawak ran it with Joe, his best friend. Waters, as Joe called their joint venture, stretched over the length of three construction trailers. They were soldered, converted, and insulated to accommodate Kiawak’s small apartment in the back and the business in the front. Waters was the right name for the joint, located on the edge of the old town site, overlooking Strathcona Sound. The waters parted when icebergs in the spring and icebreakers in the summer cruised by the small town.
Nanisivik used to have a lead-zinc mine, which had spewed out enough ore to keep busy about two hundred employees for many years. When the mine closed its doors, the managing company took away not only the jobs and the people, but also everything it could salvage: the machineries, the ship loader, and even some of the townhouses.
Recently, the Canadian government, alarmed by the so-called “black rush”—the race among Canada, Denmark, Norway, Russia, and the United States for ownership of oil and natural gas buried in the Arctic’s permafrost and seabed—announced its Arctic strategy. It was a well-elaborated and multilayered plan to bolster Canada’s sovereignty in its northern territories. The strategy included the construction of the Canadian Forces Arctic Training Center in Resolute—two hundred and twenty miles north of Nanisivik—the expansion of the Canadian Rangers, and the refurbishment of the deepwater port in Nanisivik.
Nanisivik was now crawling with DND employees surveying the proposed building sites, collecting samples, and carrying out environmental studies and technical assessments of the proposed work. New apartments and row houses were expected to start popping up. Kiawak had been flirting with the idea of investing in the promising real estate market and becoming a landlord.
For the time being, all these DND workers needed food, and Kiawak needed power to keep the kitchen running, the flat screen TVs on, and the grocery refrigerators in working conditions. The trip to Arctic Bay had scored him a diesel generator, sufficient to power up all equipment. The current propane workhorse of the Waters had proved to be less than reliable in a sudden snap of hellish weather the previous week that had dipped the mercury under minus thirty-one.
The truck rattled as Kiawak tapped on the brakes and turned right. The front wheels slid on the ice, but the truck responded to his command. Three black GMC pickups were lined up in front of the Waters, and Kiawak recognized them as DND vehicles. An orange Ford Explorer parked farther to the left looked unfamiliar. As usual, a beat up Arctic Cat snowmobile occupied the last available space in the gravel parking lot. Kiawak sighed as he slammed the front bumper of his truck into a snow bank and turned around, backing up by the front entrance.
“Hey, boss, how was the trip?” Joe waved at him from behind the counter when he entered the bar.
“It was good.” Kiawak inhaled the warm air mixed with the appetizing aroma of fried pork chops. Seven people sat around the small tables enjoying their lunch. Most of the patrons nodded at him.
“Where’s Amaruq?” Kiawak asked while Joe poured him a large mug of hot coffee. Before Joe could answer, Kiawak snatched the hot drink out of Joe’s hand. “I saw his Cat outside.”
“Back in the office. Nina gave birth to a boy, Gabriel, last night and e-mailed him a few pictures. I opened them for him on your laptop.”
“How are they doing? His sister and the baby?”
“Fine, I think. I mean, this is her fourth kid, and according to Amaruq, everyone’s doing great.”
“Well, I’m happy for him.” Kiawak drained the mug down his throat. “You and I need to install the generator today, after the lunch rush. Help me move it to the back.”
“All right.” Joe scratched his long gray beard.
He turned down the heat of the stove’s burners and put on his Taiga Gore-Tex jacket, the same as Kiawak’s. He took a pair of heavy-duty gloves from underneath the counter, fastened a black wool toque with long earflaps over his gray hair, and followed Kiawak outside.
“Man, you shouldn’t go out without a hat,” Joe said. “Your ponytail will freeze.”
“Oh, what about your Santa beard, eh?”
“I don’t need any stupid scarves.”
“It’s nice now,” Kiawak said. “The wind has died down, but it was quite strong in the Bay before I left.”
Joe helped him untie the orange straps securing the generator to the truck. “How was Tania?”
“I don’t know.”
“What? You went all the way there and didn’t see her?”
“No, I didn’t.” Kiawak waved his hand as if to express his frustration with the tangled straps. In fact, he was getting annoyed at Joe’s probing into his personal affairs.
“Why not?”
“Joe, drop it.”
“OK, fine. I’m just looking out for you, boss.”
Kiawak snorted. “Thanks. Who’s the pumpkin?” he asked, gesturing toward the orange Ford Explorer.
“A couple of researchers from Ottawa. They’re doing some weather measurements, the humidity and such. Something about global warming.”
“Oh, those things.”
“Yes. You’re ready?”
“I’m ready.”
They lifted the two-hundred-pound generator and slowly placed it on the gravel.
“I paid three Gs for it,” Kiawak said, responding to Joe’s curious stare at the gray metallic box, a little larger than the toolbox stretching the entire width of the pickup. “Brand new.”
“Three point five kilowatt?”
“Yeah. The other one was seven, but way more expensive. This one’s supposed to be economic and quiet and withstand betten than minus forty.”
They struggled and swore, but within a few minutes they moved the generator to the back of the trailers. They set it on the raised wooden platform by the propane generator it was going to replace.
When they got back inside, Amaruq was standing behind the bar counter, fixing himself a cocktail of dark drinks. Kiawak refilled his mug from the coffee machine before sitting on one of the stools next to Amaruq.
“You know you’ll have to pay for that someday.” Joe grinned wryly at Amaruq. His tone sounded like a warning that Joe was going to take payment in kind. Joe was a big man and could easily pounce on the feeble Amaruq, who hardly weighed one hundred and fifty pounds in his five-foot frame.
“Someday, someday, everyone has got to pay,” Amaruq chanted in a weak voice that had a grouchy pitch, while shaking both his head and his drink. “How’s my good friend Kiawak?”
Joe squeezed behind them to get to the stove and check on the pork chops, his beer belly almost knocking over a teakettle.
Kiawak shook Amaruq’s small, calloused hand. “Doing great, really great. How’s the old wolf?”
Amaruq smiled. “Hanging in there.”
“How’s Nina and the baby?”
“In perfect health. And the proud godfather is drinking to Gabriel’s long life.” He took a sip of his brew and smacked his lips in satisfaction.
“That’s his third drink today,” Joe informed Kiawak. “In case you’re wondering.”
“You should thank me for flipping your pork chops. They would have burned if I weren’t here,” Amaruq quipped.
“If you weren’t here mooching off us, we could afford a real cook.” Joe lined up four plates and hurried to take them to the waiting patrons.
“All this howling is making me miserable,” Amaruq complained to Kiawak.