He felt a fleeting temptation to take a look around, but he still wasn't sure what he was doing there. The house was pulling him into a time warp, taking him back further than he cared to go.
His eyes were caught by a large mask, staring right at him. He took a step closer. Many Indian masks portrayed facial features symbolically, overemphasising and enlarging them – huge eyes, exaggeratedly arched eyebrows, a beak-like hooked nose. But this was a faithful copy of a human face. It showed the calm countenance of a young man with a straight nose, full lips and a smooth, high forehead. The hair looked matted, but seemed real. With the exception of the pupils, which were missing to allow the wearer to see, the eyes were surprisingly lifelike. Their gaze was calm and earnest, as though the man were in a trance.
Anawak stood motionless in front of it. He'd seen plenty of masks before. The Indians made them from cedarwood, bark and leather, and they were popular with tourists. But this mask was different.
'It's from the Pacheedaht.'
He swivelled round. Greywolf was just behind him. 'For a phony Indian you're pretty good at sneaking up on people,' said Anawak.
'Thanks.' Greywolf grinned. He didn't seem put out to find an uninvited guest. 'Shame I can't return the compliment. For a bona fide Indian you're a wash-out.'
'How long have you been standing there?'
'I just walked in. I don't play games, you should know that.' Greywolf eyed him. 'Now, if you don't mind me asking, why are you here?'
Good question, thought Anawak. Without thinking, he turned back to the mask, as if it might answer for him. 'From the Pacheedaht, you say?'
'You don't have a clue, do you?' Greywolf sighed. 'The Pacheedaht-'
'I know who they are,' said Anawak, impatiently. A small Xootka band, resident in the south of the island, just north of Victoria. 'It's the mask that interests me. It looks old, not like the junk on sale round here.'
'It's a replica.' Greywolf stood beside him. He was wearing jeans and a faded shirt. The coloured checks were barely visible. His fingertips stroked the contours of the cedar face. 'An ancestral mask. The original's in the Queestos' huupaKwan'um. Do you need me to tell you what a huupaKwan'um is?'
'No.' Although Anawak knew the word, he couldn't he sure of its meaning. Something to do with a ceremony. 'Was it a present-'
'I made it,' said Greywolf. He went over to the chairs. 'Would you like a drink?'
Anawak stared at the mask. 'You made it yourself-'
'I've been doing a lot of carving recently. The Queestos don't mind me copying their masks. So, do you want a drink or not?'
'No.'
'Why are you here?'
'I wanted to thank you.'
Greywolf perched on the arm of the sofa, like an animal ready to pounce. 'What for?'
'For saving my life.'
'Oh, that. I thought you hadn't noticed.' Greywolf shrugged. 'You're welcome. Anything else I can do for you?'
Anawak stood there helplessly. He'd spent weeks avoiding this moment, and now it was over. He'd done what he was supposed to. 'What've you got to drink, then?' he asked.
'Cold beer and Coke.'
'Coke, please.'
Greywolf pointed to the little fridge next to the hotplates. 'Help yourself. I'll have a beer.'
Anawak opened the fridge and pulled out two cans. He sat down stiffly on one of the painted raffia chairs.
'So, Leon-'
'I…' Anawak twisted the can in his hand. He put it on the table. 'Look, Jack, I should have come ages ago. You pulled me out of the water, and… well, you know what I think about your protests and all your Indian nonsense. I won't say I wasn't mad at you. But that's not the point. The fact is, if it weren't for you, some of us wouldn't be alive, and that's far more important than the other stuff, so I – I came to tell you that. They're calling you the hero of Tofino, and I guess they're right.'
'Do you mean that?'
'Yes.'
There was another long silence.
'What you call "Indian nonsense" is something I believe in, Leon. Do you want to hear why?'
Under normal circumstances the conversation would have ended there. Anawak would have walked out and Greywolf would have hurled insults at his back. No, that wasn't true: Anawak would have begun the barrage before he left the room. 'All right.'
Greywolf gave him a hard look. 'I've got my own people that I belong to. I chose them.'
'Did they choose you too?'
'I don't know.'
'Jack, if you don't mind me saying, the way you look is like a fancy-dress version of your people. Like an Indian from a corny old western. What do your people think of that? Are you helping their cause?'
'I don't have to help anyone's cause.'
'Oh, yes, you do. If you want to belong somewhere, you have to take responsibility. That's the way it is.'
'They accept me. That's all I ask.'
'They're laughing at you, Jack!' Anawak leaned forwards. 'Don't you see that? You've got a pack of losers clustered around you. Sure, some of them are Indians, but not the sort that their own people want hanging around. You're twenty-five per cent Indian, and the rest is white, mostly Irish. Why didn't you choose to be Irish? At least the name would fit.'
'I didn't want to,' said Greywolf calmly.
'And why call yourself "Greywolf"? – Indians don't use names like that any more.'
'Well, I do.'
Go easy, Anawak thought. You're here to say thanks and you've said it. The rest is redundant. You should go.
But he didn't.
'OK, explain one thing to me. If you're so set on being accepted by your people, why don't you try to be authentic?'
'Like you, do you mean?'
Anawak recoiled. 'Let's leave me out of this.'
'Why should we?' Greywolf shouted. 'It's your damn problem. Why should I get the lecture?'
'Because I'm the one giving it.' Suddenly he was angry again. But this time he wasn't going to ignore it and let it gnaw away inside him.
It was too late for that now. He'd have to look himself in the eve, and he knew what that would mean. Every victory over Greywolf would be a defeat for himself.
Greywolf was watching him through half-closed eyes. 'You didn't come here to say thank you.'
'I did.'
'Do you really think so? Oh, God, you do. But it's not why you're here.' His lips curled in a sneer. 'Go on, then. What is it you're dying to tell me?'
'It's like this, Jack. You can call yourself Greywolf till you're blue in the face, but it won't change who you are. There were rules for the giving of names, and in your case not one of them applies. You've got a beautiful mask hanging on the wall, but it's a fake, like your name. And your protest group, that's fake too.' Suddenly it was all pouring out, everything he hadn't meant to say. Not today. He hadn't come here to insult Greywolf, but now he couldn't stop himself. 'Those people you hang out with are layabouts, wasters. They're only in it for the ride. Don't you get it? You're not achieving anything. Your notion of whale conservation is childish. Choosing your own people – that's crap. Your chosen people will never understand your loony ideas.'
'If you say so.'
'Get real, Jack. You know they want to hunt whales, and you want to stop them. That's very honourable, but you haven't been listening. You're turning against the people whom apparently you-'
'There are plenty of people among the Makah who think the same as me.'
'Sure, but-'
'Tribal elders, Leon. Not all Indians think ethnic groups should express their culture through ritualistic killings. In their view, the Makah are as much a part of twenty-first-century society as the rest of Washington State.'
'I've heard that argument before,' said Anawak, scornfully.' And it didn't come from you or any of your tribal elders. I read it in a press release from the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society. You can't even come up with your own arguments, Jack. It's unbelievable. Even your reasoning is fake.'
'No, it isn't. I-'
'And, anyway,' Anawak interrupted, 'singling out Davie's is pathetic.'
'Aha. So that's why you're here.'
'Come off it, Jack, you used to be one of us. Didn't you learn anything? It was only because of whale-watching that people realised live whales and dolphins are more precious than dead ones. Whale-watching focuses the world on a problem that wouldn't get that kind of attention by any other means. It's a form of conservation. Ten million people a year go whale-watching to experience the wonder of whales. That's ten million people who'd otherwise only see whales on TV or maybe not at all. Our research means we can protect whales in their natural habitat. If it weren't for whale-watching, it wouldn't be possible.'
'Yeah, right.'
'So why pick on us? Because we kicked you out?'
'You didn't kick me out. I left.'
'We kicked you out.' Anawak was yelling now. 'You were fired. You messed up and Davie got rid of you. Your pathetic ego couldn't handle that, just like O'Bannon couldn't cope without his hair and his outfit and his crappy name. Your whole ideology is a mistake, Jack. It's all a sham. You know what? You're a fake. You're nothing. All you do is screw things up. You're no use to the conservationists and no use to the Nootka. You don't belong anywhere. You're not Irish, you're not Indian, and that's your problem and it makes me sick, having to grapple with your problems when there's other stuff that-'
'Leon,' said Greywolf, thin-lipped.
'It makes me sick, seeing you like that.'
Greywolf stood up. 'Shut up, Leon. That's enough.'
'No, it's not. For Christ's sake, Jack, there's so much you could do. You're tall and strong, and you're not stupid, so what the-'
'Shut up, Leon.' Greywolf walked slowly around the table, fists raised. Anawak wondered whether the first punch would knock him out. Greywolf had once broken a guy's jaw. Anawak could sense he was going to pay for his big mouth with some teeth.
But Greywolf didn't lash out. Instead he rested both hands on the arms of Anawak's chair and bent towards him.
'Do you want to know why I chose this life?
Anawak stared at him. 'Go right ahead.'
'But you're not interested, are you, you self-righteous prick?'
'Oh, I am. It's just there's nothing to tell.'
'You…' Greywolf gnashed his teeth. 'OK, you asshole, of course I'm Irish too, but I've never been to Ireland. My mother's half-Suquamish. The whites never accepted her, and neither did the Indians, so she married an immigrant and no one accepted him either.'
'That's very touching, Jack, but you mentioned it before. Tell me something new.'
I'm gonna give you the truth and you'll darned well listen. You're right. Running around like an Indian won't make me into one. But guess what? I could drink litres of Guinness and I'd never be Irish either. I'll never be a regular American, even though there's American blood in me too. I'm not authentic, Leon, because I don't belong anywhere. I can't do a damn thing to change it.
His eyes flashed. 'All you had to do was move and that changed everything. You turned your life around. I never had the chance.'
'Don't give me that.'
'Oh, sure, I could have behaved myself and got a proper job. This is a free society, after all. No one asks where you come from – so long as you're successful. Some people are lucky – they're a patchwork of ethnicities, the best bits of everything collected into one. They're at home wherever they want to be. My parents were simple people, ill at ease. They didn't know how to teach their son to be confident or fit in. They felt uprooted and misunderstood, and I got the worst of all worlds. It's one big foul-up. And the one thing that ever went right for me fouled up too.'
'Oh, yeah. The navy. Your dolphins.'
Greywolf nodded grimly. 'The navy was fine. I was the best handler they ever had, so they forgot about their stupid questions. Back home it all kicked off again. My parents drove each other wild – she with her Indian customs, and he with his talk of County Mayo. Like they were trying to prove their identity or something. It wasn't as though they even wanted to be proud of where they'd come from. They just wanted to come from somewhere - to be able to say, "This is where I belong."
'That was their problem, Jack. No need to make it your own.'
'Oh, really?'
'Come off it. There you are, built like a tank, trying to tell me that you've been left so traumatised by your parents' problems that your life is a mess?' Anawak snorted. 'What difference does it make if you're Indian, half-Indian or God knows what? No one's responsible for where you feel at home on the inside. That's all down to you.'
Greywolf seemed taken aback. Then satisfaction crept into his eyes and Anawak knew he had lost.
'Who are we talking about here?' asked Greywolf, with a malicious smile.
Anawak didn't say anything.
Greywolf stood up slowly. The smile disappeared. Suddenly he looked wiped-out. He walked over to the mask and lingered in front of it. 'Maybe I am an idiot,' he said softly.
'It's not a big deal.' Anawak wiped his hand over his eyes. 'We both are.'
'Well, you're the biggest idiot of them all. This mask is from the huupaKwan'um of Chief Jones. I bet you don't know what that is. A huupaKwan'um is a box, a place where they keep masks, headpieces, ceremonial items. But that's not all. It's also where they keep their hereditary rights, the rights of the ha'wiih and the chaachaabat, the chiefs. The huupaKwan'um is the record of their territory, their historical identity, their heritage. It tells you where they come from and who they are.' He turned. 'Someone like me could never have a huupaKwan'um; but you could. You could be proud of it. But you don't want anything to do with who you are or where you're from. You tell me to be responsible for the people I've chosen to belong to. Well, you've abandoned yours. You accuse me of not being authentic. I can never be a genuine Indian, but at least I'm fighting to find something that's real. You are real, but you don't want to be who you are, and you're not what you'd like to be. To you I look like something out of a Western, but at least I'm prepared to show my commitment to the way of life I've chosen. You run a mile when anyone asks if you're from the Makah.'
'How do you know… ?' Delaware.
'Don't blame her,' said Greywolf. 'She didn't dare ask you again.'
'What did you tell her?'
'Nothing, you coward. You think you can lecture me on responsibility? Leon, my life might be pathetic, but you? You're dead already.'
Anawak replayed the words in his mind. 'Yes,' he said slowly. 'You're right.' He got up. 'But thanks for saving my life.'
'Hey, hang on a minute.' Greywolf blinked. 'What – what are you doing?'
'I'm leaving.'
'What? Come on, Leon, I… I didn't mean to hurt you, I. . . For God's sake, Leon, sit down.'
'Why?
'Because – because you haven't finished your Coke.'
Anawak sat down, picked up the can and drank. Greywolf sank down on the sofa.
'So what about that boy, then?' asked Anawak. 'Seems you've found a fan.'
'The lad from the boat? He was scared. I looked after him.'
'Just like that?'
'Sure.'
Anawak smiled. 'I thought it had more to do with wanting your picture in the paper.'
For a moment Greywolf looked annoyed. Then he grinned. 'Of course I wanted my picture in the paper. I love being in the paper. But that doesn't mean the other thing's not true.'
'The hero of Tofino.'
'Laugh all you like. Being the hero of Tofino was great. Total strangers came up and slapped me on the back. Not everyone can make their reputation with groundbreaking articles on whales. You have to take what you can get.'
Anawak drained the can. 'And how's your pressure group?'
'The Seaguards?'
'Yes.'
'History. Half were killed by the whales, the other half scattered with the wind.' Greywolf frowned. 'You know what the problem is, Leon? People are losing their significance. Everyone's replaceable. There are
no ideals any more, and without ideals, there's nothing to make us more important than we are. Everyone's trying desperately to prove that the world's a little better with them than it would have been without them. I did something for that little boy. Maybe it was worthwhile. Maybe it makes me a bit more significant.'
Vancouver Docks
A few hours later, Anawak was on the jetty in the fading light. Not a soul in sight. Like all international ports, Vancouver harbour was gigantic.
Behind him lay the container port, with its angular mountains of crates. Black silhouettes of cranes stood out against the silvery-blue evening-sky. The outlines of car freighters loomed like enormous shoeboxes between container ships, cargo boats and elegant white reefer-vessels. To his right he could see a long line of warehouses. A bit further on hoses, metal plates and hydraulic parts lay in heaps. That was where the dry docks started, and beyond, the floating docks. The smell of paint drifted to him on the breeze.
He would have been lost without the car. He'd already had to stop a few times for directions but, reluctant to spell out what he was looking for, he'd asked the wrong question. He'd assumed he wanted the floating docks, so that was where they'd sent him. But when he articulated his question more precisely, he was directed to the dry docks. After two wrong turns he had finally arrived. He parked the car in the shadow of a long, narrow building, heaved his sports bag over his shoulder and walked along the metal fence until he came to a rolling gate that was slightly ajar. He slipped inside.
In front of him was a paved area, with a line of barracks on both sides. Beyond that, the superstructure of an enormous ship rose from the ground. The Barrier Queen was lying in a basin a good 250 metres long. There were cranes on either side of her, mounted on tracks. Powerful floodlights lit the area. There was no one in sight.
As he crossed the tarmac, keeping an eye open for any movement, he questioned the wisdom of what he was doing. The ship must have been out of the water for weeks. They'd have removed the outcrop and anything hidden within it. Any scraps in the scratches and cracks would have dried out by now. There'd be no sign of the thing that had lurked among the mussels. All in all, Anawak wasn't sure what he stood to gain from inspecting the vessel again. It was a stab in the dark. If there was anything that might be useful to Nanaimo, he'd take it with him. If not, the adventure would only have cost him an evening.
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