After a time of silence, Edwin said, “The whale is graceful and gentle. Tonight, I learned those things.”
Garvey nodded and said, “The whale is also smart and powerful. That is what I learned from my dance.”
After several long minutes, Garvey said, “Cole, what did you learn from your dance?”
Cole had been thinking. “A whale migrates but it doesn’t have a home.” He picked up a small stick and traced in the dirt. “I feel like the whales,” he said softly.
When nobody spoke for several minutes, Garvey stood. “This has been a good day,” he said. “Now it’s time to hit the sack.” He turned and handed Cole a tube of ointment. “Use this on your blisters before going to sleep. And make sure you put a tarp over the firewood or it will be waterlogged by morning.”
“Thanks,” said Cole. He turned to Edwin. “What would a dance of anger be like?”
“That’s the hardest dance of all, because you face your anger and release it.”
“Will we do that dance some night?” Cole asked.
“You’ll do that dance alone after Garvey and I leave. You’ll do that dance only when you’re ready.”
Unlike the night before, Cole had no trouble falling asleep. He slept hard, waking only to shift positions on the rocky ground. With first light, Edwin again woke him by shaking his shoulder. “It’s time to go to the water again,” he whispered.
Cole rolled away from Edwin’s hand. “Can’t we skip just one day?” he groaned.
Edwin shook his shoulder again. “Not until your anger skips a day.”
“Why doesn’t Garvey join us?” Cole argued.
“Maybe he’s not angry.”
“Does that mean you’re angry if you’re going?”
“It means I’m going to get angry if you don’t get your butt up.”
Grumbling, Cole crawled stiffly from his warm sleeping bag. This morning his hip and arm hurt so badly he almost cried out. It felt as if cement had hardened in his joints. Cole looked out into the gathering light and the steady drizzle. The last time he saw this kind of steady drizzle, he had been fighting for his life. Now he was going swimming in a freezing pond. He couldn’t believe this was real.
As Cole stepped from the tent, Edwin handed him a rain jacket. Without speaking, the two left camp and hiked to the stream in the shadowy dawn. From there, they once again entered the water and waded up the edge of the stream until they reached the pond. Edwin crawled under a large spruce tree and stripped off his clothes. “Place your clothes near the trunk to keep them dry,” he said.
“They would stay dryer if I left them on and stayed out of the water,” said Cole as he began undressing. Soon he and Edwin sat together on the rocky ledge. Edwin made no effort to speak.
“How long do we sit here?” Cole asked impatiently.
“Until your mind is clear and you have a choice between anger and happiness.”
“I’m not mad today,” said Cole. “My head’s clear, and I feel like I have a choice right now.”
“Then sit here until you’re numb,” Edwin said, his voice edgy. “Each time it gets easier. Someday you’ll want to get up and come here.”
“That’ll be the day,” Cole grumped, shivering. He felt his skin growing numb and his breath cooling. Finally, Edwin stood, as if some invisible timer had gone off in his head. Without rushing, he returned to shore.
Cole followed gladly. “I can’t wait to get back and start a big bonfire,” he said as they toweled off.
“This morning, you’ll take time to meet your ancestors first,” Edwin said in his matter-of-fact voice.
“Do what?”
Edwin didn’t answer. He finished dressing, then walked toward the rocky slope beside the pond. As he angled along the bottom, he searched the ground. Suddenly he stooped over and picked up a round rock the size of a bowling ball. He ran his fingers fondly across the rough surface as if he had touched the rock before.
“What are you doing?” Cole asked.
“Touching my ancestors.”
“You’re too weird,” Cole said.
Edwin handed the rock to Cole.
“What do I do with this?” asked Cole.
“Just follow me; I’ll explain.” Edwin started up the rocky slope. “Trust me.”
“How far are we going?” Cole asked.
Edwin continued up the long slope.
Grumbling, Cole followed. As they walked, Edwin spoke. “Your life isn’t an accident. Many generations of your ancestors struggled through life, learning lessons, making mistakes, just as you have. Each generation passed on to the next what they learned and all that they became.”
After several hundred feet, Cole’s right arm ached from carrying the heavy stone. He stopped and looked back. They were barely halfway up the slope.
“Pretend that rock is your ancestors,” said Edwin. “Climbing this hill is your life. With each step, you carry your ancestors with you, in your mind, in your heart, and in your soul. If you listen, your ancestors reach out from the rock and teach you the lessons of their struggles. Hear your ancestors. Someday, you’ll pass those lessons on to others.”
Cole acknowledged Edwin’s words with a weary grunt and struggled on without complaining. By the time they reached the top, he breathed heavily. He was about to drop the rock to the ground when Edwin reached out, took the heavy stone, and set it down carefully. “Treat your ancestors gently,” he said.
Cole shrugged. “What are they, wimps?”
Edwin ignored Cole’s comment. “I’ve carried that stone up this hill hundreds of times,” he said.
“This very same rock?”
Edwin nodded.
“You mean you carry it back down again, too?”
Edwin smiled. “There’s a better way. Once the rock is set down, it changes meaning. Now it becomes your anger. Go ahead, roll the rock down the hill. Roll away your anger.”
Cole crouched and gave the rock a shove. He watched as it crashed back down the slope. “That should make the ancestors dizzy,” he laughed.
“Imagine your anger rolling away,” Edwin said patiently.
Cole was still chuckling about his dizzy ancestors. He couldn’t believe he had carried a rock all the way up here just to shove it back down again.
“Each time you do this, you’ll find more meaning,” Edwin said. “And you’ll learn respect.”
“What do you mean, each time I do this? I’m not going to carry that stupid rock up this hill every day.”
“Stay angry if you want—it’s up to you. When I was here at your age, I found it was good to carry the rock every morning after my swim.”
Cole turned to Edwin. “What makes you think you know everything that’s good for me?”
Edwin drew in a long deep breath. “I don’t. Nobody does. We all search for answers, the same as you.”
“Then why do you keep telling me what to do?”
Edwin smiled. “That’s the first intelligent question I’ve heard you ask all morning.” He shrugged. “Maybe Garvey and I want redemption for our own mistakes in life. We were never able to help those we hurt.”
“Well, it’s my life,” Cole said. “Not yours.”
“We should have stayed in the water longer,” said Edwin, heading down the hill toward camp.
CHAPTER 19
AFTER RETURNING TO camp from his swim, Cole smeared lotion on his sore and blistered hands. A movement caught his eye as he pulled on the leather gloves to start work. “Hey, look,” he called, pointing across the bay. “Is that a coyote?”
Edwin and Garvey looked up at a ghostlike figure moving along the far shoreline. “It’s a wolf,” Edwin said. “A big one.”
The solitary gray animal loped along the shore, stopping every dozen strides to look around and sniff among the rocks. When it reached the stream, it lowered its head to drink, then bounded across the shallow rapids and disappeared into the thick underbrush.
“Tonight we dance the wolf dance,” Garvey announc
ed.
Already Cole had begun framing the roof. He worked hard and deliberately without speaking. He wasn’t mad; he just didn’t feel like speaking to anyone today. Edwin and Garvey sat watching, occasionally offering bits of advice. By midafternoon, Cole had finished covering the roof rafters with plywood and began nailing plywood to the wall panels. Every cut had to be made with a handsaw. The rain made the wood slippery and the ground muddy.
In the late afternoon, Cole rolled black tar paper over the roof and tacked it down. Now the cabin was ready for galvanized roofing sheets. As he struggled to lift the awkward sheets onto the roof, wind caught at them. One sheet bent in half. Edwin and Garvey refused to help, even though Cole cast a few hard glances their way. Finally darkness fell across the bay, and Cole quit work.
“Next year, every trace of your existence here will be removed from the island,” Edwin said. “Taking this structure back down will be your last chore before leaving.”
“I’ll just burn it,” Cole grumped, as he headed toward the tent. “I’ve had practice with that.”
“Where are you going?” asked Garvey.
“I’m hitting the sack.”
“Not so fast, Champ. We’re hungry, and you still haven’t danced the wolf dance.”
“I’m dog tired, and I’m not your slave. There’s cold cereal over there if you want some.” Cole crawled into the green canvas tent.
“Have a good sleep,” called Garvey. “Tomorrow, we tear down the shelter and head back to Minneapolis.”
Cole poked his head back out the tent flap. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re finished here,” said Garvey, his voice hard and absolute. “There’s not enough room on this island for both you and your attitude.”
Cole’s thoughts raced. Garvey must be bluffing. But what if he wasn’t? Nothing was worth that gamble. Cole stumbled from the tent. “Okay, okay, I’ll fix you some supper.”
“It’s not about supper,” said Garvey. “It’s about the chip on your shoulder. You still think life is a free ride. You’re still blaming the world for everything and looking for the easiest way to get by. It’s only been two days, and already you’ve got your attitude back.”
“I’m sorry,” Cole stammered. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Don’t apologize to us,” Garvey said. “Apologize to yourself. It’s your life you’re betraying. Not ours.”
Cole crossed from the tent to the fire and fed wood quickly onto the flames. Not a word was spoken as he prepared instant chicken casserole mix for Edwin and Garvey. He made extra effort to serve the food up nicely, but inside he didn’t feel much like celebrating. He felt frustrated and desperate. Edwin and Garvey ate in silence.
“I said I was sorry,” Cole said.
“You also said you had changed,” answered Edwin.
“Please don’t take me back.” Cole’s voice wavered. “I promise I’ll try harder. I’ll do anything you ask.”
Edwin stood and faced Cole across the fire. “It’s time to cut losses and send you home.”
“I didn’t mean what I said. I just—”
Edwin held up his hand. “Stop your mindless talking! Your words insult me! They’re just noise in the air—they don’t mean anything. Tomorrow morning, I want you to get up alone and soak. Then I want you to carry your ancestors and roll your anger away. When you return to camp, we’ll see what you’ve learned.” Edwin turned and headed for the tent. Garvey followed.
“Hey, aren’t we going to dance the wolf dance?” Cole asked as he strung the coolers up in the tree away from the bears.
“We’re going to bed,” said Garvey. “You’re the one who spotted the wolf. Do whatever you want—that’s your usual program.”
Cole watched as the men entered the tent, leaving him alone. The rain had let up, but a lonely breeze flapped the tent awning and chilled the night air. Cole was bone weary as he walked to the water to clean dishes. The tide was letting out, and he tripped, skinning his shin on the rocks.
Limping back to camp, he stood beside the fire, nursing his bruised leg. He felt as alone and frustrated as when he had been left mauled on the rocks. Edwin and Garvey didn’t understand. They didn’t know what it was like to be this alone. This afraid.
As Cole stared into the flames, he thought about the wolf. The wolf was alone, too, without anybody to care for it. Cole shook his head—that wasn’t exactly true. Wolves often hunted in a pack. Together, they accomplished more than they could alone.
As Cole stared into the flames, he found himself crouching like a wolf. Slowly he inched forward around the flames, his head hung low as if prowling. Gradually he circled faster, pretending to run with the pack in pursuit of a wounded moose. He felt the power of the pack working together. The pack was powerful when they depended on each other. Any wolf that left the pack lost the protection of the other wolves and became weaker, no longer sharing the pack’s food.
Almost reluctantly, Cole finished his dance. Trying not to wake the others, he entered the tent and prepared for bed. As he squirmed into his sleeping bag, a voice surprised him.
“What did you learn?” Garvey asked.
“That you need the help of others, like a wolf pack.”
“Good night,” whispered Garvey.
“Good night,” said Cole.
Edwin coughed. “Have a good soak tomorrow.”
Cole woke often during the night, afraid he might oversleep. He kept lifting the tent flap and peering out. When it seemed the night would last forever, the blackness finally softened into a dull gray. Cole could see the point of rocks at the opening of the bay. He dragged himself out of his bag. It was time to go to the pond.
The rain had let up, so he rolled his clothes into a bundle and crawled outside the tent to dress. Even without rain, the air had a brisk edge to it. Cole couldn’t believe he was getting up this early to go sit in a freezing river. Maybe a jail cell wouldn’t be so bad. As he headed out from camp, he wondered if Edwin and Garvey had been serious about returning him to Minneapolis. He kicked a small rock into the water.
Cole reached the stream and splashed along the bank toward the pond. Under his arm he carried a towel. He was so lost in his thoughts, a low hanging branch smacked him hard in the forehead. He bent over, grimacing, momentarily dazed. Then he continued.
When he reached the pond, Cole hesitated. It would be easy not to soak or carry the rock. All he needed to do was make up a good story before returning to camp. But something told Cole that Edwin and Garvey couldn’t be lied to this morning. Immediately he stripped and waded into the icy water. The pool didn’t seem quite so cold as the first morning they had come, but still it took his breath away as he crouched and lowered himself in. He held his breath and breaststroked over to the rocky bench.
Hugging his arms tightly to his chest, he sat shivering and looking around at the water, the trees, and the dawn sky. His whole body was peppered with goose bumps. He wondered how long he could stay in the pool. Edwin had sat calmly, as if sitting in a warm bathtub.
Cole tried closing his eyes. Maybe it would help to concentrate on something else. He drew air slowly past his lips and let it escape the way he had seen Edwin breathe. Over and over, he breathed, trying to clear his mind. Gradually, he quit hugging his chest and let his arms drift out and away from his body until they hung suspended in the water.
Cole found that if he sat completely still, his numb skin actually felt warm. He breathed deliberately, imagining himself as calm as the pond. Slowly his eyes opened, and he looked at the sky reflecting in the water. The floating clouds glowed red with the coming sunrise.
A flicker of movement in the reflection made Cole glance up, but then he realized the movement was a fish hovering near his knees. Holding his breath, Cole watched the silver fish. He wondered how the trout would taste for breakfast.
At the same instant he thought of eating the fish, it moved off and disappeared. Cole released his breath. Had he moved? Was that what scared the f
ish? Or had his thoughts exposed his presence? Surely the fish couldn’t sense his thoughts.
When Cole breathed again, he noticed that his breaths had cooled as if he were sucking on a menthol cough drop. He also noticed that in the water, his joints didn’t ache, nor did he feel pain in his blistered hands. His few thoughts seemed distant from his body. The cold water somehow suspended his whole existence.
When Cole finally left the pond, it was not because he had gotten too cold or impatient, but because he had finished his soak. He drifted forward in the water until he could breaststroke gently, barely rippling the calm surface.
On shore, Cole toweled dry. He felt he had discovered something, but wasn’t sure what. All he had done was sit in cold water and try not to think, and yet that simple act had made him feel so calm.
After dressing, Cole walked to where Edwin’s ancestor rock had stopped when it rolled down the slope the day before. He moved stiffly from being so cold, but his joints didn’t ache as they had when he crawled from the tent early that morning. He paused before lifting the rock and slowly stretched his body, touching his toes, reaching for the sky, twisting at the waist, and leaning backward. All the while he kept breathing deeply. The deep breaths seemed to slow down his thoughts and make him calm. Cole wondered how Edwin had discovered this.
Cole kept stretching. Then he lifted the rock and started up the hill. He neither rushed nor dawdled. He moved deliberately, trying not to look ahead at how far he had left to go. Instead, he tried to imagine each step as a day in his life.
Whenever he stumbled, he imagined a day in his life when he had stumbled. There had been plenty of those days. But when he stopped to catch his breath, he looked back and saw how far he had come. He had come a long way since smashing Peter’s head on the sidewalk. That seemed like another lifetime now. Cole wondered if the consequences of that moment would ever disappear.
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