How I Learned to Love the Walrus

by Beth Orsoff

  "Nothing," I said, minimizing my laptop screen.

  Ethan sat down at Jill’s desk but spun his chair around to face me. "I’ve been giving some thought to bringing you on this trip."

  "Oh?" Jill was already playing good cop. He must be bad.

  "I admit I wasn’t initially enthused."

  "That makes two of us."

  "But I’ve changed my mind," he said, and leaned back with his arms folded across his chest as if that was the end of the conversation.

  "Well, I haven’t. I’m a little busy here, so if you wouldn’t mind." I turned back to my computer and opened the script file. I promised myself I’d write two full pages before dinner, and I hadn’t even finished the first yet.

  "I would think you’d feel obligated seeing as you’re responsible for this mess."

  "How do you figure that?"

  He wasn’t smiling, but I could tell he wanted to. His eyes were crinkling in the corners. "Duncan never would’ve dislocated his shoulder if it wasn’t for you."

  I did feel a bit guilty about that, even though it wasn’t my fault. "You can’t pin this on me. It’s not like I pushed him down the steps."

  "Maybe not," he said, "but he never would’ve been on the steps if he wasn’t trying to help you."

  "So you’re saying if it wasn’t for me, none of this would’ve happened?"

  "Exactly." Then he leaned back in his chair and smiled as if he’d won.

  "First," I said, holding up my thumb, "I was only there because of Jake. Second," I added my index finger, "I only fell because the stairs were wet. Third," I punctuated with my middle finger, "I didn’t ask Duncan to follow us. In fact, I would’ve preferred if he hadn’t. Finally," I said, giving up on fingers and adding my whole hand, "it’s not my fault he tripped over my light saber. Jill’s the one who made it. If you need to blame someone, then blame her." Rant finished, I turned back to my computer screen.

  "What if I make it worth your while?"

  I stopped skimming my three-quarters of a page. "What do you possibly think you could offer me that I would want?"

  He stood up and peered over my shoulder. "Is that your script? It looks like you haven’t gotten very far."

  I quickly minimized the screen again. "What’s your point, Ethan?"

  "I think we can help each other."

  "How? Have you been secretly writing a screenplay about walruses in your spare time?"

  "No, but I’ve participated in several documentaries, and I can tell you the one thing they all have in common is interviews with experts."

  "You’re offering to submit to an interview, something you should do anyway since it’s to help the walruses, supposedly your life’s work, if I agree to be your slave for a week?"

  He smiled again. "That’s not how I would characterize it."

  "Accurate though it may be."

  "Except you won’t be my slave. I pay Duncan. Since he won’t be there, I can dock him for the week and pay you instead."

  "That’s okay, I have a job." Hopefully I still would by the time I got back to L.A.

  "I can also offer you an opportunity to get amazing footage of walruses in their natural habitat. That’s another thing common to all wildlife documentaries, in case you didn’t know."

  "Thanks, but we’ve got plenty of walruses around here if you hadn’t noticed. Or did you think I came for the charming company?"

  "They’re all bulls. As you’ve pointed out more than once, their behavior can be off-putting."

  "I know you probably don’t get out much, but smell-o-vision died in the sixties. I think our audience is safe."

  "Aah, but nothing tugs at the heartstrings like cute pups."

  I had to admit that was true.

  "Wilde Island is scenic," he continued, "but it’s nothing compared to the Arctic. Plus you’d get to see polar bears too."

  "Really?"

  "Practically guaranteed. The walrus is one of the polar bear’s favorite prey."

  I was just starting to get excited when I realized how he’d manipulated me. "Nice try, Ethan, but none of it will do me any good since our cameraman won’t be there."

  "You don’t need a cameraman. All you need is a camcorder."

  "Well, I don’t have one of those either."

  Ethan leaned over and grabbed Jill’s video camera off the top of the bookshelf. "I’m sure Jill would let you borrow hers."

  I was sure she would too. That still didn’t mean I wanted to spend a week trapped on a boat with Ethan.

  Dinner was a tense affair. Ethan drank the last beer, Duncan pouted over his lost Arctic expedition, Tony and Sean must’ve had a fight since they were barely speaking to each other, Jake was whining about being stuck in the cabin all day, and even Brie was acting peevish, which made no sense since Duncan would no longer be leaving.

  After dinner, instead of poker or Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit, the group dispersed. Jill went up to the loft with Jake, Brie lay on the couch with her book, and the guys all went back to their tents. The only bright spot was when I checked my voicemail I found a message from Blake.

  "Hey Babe, it’s me. I’m surprised you got the message. That guy who answered your phone was a real jerk. I’ll be around for the next ten minutes or so. After that I’m in make-up then on the set. I checked my e-mail again, but still no script. I really need you to get on this, Babe. Ciao."

  I listened to it twice more just to hear his voice again, then I read over my one-page screenplay. Who was I kidding? Even if I could manage to eke out nine more pages, they would suck as bad as this one did. For this documentary to even have a shot at succeeding, I’d have to ask Ethan for help. I knew it, and the worst part was that he knew it too.

  Chapter 29

  "Pack a bag," Ethan said. "Just one. We’re leaving in the morning."

  This was the first time I’d been inside his and Duncan’s tent. It was much homier than mine. They actually had cots to sleep on and a small fold-out table with a lantern.

  "What should I bring?" I asked, as I sat on the edge of what I presumed was Duncan’s bed since Ethan was lying on the other one.

  He folded his copy of Aquatic Mammals magazine down onto his chest and pushed his reading glasses up to the top of his head. His blue eyes appeared much darker in the amber glow. "I think you can safely leave your evening gown behind."

  "I meant what’s the weather like?"

  "It’s the Arctic, Sydney. Take a guess."

  "Well, the way you people go on about global warming I thought maybe I’d need a bathing suit."

  His smirk dissolved into a genuine grin. "In a few years perhaps, but in the meantime you’ll need a warm jacket and lots of layers. The temperature will be close to freezing, but there shouldn’t be much rain."

  "Thanks," I said and stood up to leave.

  I’d just unzipped the tent flap when his voice stopped me. "And, Sydney."

  I turned around.

  "I knew you’d come."

  I flipped him my middle finger before I stepped out into the night.

  When Ethan stuck his head in my tent eight hours later, I was already awake. I’d spent most of the night rolling around in my sleeping bag wondering if it was possible to spend a week working side by side with him without killing him. I doubted it, although somehow Duncan managed. Maybe he could give me some pointers.

  When I arrived at the cabin, Jake was playing with his Legos and Jill was cooking breakfast.

  "Walnut pancakes?" she asked, pouring batter into the frying pan.

  "Sure. What’s the occasion?" It had been cereal or oatmeal for her and Jake since the day I’d arrived.

  "No occasion. I just wanted to send you off with a nice breakfast."

  No need to ask whether she’d talked to Ethan. He’d obviously come and gone.

  "Mom, I want to go to the Arctic too," Jake said, sitting down next to me at the table.

  "When you’re older, honey."

  "How old?"

  "Mmm, eighteen."r />
  Jake started counting from six on his fingers.

  "Twelve more years," I said when he was only up to nine.

  "I’ll be old by then!"

  "Jakie, Sydney and Ethan are going to shoot lots of video, so it’ll be just like you were there with them."

  "Do you promise?" Jake asked me.

  "I promise. And if you promise to be good while I’m gone, I might even bring you back a present."

  His eyes widened. "What kind of present?"

  "I don’t know. What kind do you want?"

  "A polar bear. A big one with lots of teeth." Then he growled at me with his arms overhead.

  I had to laugh. "I don’t think they allow polar bears on the plane, but I’ll see what I can do."

  After breakfast I went back to my tent to cram four suitcases worth of stuff into one. Jill told me I wouldn’t need my sleeping bag on the boat, so that eliminated the duffel, and she assured me I’d have access to a washer and dryer, which meant I’d only need a week’s worth of clothes. That narrowed it down to two suitcases, but that was still one too many.

  I finally pulled out my long wool coat (I’d get by with just a ski jacket), all of my shoes except for my sneakers and a pair of black flats, and half my pants and sweaters. I managed to stuff what was left into my largest bag. I had just zipped it shut when Jill and Jake arrived.

  "The boat should be here in ten minutes," Jill said, carrying Captain Bailey’s galoshes in one hand and her video camera in the other. I was glad she’d remembered since I’d already forgotten them both.

  With Jill holding one end of my suitcase, me the other, and Jake tugging on the handle at the side, the three of us carried my bag to the trail, where I was able to wheel it again. When we reached the staircase to the boat cove, we found Ethan seated on the top step.

  "It’s still a couple miles out," he said, pointing to a speck on the water off in the distance. Then he turned around. "I said one small bag."

  "You never said small."

  "Well, I definitely said one."

  "I’ve only got one."

  "I see three," he said, and nodded at my briefcase and purse.

  "These don’t count. One’s my carry-on and the other’s my personal item."

  He shook his head, picked up his one bag, an oversized backpack, and started down the four flights of steps. Jill, Jake, and I waited at the top of the staircase until we saw Captain Bailey’s boat enter the cove.

  I began dragging my suitcase down the stairs like I usually do when an escalator isn’t available, but Jill stopped me. She claimed all the noise was disturbing the walruses, even though only one or two of them even bothered to look up. So we tried it her way instead—we each took an end and lumbered down the stairs with the bag between us. Admittedly her method was quieter, but much slower and more cumbersome too.

  When we reached the first landing, Jill set the suitcase down and called out to Ethan. "Are you going to come up here and help us or not?"

  "I thought she’s supposed to be helping me," he shouted back.

  Jill just glared at him until he jogged back up the stairs and grabbed my bag. "What have you got in here, rocks?"

  "My bowling ball. I never leave home without it."

  I was expecting an argument, or at least a sarcastic response, but instead he laughed and shook his head as he carried my suitcase the rest of the way down the steps.

  "See," Jill whispered, as we walked a few paces behind him, "he’s not as bad as you think."

  "One kind gesture does not a nice guy make."

  Ethan spent most of the two-hour boat ride asleep on one of the benches, but I relished the rare sunny day. "I didn’t realize the fog was so thick the day you brought me here," I said to Captain Bailey, as I zoomed out with Jill’s video camera to capture the string of volcanic islands only a few miles away. "I didn’t see any of these."

  "That’s because they weren’t there," Captain Bailey said. "I picked you up in Togiak. We’re headed to Dillingham."

  "Why? Is it closer?" I wouldn’t mind skipping the half-mile walk from the airport to the shore. Although presumably it would be easier today with just one suitcase.

  "Not exactly," he said and smirked.

  Captain Bailey drove the skiff right up onto the deserted beach. "The float plane’s on the other side of those trees," he said, as Ethan and I hopped down into the sand.

  "Float plane?" I asked.

  "It’s perfectly safe," Captain Bailey said, as he handed me my suitcase. "Just watch out for the bear."

  "There’s a bear!"

  Ethan calmly asked its location, and Captain Bailey pointed to a dark spot in the trees.

  "Got it," Ethan said, then headed toward the lake, making a wide berth around the wooded area off to our left.

  "Wait!" I yelled, as I threw my purse and briefcase over my shoulder and pulled out the handle on my bag. "You can’t just leave me here with a bear."

  "I’m not leaving you," Ethan said, without slowing his pace. "I expect you to follow."

  Have you ever tried to wheel a fifty-pound suitcase across soft sand with bags hanging off both shoulders and mosquitoes buzzing around your head? I don’t recommend it. I trekked after him but when the shadow in the woods ventured out into the grassy area separating the forest from the beach and I could actually see the lumbering bear’s huge paws and matted fur, I dropped everything and ran.

  "Stop!" Ethan yelled as I flew past him. I thought he was talking to the bear, who was now up on his hind legs growling. When Ethan grabbed the collar of my jacket and yanked me back, I realized he was talking to me. "You need to calm down."

  "Calm down? There’s a fucking bear on the loose!" He’d stopped growling but was still moving in our direction.

  "You surprised him. Bears don’t like surprises."

  "Well, neither do I, but you don’t see me growling at everyone, do you?"

  Ethan tried to suppress his smile. "We’re going to talk very loudly," he said, demonstrating the proper level, "and walk back over to your luggage. And I do mean walk, not run."

  He could walk if he wanted to, I was going to run, and not to my luggage. As soon as he let go of me, I took off towards the float plane. I only made it five feet before he caught up with me again.

  "What did I just say?"

  I assumed the question was rhetorical.

  Then he put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me to him, but not in a loving way. With my body pinned to his side, we slowly walked back to my suitcase and Ethan hovered over me as I bent down to retrieve my briefcase and purse from the sand.

  "Look," he said, pointing at the bear, which was now loping back towards the trees.

  "Good, let’s make a break for it."

  "Don’t even think about it," he said, putting one arm around my shoulder again, while he used his free hand to pick up my suitcase. "The minute you run he’ll give chase."

  "I’m a pretty fast runner when I have to be." Which was pure conjecture on my part since I’d never actually had to run for my life before.

  "Not fast enough to outrun a bear," Ethan said as he slowly guided us to the float plane.

  My heart started pounding again as soon as I stepped inside the four-seat cabin. I waited for Ethan to turn around before I dry swallowed the anti-anxiety pill I keep stashed in my purse for emergencies. I don’t like to take them, and I rarely do, but I make exceptions for long flights and small planes.

  The combination of the pill and the hum of the propellers lulled me into a fitful sleep, so I missed most of the scenery from Nunavachak Lake to Dillingham Airport. I caught up on my sightseeing on the flight from Dillingham to Anchorage. It looked just like the picture in the brochures—thousands of feet below us a crystalline river snaked through the verdant hills, dissecting acres of grasslands before disappearing into the trees. I didn’t see any snow-capped mountains, but Ethan assured me I would as we traveled farther north.

  I would’ve been happy to end our journey at the Anc
horage Airport, where I spent four glorious hours admiring the city’s skyline from the comfort of a climate-controlled, mosquito-free terminal, while talking on my cell phone and surfing the internet at high speed. I felt happy, secure, and connected to the world again, which left me completely unprepared for what would come next.

  Chapter 30

  "This is the Arctic?" I asked, peeling off my jacket as we descended the stairs from the jet. I had to pull on my sunglasses just to keep the dust out of my eyes. From the description I’d read of it in the in-flight magazine, I’d envisioned Barrow, Alaska, as a quaint town covered in a layer of pristine snow, surrounded by glacial peaks. Not miles and miles of flat dusty plains punctuated by nondescript buildings and the occasional satellite dish.

  "Barrow’s three hundred miles north of the Arctic Circle," Ethan told me as we crossed the tarmac with the ten other passengers from our plane. "The northernmost city in the United States."

  "Then how come it’s seventy-five degrees out?" I said, pointing to the digital display clinging to the side of the airport’s sole terminal building as it switched from time to temperature.

  "I guess you should’ve brought that bathing suit after all."

  We waited in the cramped luggage area for twenty minutes before the airline’s customer service supervisor, who also happened to be the ticketing agent, gate attendant, and security screener, admitted that my suitcase wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

  "So you lost it?"

  "Temporarily misplaced," he said, smiling affably. "Please fill out this form, and I’ll start a trace."

  "How can you lose a bag on a flight with a dozen passengers?"

  "This could only happen to you," Ethan said, and walked away from me as if my bad luck might rub off on him.

  "You checked it through from Anchorage," the agent said, still keying my information into the computer. "It probably just missed the connection in Fairbanks."

  "Which means?"