Washika

by Robert A. Poirier

  That was the difficult part. When the others arrived at five o’clock, he would have liked to stand aside with St-Jean, and maybe Lavigne, and tell them what an extraordinary day it had been. He wanted to say how beautiful she was and how she made soft sounds in her throat when he touched her and, later, how she made love to him. But, he had promised.

  “And how were the flies?” he said to Lavigne.

  “Sacrament! Always the same. And you?”

  “Not bad. The burn’s not so bad now.”

  “No, no. P’tit-Gus, I mean. Didn’t work you too hard? He was pretty pissed about us this morning.”

  “No. Not so bad.”

  “Tell me. Maybe I’ll get a burn tomorrow.”

  Henri had not thought about that. Suppose Lavigne was to get a burn and be forced to stay in camp, and see the nurse. Would it be the same with Lavigne?

  “No, my poor Lavigne,” Henri said. “It’s not worth the trouble. P’tit-Gus is so hard to please and, besides, it’s so boring here all day with no one to talk to. Believe me, you’re much better off out on the lake.”

  “I suppose you’re right. A guy alone like that, he starts to think. It’s bad enough on Sundays. Hey! Can you imagine, Henri, some poor young girl wandering in here on a Sunday?”

  “Like those tourists near the log dump,” Henri laughed. “Remember them?”

  “Yeah. And that wasn’t even on a Sunday.”

  They both laughed. Henri remembered that day and he often wondered how the two girls must have felt. It was close to five o’clock and Alphonse had suddenly veered to starboard, steering the Madeleine towards the log dump and the two two-hundred-gallon fuel tanks strapped to the square timbers of the wall. Between the log dump and the dock at Washika, a car was parked on the road just above the beach. An aluminum boat was tied to a rack on the roof of the car and, as the Madeleine went by at a slow speed, they saw a short, fat man wearing sun glasses and a baseball cap, fishing from the shore, casting out onto the water, spinning the reel and casting again. Just beyond the fat man, two teenage girls ran along the beach. Both girls were deeply tanned and their long blond hair flew freely as they ran along the beach together. They wore shorts and light T-shirts, and the older girl was not wearing a bra. It had been a long time for the students from the Collège de Ste-Émilie. It had been almost two weeks since their last trip down to Ste-Émilie. It happened suddenly, and spontaneously, and without warning of any kind. As the Madeleine went by the tourists, nineteen young men jumped overboard, each one yelling madly as he did so. The water was shallow there and soon they were running in the water towards the shore. The girls looked frightened. They turned and ran back towards the fat man. He reeled in quickly and all three of them got into the car and sped off towards the log dump.

  The students dropped onto the sand, laughing and catching their breath. Only one of them was missing. François Gauthier had been the last to go over the side. He was not interested in the girls on the beach. He was dry and warm and he wanted to stay that way. Still, he had learned not to like being different. At the very last, he had jumped from the stern. He had felt stupid as he did not believe that the young girls would have anything to do with them. It was stupid, and senseless, but so was putting up with their needling. So, he jumped. He sighed and looked up at the sky and stepped off the Madeleine’s rounded stern. The water had been shallow when the others left the tugboat. Gauthier was not so lucky. He managed to tread water, held afloat by his orange life jacket and wearing his hard hat. He felt a fool in his wool mackinaw that would take days to dry.

  “They sure were good-looking,” Lavigne said.

  “That’s for sure. And remember Gauthier?”

  “Poor Gauthier. And him not even interested in girls. I can hardly wait. Only three more days.”

  “Three days?”

  “Today is Wednesday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well? This is our weekend to go down.”

  Henri had not thought about that. On Saturday, it would be three weeks since their last weekend off in Ste-Émilie. That was it, then. He would not have to tell her. Lise would see the bus arriving. She would know that he could not stay behind. They would think he was crazy not to go down.

  “Of course!” he said. “I forgot it was this weekend.”

  The bell rang. It was time for supper. Henri was not thinking about food. It would be a long weekend without her. He reached into his wallet for a ticket and left the bunkhouse-and-office.

  PART II

  Chapter 16

  That morning it was not raining. It had rained during the night so that the sand did not give easily under their feet, and the air was cool and the sky a dark shade of blue. The students walked in single file, over the knoll and down towards the dock and the grey tugboat. By the dock the water slapped against the Madeleine’s hull. It was quiet, and damp, and only the sound of the waves slapping against the Madeleine made it real.

  “Come back!” a voice called from the crest of the knoll. “Come back, you guys!” It was Alphonse. He waved to them to return to camp.

  “Good old Alphonse,” someone yelled.

  Henri looked up at the sky. It was not so dark. To the east was a clearing. It would probably not rain at all.

  They were happy. Alphonse was a good man. He would not make them work in the rain. Maybe they should buy him a little something in Ste-Émilie during the weekend. That was it. They would buy him something together.

  “Well, my little ducks,” Alphonse began as the last of the students reached the circle around him. “I have some good news this morning.”

  Alphonse turned to look at the man standing behind him. “Monsieur Simard-Comtois here has something to say to you.”

  The superintendent cleared his throat and stepped into the circle.

  “Messieurs,” he began. “Monsieur Ouimet here informs me that you have been doing excellent work out on the lake. In fact, he is quite proud of you all.”

  The students looked at the sand. Then they looked at Alphonse. Alphonse lit a cigarette and smiled at them.

  “You know,” Simard-Comtois continued, “the Company takes great pride in being able to assist any young man in getting a start in life. It is hoped that by the end of the summer you will have not only achieved financial gains but it is also our belief that you will have accumulated a certain degree of experience that will remain with you…”

  No one was listening. They looked at Alphonse for a sign but Alphonse just smiled and smoked his cigarette. What did he want? They had heard this kind of talk before, that first day at Washika as they got down from the bus. He was there that day, speaking in the same way. After lunch that day, they had had to go out on the Madeleine, pick logs off the shore and stand in brown stinking water with leeches sneaking in under their jeans, all that after the long, sweaty bus ride from Ste-Émilie to Washika.

  “And in conclusion,” the man went on, “I’m sure that you will not disappoint us in this next endeavour.”

  They looked up from the sand. They stared at Alphonse as if staring at him like that would somehow change things

  “Well, my little ducks,” Alphonse smiled at his crew. “We have a new job for you today. You see, there’s a fire started up on the Ottawa. It’s been going strong for twelve days now. Men are tired and it’s time for fresh meat up there. Leave your life jackets behind. The bus should be here any minute.”

  The students left the circle without saying a word. There was nothing to say. They were not going out on the Cabonga today. That at least was clear. In the bunkhouse-and-office the guys were worried.

  “I wonder if we should bring fly oil?” Pierre Morrow asked no one in particular. He was the youngest and the smallest person in the camp.

  “Fly oil?” Lavigne turned on him. “You worry about fly oil at a time like this? Don’t you realize what could happen to us?”

  “You mean it’s dangerous?”

  “Dangerous? What’s the matter with you anyway?”
<
br />   “Leave him alone,” Henri interrupted.

  Lavigne moved in closer. “Listen, my friend,” he said. “You know what day this is?”

  “Thursday?” Morrow was not sure. He looked at the others sitting on their bunks.

  “That’s right. And do you know what week this is?”

  “Sure, I know.”

  “Well?”

  “It’s our week to go down; on Saturday, right after breakfast.”

  Lavigne had made his point. He smiled at Morrow but Morrow did not return the smile. No one was smiling. They were looking at the grey plywood floor and taking long drags on their cigarettes.

  “You think so, eh?” Lavigne continued.

  “All right, Gaston,” St-Jean got up off the bunk. “That’s enough.” St-Jean looked out the window to the yard where the bus would arrive. “For me, we’ve had it,” he said. “There’ll be no going down this weekend. I’ve heard about these fires. We could get stuck a couple of weeks up there if it’s a big one.”

  “But they’re expecting me at home,” said Morrow. “We have visitors coming. It’s maman’s birthday on Sunday.”

  “Poor little one,” André Guy began. “He’s lonesome for his maman.”

  “Your mouth, calis!” St-Jean looked over at André.

  “It’s here!” Lavigne shouted.

  They could hear the engine running. They looked out the window and saw the pencil-yellow bus with a black bar running along its length. The students picked up their lunch pails and their gloves and hard hats and went outside.

  Outside, Alphonse stood talking to the driver. They stood by the open door of the bus. The driver reached into his shirt pocket and offered Alphonse a cigarette from a light blue package. Alphonse lit the driver’s cigarette and then his own. He turned to the students gathered around him.

  “All right now,” he said. “Everybody in the bus and if you’re smoking be sure to butt them out on the floor. We have enough with one fire.”

  The students lined up alongside the bus and, one by one, they stepped inside. The inside of the bus was pale green with a black rubber mat running down the aisle between the rows of seats. They were bench seats with leatherette covering and chrome bars above the backs. Everyone raced for a window seat. The boys placed their gloves and lunch pails in the racks above the seats and, as quickly, fought for a place next to a window. They fumbled with the latches and pulled at the glass until all of the windows of the bus were open.

  Alphonse entered the bus and sat down beside François Gauthier in the front seat, to the right of the driver’s seat. At last the driver appeared at the front of the bus. The students could see the back of his head in the mirror as he counted the passengers in his bus. The driver pointed an index finger towards each one of the students as he counted. Then, it was time. The driver reached over to the handle and swung the door shut. He shifted into gear and they were off.

  They went around the bunkhouse-and-office. All of the students waved to Emmett Cronier as they crossed the truck scales. From there, they drove down the gravel road, past the infirmary and north to the Ottawa River. Henri had been careful to choose a seat by a window on the driver’s side of the bus. He had raised the window up to its highest and he looked out onto the water of the bay as they went by the infirmary. Lise Archambault was not there. She was not on the verandah or even at the door. He remembered being able to see out through the curtains when he had been there with her. As they sped by the building, he gave a little wave towards the windows, just in case.

  The engine groaned going up some of the hills and there was often a grinding sound as the driver downshifted at the start of a new hill. Some of the boys tried to sleep but the road was very rough. Mostly hey smoked and looked out the windows at the thick green forest, the swamps and beaver ponds in the lowlands. Once, going down a steep hill, they saw a moose standing in the water. The moose lifted its head to look at them. Water dripped off the large dewlap hanging from its throat.

  At exactly ten o’clock they drove into a widening of the road. The bulldozer had cleared away a strip thirty yards wide on both sides of the road. At the end of the clearing on both sides were broken trunks and roots and a mixture of light sand and stones piled up where the tractor had pushed them. A narrow house trailer stood alongside the road with several Company trucks parked beside it. The trucks all had long steel antennas on their roofs and at one end of the trailer stood a thirty-foot pole with a radio antenna at the top. On the opposite side and further back from the road were two tractor-trailers with their low-beds empty and long lengths of chain lying on the sand beside them. They could hear the heavy machinery that the trucks had transported there on the low-beds and smell the burning forests through the open windows. To the northwest the sky was a grey-black and it had begun to rain softly. The bus stopped in front of the house trailer. Alphonse stepped down from the bus and walked towards the set of steps leading to the door. As he approached, the door opened and a tall, thin man with grey, curly hair waved to him to come inside.

  The driver shut down the engine and sat at the wheel smoking a cigarette. The air was damp and heavy and drops of rain began to cover the windshield. Most of the windows were still open and the boys sat quietly, listening to the rain and the mosquitoes entering the bus.

  Alphonse came out of the house trailer office followed by the tall, thin fellow they had seen earlier.

  “That’s it, then,” Alphonse said. “We should be there sometime around noon.”

  “Oh yes,” the tall man answered. “No problem at all. We opened a new road in just yesterday.”

  “How long do you think?”

  “Well, that’s hard to say. With the wind and the rain, who can tell, eh?”

  Alphonse turned his back to the bus. No one could see him as he quickly winked at the tall man in front of him.

  “At least three weeks, what?” Alphonse asked, loudly. He wanted all of his little ducks to hear.

  “Oh yes, at the very least.” The tall man smiled and looked towards the bus and its open windows.

  No one was speaking in the bus. It was quiet, except for the mosquitoes. The boys looked out at the man who had said, “Oh yes, at the very least,” and they hated him then, even if they didn’t know him. They looked at his clean white shirt, freshly pressed trousers and clean work boots and they hated him again. When he lifted his hard hat to scratch his head through the thick grey curls, they hated him some more.

  Alphonse waved good-bye to the man as he entered the bus. He spoke to the driver and they both laughed.

  “Sometime tonight,” he said to the driver. “I have no idea what time. They’ll reach you somehow, with their radios, probably.”

  “You bet,” the driver said.

  Alphonse turned to the students. They sat in the seats, some with their heads resting against the windows, others smoking, and all being very quiet.

  “All right, you guys,” Alphonse began. “Here’s how it is. The fire is sixteen square miles now. We’ll be staying pretty much together but, if we do get split up, don’t worry. At the end of each day, all the men are assembled at Camp 15. That’s where we’ll take our bus back to Washika at night.”

  This was different. The students felt it as soon as Alphonse had begun to speak. Out on the Cabonga, on the sweep, Alphonse was in charge. If they had put in a good morning and it was especially hot in the afternoon, he would go easy on them. They might move to another shore, running the Madeleine at slow speed, or they might stop at a nice windy beach and roll out a log or two. There, it was Alphonse who decided, and he had always been good to them.

  “What about you, Alphonse?” Lavigne spoke up.

  “Yes? What about me?”

  “Will we still be working for you?”

  “Yes, in a way,” Alphonse smiled. “As long as you’re with me. But there are a lot of foremen here. You may not be working with me.”

  “How’s that, sacrament!” Lavigne whined. “I didn’t come here to fight fo
rest fires. I came here to work on the sweep, same as everybody else. Calis!”

  Alphonse did not answer him. He took a notebook and pencil out of his shirt pocket.

  “There’s a truck over there by the trailer,” he said. “The one with the caboose. Get ready to get on. It’ll take us out to the fire.”

  The students gathered their gloves and lunch pails from the racks above the seats. They came out of the bus, one by one, walked past Alphonse who was standing by the door, and headed towards the caboose. As Henri stepped down from the bus, Alphonse made a sign with his hand to come closer.