Blue Ice Dying In The Rain

by Jim Craig

  I headed for the small boat dock again thinking I'd get the suitcase and then try to find the construction camp. I’d walked a hundred yards before I noticed the cramping in my hands and told myself to relax my clenched fists. My face muscles ached, and I forced my mouth open in an exaggerated yawn. My jaw popped with a painful jolt and then instantly felt better.

  None of the houses nearby had any lights on. The area was deserted and all the doors were closed. Even the dogs were gone.

  I was in the dark again. In more ways than one. The white expanse of the empty church came and went in the gloom as I walked by. The only light came from a dim bulb above the front door. The cross at the top of the steeple was lost in the fog and wasn’t saying anything to me anyway.

  At the top of the hill above the commercial dock I stopped to look at two small points of light across Sawmill Bay. Hardy souls had homes out there carving a life out of the rocks and trees on a remote island. I envied them and wondered if I could ever live that way. It was an old dream to live alone in the wilderness. The lone wolf fantasy. Away from people and all their crap. Free from the demands of modern life with its bills and burdens and countless pressures to perform. It was tempting to think about a simple existence like that. Needing no one. Living off the land responsible only for yourself. A wonderful fantasy. A difficult reality.

  The fuel tanks surrounded me then. A solitary light at the top of the stairway to the dock spilled a yellow glow in a small circle below it. The suitcase was gone.

  Then I heard heavy footsteps clumping up the stairs toward me. I thought about stepping behind something to hide, but instead I stood my ground and waited.

  It was Charlie hauling the heavy Samsonite. With four steps left to go he looked up and spotted me. He stopped and set the suitcase down. I thought that odd. Why didn’t he keep climbing?

  “What’s up?” he asked looking me over with a guarded tone.

  I could see the bulge still under his jacket. He had the hood of his sweatshirt up again warding off the cool mist in the air. The weak light left his face in a shadow but I could see the coke bottle lenses. The grim reaper with 20/400 vision. I could imagine his eyeballs clicking from side to side in the dark.

  “They found your skiff.”

  “Who did?”

  “Fishermen. It was upside down out in the channel.”

  “Really? Did they find the troopers?” He licked his lips and watched me carefully.

  “No, and nobody's seem them.”

  “Bummer,” he said. “I guess it really sucks to be them about now.”

  He moved to one side so the light filled his face. He was grinning at me, and his eyes moved around behind the glasses like fish eyes in an aquarium.

  He leaned against the railing with one arm and pulled back the jacket to rest his hand on the handle of the sheath knife strapped to his right side.

  “Is there gonna be a problem, Johnny?” He climbed two more steps and stopped, his head level with mine, grinning at me with a crooked smirk.

  In spite of myself I took a half step back and glanced around. My feet got itchy. They wanted to leave.

  “Problem? Uh, no way. Not from me, there isn’t. I just want to get me and my airplane back to Seward.” I looked out toward the water, feeling the heavy curtain of fog just out of reach.

  He was watching me closely, but not as closely as I was studying him. Without making eye contact every fiber of my being was working on staying calm and showing him a disinterested guy who just wanted to go away.

  “That water’s a killer,” he murmured, following my gaze. “If they went in, they’re gone by now. Fish food, ya know?”

  He was testing me. Like an octopus exploring a prey. I could feel the tentacles all over me, sensing my every move, reading my expression, gauging the threat level.

 

  “Yeah, fish food is right,” I forced out a little chuckle and glanced at him quickly. “Stupid cops.”

  His eyes narrowed and studied mine. I met his gaze and held it just for a moment.

  He looked surprised for a second, then grinned wider and dropped his hand from the knife handle. He made a fist and extended it slowly toward me. I stepped forward and met his fist with my own. His knuckles felt warm and with the slight bump it was like a message passed between us. He picked up the suitcase and climbed the rest of the stairs to tower over me.

  “I’m just curious though, Charlie. What's that guide's name again?”

  "Hank," he said.

  "Okay, yeah, Hank. Nobody's seen Hank come over here. Where do you suppose he went? Cordova?"

  "Nah, he didn't have enough gas to get much of anywhere."

  "And what color was the boat he took?"

  "Blue. Beat up blue, you know. Hadn't been painted for a while."

  "Sounds like the one they found. What about the other one? What color was it?"

  "It was the same. You got a lot of questions for just being a pilot, don't ya?" He set the suitcase down and stared down at me with his arms crossed.

  I felt the tentacles again. Crawling around my neck and all over my face in a slimy journey. Feeling every muscle twitch and eye blink. Probing every nook and facial cranny and weighing the results. Friend or foe?

  I cleared my throat. "Ah, sorry, I'm just trying to figure out what happened. It's so confusing."

  "Maybe you don't need to know, Johnny. Maybe you're better off just staying clear of all of it. You know?"

  "Yeah, I know, I know," I answered, probably a little too quickly. "But I brought these guys out here, and I'm supposed to take them back. You know what I mean? I feel responsible."

  "If I was you, man, I'd just fade into the woodwork. You know? Let things slide. And as soon as you can, get the hell out. Fly away and forget all about it."

  "Yeah, you're probably right."

  "Of course, I'm right. It ain't your fault they disappeared."

  "Yeah, okay. So, what are you guys going to do now?"

  "Well, they got the parts we need. So first thing in the morning we're heading back over to the lodge. I'll get the generator going and then we can get the lodge closed down for the season."

  I thought about that. I knew Greta wanted to leave. Said she wanted me to take her out of all this. Was Charlie unaware of her plan? I needed to talk to her, but not with Charlie around. The fog could lift by morning. Then I'd have to figure out how to get back to Taroka for the airplane. Willy. That's it. Willy could take me over there.

  "What are you going to do?" he interrupted my planning.

  "Me? Hell, I don't know."

  Careful, careful, a little voice whispered from the back of my head. What does he know? How do I play this?

  Charlie was watching me closely. Waiting. I dropped my eyes and remembered the yellow pack I was carrying.

  "Oh, hey, Tambourine dropped this on the dock. I was looking for you guys to give it back."

  He took Sponge Bob and slung it over one shoulder. Then he stood there looking at me quietly.

  "I'm probably going to get fired," I said, glad to have thought of a way to change the subject.

  "Fired? What the hell for?"

  "Well, it's complicated, but basically my boss didn't know I was coming out here with his plane. When I couldn't get hold of him, he assumed the worst and started telling people I must have stolen it."

  He gawked at me in disbelief. "Are you shitting me? What a bunch of crap."

  "Yeah, so I just called him from the community center and he's pissed. That may be it for me."

  Charlie leaned against the railing and gazed across the bay. A few mosquitoes had found us by then and he waved his hand in front of his face.

  "That bites the big one, dude." He shifted his weight off the railing and then sat down on the suitcase, settling in.

  I played it straight to the bone. I had to. Willing my face to remain impassive, my breath steady, my body relaxed and leaning against the rail.

  "Yeah, well, what are gonna do, ya know? S
crew him anyhow. Life's a bitch and then you die." I spat off to the side into the grass near our feet.

  Sitting down like that his face was below mine again. He pulled his hood back, rubbed one hand through his hair and pulled off his glasses to rub his eyes. He seemed tired. Then he looked sideways at me. I was feeling a shift. Something was changing between us. He was seeing me in a different light.

  “What do you think is going to happen now?” he asked, looking up at me.

  “I don’t know. But they’re coming, you know?”

  The statement hung out there like the ragged fog above us. Just vague enough to cushion the blow, but direct enough to underline the obvious.

  “Yeah, I know,” he finally murmured with a resigned sigh.

  “Cops just don't disappear like that," I said, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. He didn't react.

  "As soon as they can get in here the place will be swarming with Coast Guard and State troopers. I’m sure they’re coming by boat right now even. Then choppers when the fog lifts.”

  “Yeah,” he grunted in agreement and worked the toe of his boot back and forth in the dirt. I could see his gears turning. Figuring the angles. Two moths swirled in the light of the lamp above us flitting in and out of the glow.

  “Where you guys staying?” I ventured after a moment trying to keep my voice innocent and not too curious. He wasn’t fooled. The tentacles knew the difference.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t know, man.” His hand was resting on one knee, but then twitching with a nervous scratching motion up and down his leg.

  Ease back, Johnny, I told myself. “Yeah, you’re right. I don't need to know."

  He snorted then. “Freaking cops. Why couldn’t they just mind their own business? They didn't have to come out to the lodge."

  Uh oh. What was happening? Did I really want to hear any more?

  I stood up to go and shifted my pack to a more comfortable position.

  "Well, I better go find a place for the night," I said, but he waved me back down.

  "Wait a minute, Johnny. You know, I've been trying to figure you out. Since you flew the troopers in here, I thought you were one of them.”

  I frowned at him in surprise. “Who, me? A cop? No way. That’s funny."

  "Yeah, but then you said you felt responsible and all. So I wondered…"

  "No, no," I cut him off. "This is their problem. I couldn’t care less.” Nothing like a little false bravado to talk your way out of the hot seat.

  He looked at me. “I could use a man who doesn’t care.”

  Uh oh. I felt a window opening. And I was teetering on the sill. All my pilot instincts came alive. Keep your back door open.

  I glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

  "Well, I'm thinking this fog won't last forever, ya know? Maybe you ought to come work with me."

  I just looked at him. That I hadn't expected.

  "Yeah, come back to the lodge with me. We'll take a couple of days to get everything closed up and put away and then you can fly us back to Seward."

  He must have picked up on my doubts. "I'll pay you, of course. How's five hundred bucks sound?"

  My eyes must have gone wide. He laughed. "Cash," he added.

  I swallowed and tried to think it through. "What about Greta?"

  A look swept over him and I wished with the desperation of a drowning man that I could pull those words back into my mouth, but it was too late.

  "What about her?"

  I stammered a little, then recovered and pressed on. "I thought you said she was leaving. And with all her bags and stuff, I just thought…"

  He swatted a mosquito on his face and made a sigh. "Yeah, you're right."

  I breathed again and waited. He shuffled his feet in the dirt and then seemed to come to a decision.

  “She wants out. Says she can’t stand it another minute, living out here. And now this trouble with the cops.”

  I waited a bit but when he didn't say anything else I broke the silence. "What's she going to do?"

  "Hell, I don't know. She says she's done with Taroka and never wants to see it again. She'll probably wait here until she can arrange some kind of transportation."

  The news tingled my ears. I tried not to react. Tried to keep the sparkle out of my eyes.

  "What about the kid?" I remembered, picturing the mass of red hair and blank stare.

  "Ah, he's mine. No getting around that," he groaned and kicked at the dirt.

  I swallowed hard and looked across the bay. Tried to keep any excitement, any interest at all from reflecting itself in my face or body. It was a struggle.

  "So you're just going to let Greta leave like that? I thought …"

  "I know, I know," he broke in. "She means the world to me, I said all that, I know. But what the hell? She's freaking miserable and the more I beg the more she hates me. It's time to just let her go. Ya know what I mean?"

  I nodded and tried to keep my thoughts from racing ahead.

  "And besides," he continued, "this will call her bluff. Cutting her loose will force her to make up her damn mind."

  I gave him a sideway glance. He was no dummy after all. His manipulation just might work. I thought about that and realized the guy had a lot going on behind those coke bottle lens.

  "So how about it? Will ya come back to the lodge with us?" He interrupted my reverie.

  "I don't know. I…"

  "Five hundred bucks, Johnny. Aren't ya gonna need some money now that you're unemployed."

  I snorted and shook my head thinking about Phil. "Yeah, I could use it alright," I agreed. I didn't say anything else, thinking it over.

  "It'll only take us a couple days," he was persuasive.

  I could see it happening, but I didn't want to tell him that I figured I could talk my way back into Phil's good graces. The old hothead would cool off when he saw his plane was alright, and he'd want me available for charters and to help him put things away for the winter.

  I flashed on Greta's blue eyes, her blond hair tickling my cheek. And the smell of her.

  I needed Charlie unsuspicious. Had to keep him from knowing where my mind was headed. He was working me for some reason and I needed him to think he was succeeding. I was aware of him watching me and waiting for my answer.

  "Well, okay, that might work out," I finally said.

  "Alright then," he stood up and stuck out his hand.

  I returned his handshake and tried to not feel like a small bug standing next to the jolly green giant. I reminded myself that I was just a guy, just a pilot trying to get by in the wild wilderness world of remote Alaska. Nothing special but a pilot nevertheless. That was something. If I could just get back in an airplane, a thousand feet in the sky, soaring through a rocky mountain pass, looking down at a silent green forest filling a nameless valley. That would be something. I'd feel alive again.

  Charlie busied himself with the suitcase and Sponge Bob. He dropped to one knee to tie a bootlace. Then he looked up.

  "Where are you going to stay?"

  "Huh, I hadn't really thought about it. There's a pilot's shack out at the airstrip. I'll probably head out there."

 

  He nodded and straightened up. I tried to read where his mind was going. Something had shifted and changed.

  “We’re at the construction camp. You know where that is?”

  “Yeah, but I thought you weren’t going to tell me.”

  Charlie stood up then and so did I. “Yeah, I know, but I’m counting on you not caring.” He stared at me for a moment then looked away.

  He pulled the hood tighter around his head and his face disappeared again in its shadow. Looming over me he laid a hand on my shoulder. I could smell the rank odor of old sweat. The tentacles weren’t on my face anymore, but I could still feel them. Wrapping around my ankles.

  “We'll be down to the marina in the morning," he said. Be there by eight.” He didn’t wait for an answer. It wasn’t a question. He picked up the
suitcase and turned to leave.

  A breeze off the bay swept over us and damp wet air chilled my face.

  “It's going to rain," I mumbled and pulled my own hood up over my cap.

  Charlie repositioned the heavy bag to his other hand and looked back at me. "Yeah, no shit," he said and walked away into the dark.

  When he was gone from view I stood there for a while under the solitary light bulb surrounded by the night. There was just enough light to see tendrils of fog sliding through the grass nearby. The shadow at my feet wobbled uneasily when I finally pushed away from the railing and headed back toward the community building. Stepping out of the cone of light my shadow stretched out in front of me to lead the way.

  A fog horn a long way off wailed through the gloom. After twenty steps the light faded away and my shadow with it. With only the tiny light from the church ahead to guide me I walked quietly in the night wondering if I was part of the dark or if it was part of me.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN