The 53rd Parallel

by Carl Nordgren

  The youngest brother called to the jack with the ax, and the others followed him inside. James stood at the bar and poured himself two fingers of whiskey.

  When the men entered the cabin, Mathew dashed from the forest to crouch below the front porch, a bench and the open door providing cover, as the screen door slammed behind the last jack.

  “But before you set these fellows loose here, let's imagine two scenarios at the next board meeting. The first one, well, let's say it's me, and I'm explaining to Father and Grandfather how all of a sudden the micks said everything was all right when I offered to bring some of our best customers here to fish. Let's say I promised ten customers for four days, forty nights of business, and that was that, eh, we get happy customers, we got happy neighbors.”

  He paused to sip his drink.

  “Or there's a second scenario, why don't you be thinking of a name for it, since it's the one where I get to watch you telling them something altogether different. That you waved your old army pistol at them after your man there chopped up the radio and then, what, they apologize for daring to be downstream of us and decide to leave?”

  The youngest brother waved the jacks back outside. “Let me talk to my brother.”

  The jacks left.

  By this time Mathew had climbed up on the porch to cram his body tight between the open door and the cabin wall, so tight the slashes of ash on his cheeks had smudged against the logs and the door. Mathew could smell the white man smells on them as they passed shuffled back out onto the porch.

  The youngest brother poured his own drink.

  “Nice move on your part, waiting 'til I called them in before you made me look like a fool.”

  “Stephen, what you don't understand is that when you came walking down the dock this morning with that holster strapped to your hip, that's when you looked like a fool.”

  “It's great to know I have a brother who enjoys letting my errors play full out for everyone to see before you show 'em to me.”

  “You need to understand that it comes from my fierce loyalty to the company.”

  “Loyalty to the company? What's that Irish saying… oh yeah, what a load of shite.”

  “Study my logic. First, I am convinced that I'm the right one to take over next. But I also know I need you helping me if I'm going to lead this company to something well beyond what Father has ever imagined. So I need to make sure everyone, and especially you, see as clearly as I do that I'm the right man for this job.”

  A bit softer this time, the youngest brother repeated, “What a load of shite.”

  “And if I was helping you along, if I was saying to you, hey little brother I think the pistol might be a mistake, you wouldn't see it's these sorts of errors of judgment you make that could really damage us. And you'd begin to think you were actually making good decisions.”

  And softer still, “You've always been a cold bastard, James.”

  “It wasn't me put us in this place, it was Father. And just remember later that I was clear with you about what I am up to. Nothing behind your back.”

  Mathew heard it first, then one of the jacks called back to the cabin through the screen door, but by then the brothers heard it as well and were on their way to the door.

  It was the echoed faint rumble of an approaching bush plane, still at a distance.

  The pulp mill brothers stepped outside onto the porch where the jacks were waiting.

  Mathew was wedged in tightly just behind the door.

  The older brother directed the jacks.

  “Go on down and pull the plane around so they can pull up. We'll be right behind you.”

  The brothers found the place on the porch affording the best view of the sky in the direction of the plane's sound. The youngest brother stood in front of Mathew with his back to him. His arms were folded across his chest as he listened to his older brother's directions.

  “Here's the slant. We're here to start over. To show we want to be good neighbors, to assure them the finest scientists have given their endorsement to all safety issues and we should have been more forthright with what we are doing and that's what we are doing now. We're here to talk, so let's talk about doing some business, maybe a lot of business, as the beginning of an era of neighborly behavior.”

  The pistol may have been army issue, but the holster was not; it was uncovered, without a strap to secure the pistol. The older brother remembered it.

  “You need to get down there and put that pistol away before they get here.”

  The pistol's handle pointed right at Mathew and he raised his hand towards it and didn't stop reaching for it. He stepped forward and with his right hand pushed the door out hard, with the left hand he grabbed the pistol out of the holster. The door smashed into the older brother and he staggered two steps.

  After Mathew grabbed the pistol clean, he hesitated, looking for the eyes of the youngest brother who had turned and was reaching to regain his gun.

  When Mathew hesitated, Stephen had time for his Army training to guide his instinct and he grabbed the pistol in one hand and Mathew's wrist in the other, turning them against each other so Mathew's grip would weaken and he'd be forced to release the gun.

  As the move was executed Mathew found Stephen's eyes and spoke to him in the forest language.

  “To fight your poison I bring my strongest medicine.”

  The confusion in Stephen's eyes turned to surprise when Mathew gave way to the move so easily that the pistol turned clear around to point at Mathew's chest as they fought for control of the gun, and then Stephen's eyes showed panic when a finger found the trigger and the shot exploded Mathew's magic pouch as it made a hole in his chest, knocking him off the porch and into a tree before he landed flat on his back.

  The pistol fell to the porch at the youngest brother's feet.

  The older brother jumped from the porch to stand next to Mathew, staring down at him; his body lay still though his head turned back and forth and his lips moved without a sound.

  “You shot him? You stupid son of a bitch… Stephen… why did you shoot him?”

  “I didn't mean to… No, James, no, I didn't do it… He shot himself! He did, he shot himself. He said something to me and then he shot himself.”

  The youngest brother stooped to pick up his pistol and his older brother said sharply, “Don't touch it until I figure out what we need to do.”

  “I was fighting to get my pistol back from him. When he hit you with the door, he grabbed my pistol from the holster. He must have been hiding there, behind the door, waiting for us. My first thought was he intended on using it on me, on you, on both of us.… So I was disarming him, and I thought I had. Then I was struggling to keep him from turning the pistol back at himself because that's what it felt like he was doing and he said something and then… I don't know, but he must have pulled the trigger because I didn't.”

  The jacks had dashed back when they heard the shot, and the first to arrive called from the path. “He's right. The boy grabbed the gun and then he turned it on himself. We all saw it. We were standing right there and we all saw it.”

  Tommy was back in the co-pilot's seat, so Dutch took a wider approach that would provide him with the best view of the full scope of the forests and the River of Lakes and a most dramatic introduction to the Great Lodge at Innish Cove with the ridges behind it.

  When Dutch saw the plane at the dock he called to Brian and Maureen. “You've got company. There's an Abitibi Norseman sitting at your dock.”

  James knelt over Mathew whose shirt was soaking blood. His pouch had been ripped open by the slug and flecks of his sacred herb floated in the edge of the blood. His eyes were open, but he looked far far away as he slowly, barely, rocked his head back and forth. A last bit of ash dusted his face.

  This Man came from the forest and began to sing a mournful cry.

  Mathew's breathing was weaker, then weaker, with first just a sputter of blood then quickly more blood streaming from the corner of his
mouth.

  Soon his head was still.

  His heart skipped and convulsed, he closed his eyes, and This Man changed his song.

  “He's dead, you god damn—”

  “I didn't shoot him.”

  “All that matters now, you got to understand this, all that matters now is that it was your pistol, a loaded pistol you brought to their home, it was your pistol that killed him.”

  Before the older brother stood, he wiped the bit of blood from his hand on the ground.

  “Everyone gather around me right now. Each of you has a part in this, and we got to get this right the first time and each and every time from now on.”

  They formed around him.

  “The three of you, that's easy, you were half way down the path and so, even though you came running at the shooting, it was all over before you got here, so you didn't see a thing. Since you didn't see a thing, they leave you out of this, all you have to do is stick to that, which is true after all, you didn't see a thing. Now then, me and my brother. We had gone in to see if anyone was here, and when we stepped out, the Indian boy jumped my little brother from behind and stole your army pistol from you, Stephen.

  “Before we knew what was going on, the Indian raised the gun and… and he shot at me and I fell away… So then I didn't see a thing after that… By the time I got back up, it was over… So now you're the only one who knows how brave you must have been, Stephen, after he shot at me, to go after him to get the pistol away, in self-defense, to save us, and as you fought to get the gun back… Well, it was a struggle for a loaded gun, and it went off, and he got shot.”

  “I'm telling you, James, and you're not listening to me—he shot himself. The crazy son of a bitch god damn Indian boy grabbed my gun and said some words and then he shot himself.”

  “He was shot with your gun. That's the one thing for sure. This boy, he's the son and brother of the people who live here and you, a stranger, maybe an adversary, you flew in here carrying a loaded gun and this Indian was shot with it. So we have to give them a story about how it happened, or the story they'll figure out for themselves, Stephen, is that you shot him.”

  “The pistol has only been shot once. You say he shot at you. They'll know that's not right.”

  The older brother had already slipped a work glove on his right hand and retrieved the pistol from where it lay on the porch, looked at his brother, then the jacks said, “Goddamn you Stephen”. He quickly cocked the pistol, pointed it at his own thigh, and shot through the fleshly edge. In searing, ripping pain, he leaned against the open door, cursing and spitting.

  The shock of the second shot compounded the first, and the youngest brother and the jacks were so stunned they didn't know what to do next. James was ready to tell them. He gestured towards the pistol and through clenched teeth directed Stephen.

  “Toss the pistol there next to him, toss it at his feet, centered, we don't know if he's left or right handed… You two run ahead and get the first aid kit ready, there's a tourniquet there. You lend me your shoulder. And you get rid of that ax.”

  The youngest brother and one jack helped support the older brother who called out to the jacks running down the path ahead of them.

  “You didn't see a thing, goddamn it, you didn't see a thing.”

  As they made their way slowly down the path, the NOA Norseman was approaching its landing, and a break in the trees allowed them to see past the cove, past the point, to the open lake as the bush plane's pontoons bounced off the water once, then grabbed and landed in a spray.

  “My wound means I have to leave here fast. So you'll need to volunteer to stay behind, you want to… god damn this hurts… you feel badly about what happened and since they'll insist you stay to answer their questions, you volunteer before they do, out of sympathy. Their pilot can fly you out after you've shown them what happened.”

  “Who'll fly you home?”

  “Jerry has plenty of hours. I trust him.”

  “Goddamn it. Tell me again why we were here in the first place.”

  “To assure them the scientific evidence supports the safety of what we are doing and to invite them to find the foundation for a friendly relationship. You can use my ideas for bringing them business as examples of what we hoped to be talking about. Have a long list of names ready so it seems real.”

  “So why did I have my pistol?”

  “Someday maybe you'll understand, and when you do, I'm guessing you won't carry it anymore. But if they press hard on that, you can see what happens if you do suggest it's because the woman came after us with a knife and we were taking precautions.”

  Brian was standing on the pontoon as Dutch taxied into the cove. He was balanced behind the wing strut but from there he could show himself to the men gathered on his dock.

  Two jacks caught the Norsemen's wing strut to guide it in next to their own plane, and Brian jumped onto the dock and approached the strangers waiting for him. He checked, he always did, and found he was the biggest among them, but these men were large enough and more than hard. One man was leaning against another, as if he was injured, and it was this injured man who spoke to Brian.

  “There's been a shooting accident. Just now, I was shot…” He winced to show how dreadful was his pain. “… In the leg, by one of your Indians. I'm bleeding rather badly, I'm afraid, so you'll understand that I must be off.”

  Maureen was right behind Brian coming onto the dock, and Tommy followed her. They stood on either side of Brian when he stopped to consider this man's claim, which he supported by pointing to his tourniquet and bloody bandage. Maureen studied the wounded man's face.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “It happened fast. We had just been inside the big cabin. An Indian boy was waiting for us outside. He shot me, then was shot himself when my brother tried to disarm him.”

  “Who shot you?”

  “He didn't give us his name… What I know is I have been shot in the leg by your Indian boy.”

  Simon ran down the dock, heading to the cabins.

  “I have to get to the hospital right now. My name is James Miller and this is my brother Stephen Miller and he's offered to stay behind to help you sort out why your Indian would have attacked me.”

  Maureen called to Simon to wait, then turned to the youngest brother.

  “Where did it happen?”

  “He jumped me outside your big cabin, the one with the porch. He hit me from behind and stole my pistol.”

  “He stole your pistol? Why did you bring a… Show me what happened.”

  Maureen turned to go, the older brother nodded to direct the youngest to follow her. As they headed down the dock, the older brother began limping his way closer to his plane. Tommy could see the rage building in his father so he stayed close at hand.

  “James Miller? Millers are the owners of Atibiti.”

  “That's right.”

  “I've got one last question for you before you go.”

  The older brother stopped and turned for it.

  “Can I see the bullet wound?”

  “Show you the bullet wound. Your Indian—”

  Brian's body became tense and he commanded, “Don't say that again.”

  The jacks were ready, Tommy was frightened, but he stood at Brian's side.

  “Don't say what?”

  “Don't say 'Your Indian.' If it's the young man it must be, I love him like he's my son, but he's not 'My Indian,' not the way you mean it.”

  “I came calling to talk about some of my customers being your guests here, but instead I get shot by an Indian that works for you, and now you're preventing my prompt return for medical care.”

  “An' you send your employees into the bush pretendin' to be field biologists an' what the feck did you need a pistol for unless you intended to use it.”

  The older brother motioned for the jacks to help him up the ladder into the plane. Brian stepped forward again, but Tommy grabbed his arm. Brian pulled away and shot a look a
t Tommy that Tommy had seen before, and he stepped back. The shock of arriving to find violent death waiting was now quickly enveloped in fear. He tried to stay calm, but his heart was racing.

  As James stepped into the plane he called out over his shoulder. “It's my brother's army pistol, he has a habit of wearing it, you'll have to ask him why. And if you need to see a bullet hole oozing blood, you can follow me onto the plane and check it out as we're flying to Kenora.”

  Brian's anger grew again when he was dismissed. Tommy fought to collect himself, knowing Brian was close to losing control, and stepped between his father and the plane, sweat streaming down his sides, his priestly dress, he hoped, his shield. When Brian hesitated, Tommy turned so he could see into the cabin where the older brother was settling. He wondered if he would be able to control his voice.

  “Let's do this instead. Why don't you expect we'll be calling the hospital tomorrow to check up on you?”

  “What neighborly concern.”

  “Something like that.”

  After the youngest brother told Maureen what had happened, she told him to repeat it for Brian when he and Tommy joined them.

  Simon was kneeling over Mathew's body and Tommy stood next to him. They both were whispering prayers and fighting tears.

  The younger pulp mill brother waited a moment to collect his thoughts before he turned to Brian.

  “We went inside the cabin looking for you. We figured by then you weren't here or you would have shown yourself, but this seemed like a building open to the public, so my brother figured it was the best place to leave a note or a letter that we'd been here to talk with you. To mend fences.”

  He climbed onto the porch and began to act the behavior he spoke of.

  “And so we heard a plane and figured it was you, and when we came out the boy must have been waiting behind the door for us, because we're just standing here watching your plane come over the ridge when wham!, from behind, the door slams into me and my brother, both of us, and we go falling, but he had grabbed my pistol—”