Let Us Be Brave

by Linda Thompson

  Lillian walked on and on down the beach, jumping over little creeks in the muddy sand and avoiding the watery pools that remained after the tide had gone out. She was looking down all the time.

  “What are you looking for?” asked Nicholi.

  “Two shell holes. See, there are two of them.”

  “All I see is a little hole in the muddy sand. There are little round fleshy things in the holes. Oh, we’re surrounded by them,” he said as he reassessed the shoreline.

  Lillian squatted down and closely inspected the mud before taking the shovel and setting it four or five inches away from the hole. When she was ready, she started digging. The mud was wet and heavy, but she continued to dig as quickly as she could. Four shovelfuls later she pulled up a long razor clam. It was about six inches from end to end. After showing it to Nicholi, she put it in the second head net and set her shovel carefully by the second hole in the muddy sand. She took a couple of deep breaths and started again digging down, throwing wet heavy sand and mud as quickly out and away from the hole. The little lady breathed heavily from the hard work. Sweat dripped down her back, making her warm as well as wet.

  Nicholi watched her dig as fast as her little body could. The sand was oozing back into the hole half as fast as she got it out. Suddenly he spotted white and yellow down in the grey hole. He got down on his knees, grabbed the tip of the clam, and held on tight.

  “Not let go. He fast,” she said, excited.

  He kept a good grip on it with one hand and stuck his other hand in the hole to dig down around the animal. With a sucking sound, he pulled the entire clam out of the mud and inspected it closely.

  “Good. Two,” she said softly.

  He put the clam in the bag with the other and looked at them. “How many do we need?”

  “As many as get. That be enough.”

  Lillian dug and dug until she was exhausted. She had learned how to dig clams with her mother and grandmother and loved doing it. They taught her by having her watch them. That was the best way to teach in her village. Finally, too tired to dig any more, she said softly, “Your turn. You can.” She put the little shovel in his hands and smiled confidently.

  Nicholi looked at the shovel and then at her.

  “You want big dinner? Dig.”

  He dug more slowly than Lillian, but took deeper shovelfuls. He broke a few shells, but eventually he understood where and how deep to dig.

  The tide had turned and was now coming in, visible first in the sand. As they dug, the holes were immediately filled with water, and the mud was trying to suck off their shoes. The water oozed up the beach, and the clams started moving back up closer to the surface. Finally the water was rushing in on top, and the two retreated up the beach to camp, stopping at every clam hole until they were too high and dry for clams.

  The rain was still coming down, the ceiling was barely above sea level, and the waves were topped with white caps. Lillian and Nicholi were tired, wet, muddy, and hungry beyond belief. The rain managed to make them cold and wet, but didn’t wash the mud off their legs and tennis shoes. Their hands were chapped dark red from all the work in the coarse, cold, wet sand. It hurt to bend their chilled fingers.

  At camp, Nicholi said, “Lillian needs two pots and the knife.”

  “What for?” asked Marie as she got them out of the orange duffel.

  “Clams,” said Nicholi.

  The two left, heading for the creek.

  “Looks like Lillian’s cooking,” said Patrick. “Helen said she’d feed us.”

  At the creek the pair put the clams in the bucket and filled it with fresh creek water. The clams loved the water and immediately started spitting out sand they had accumulated in the their bodies. Lillian and Nicholi helped each other clean as much of the muddy sand off their faces, hands, and clothes as possible. After having left the clams alone undisturbed for a time, Lillian carefully pulled one out to clean it. Squatting down under a large canopy spruce tree next to a downed, barkless, beetle-killed spruce tree, she popped the shell open with the knife and disconnected the soft inner body from the shell. She carefully dropped the clam meat on the log, her makeshift cutting board, and sliced it open to finish cleaning out the guts and sand. Then she rinsed the edible part in the creek and tossed it into one cooking pot and collected the intestines and parts she didn’t want in a pile for the birds.

  Pointing to the gut pile, she said, “Make sick,” and continued to pop open the shells and clean the meat. It was a long process to clean them, but it was worth it to her. “I never eat gran bar again. Even if starving.”

  They had dug 45 clams during that tide. It was enough for everyone to have a good bowl of clam chowder. She rinsed off the seaweed and the clams one last time, and they walked back to camp with Nicholi stumbling along happily talking to his mirror. She looked forward to sitting by the fire and drying off. Her hands were stiff with the cold, and her back ached from bending over and digging so hard.

  She looked at Nicholi as he doddled along and pulled his shirt to hurry him up. “You giant wet muskrat,” she giggled.

  Once back in camp, they proudly showed off the tub of clams. Lillian added the last of the water from the collapsible water container to the pot along with the clams. She covered the pot and put it on the edge of the fire. She added salted seaweed for flavor and color. There were even a couple of little packages of pepper in the survival bag. She sprinkled them in.

  “What about bowls? We only have one. Everyone needs one,” said Marie.

  They all looked at each other.

  “I’ve got a pop can. If someone can cut the top off, that would be another container we could use,” said Patrick.

  “Me oo” (Me too). Sam quickly dug a pop can out of his little backpack and handed it to Marie. He had emptied it the first day after they crashed. He didn’t know what to do with it at the time, so he had put it in his duffel. He was involved with recycling at school and knew it was bad to throw cans away. He had thought he would put it in a recycle bin when he saw one. He was well trained to be responsible with them.

  “Marie, get the knife with the tools on it. I think it has a pair of little scissors in the set.”

  “Here it is.” She put it on the tarp in front of his face so he could see it.

  Patrick rolled the knife with the back of his hand and inspected all sides of the tool. “Yup, it does.” He looked at everyone in the group, thought about it, and decided Marie might listen to him best.

  “Marie, take the sharp knife and try to stab the can close to the top. Then see if you can saw the top off.”

  She opened the knife and stabbed the can. She was able to saw and tear the hole larger, but it was very jagged.

  “Now put the knife away and try to open up the can by cutting it all around the lid with the scissors. The blades look really small, but they should be sharp enough to get the job done.

  Marie was quite successful at getting the jaggedly cut top off. “It’ll work, but somebody will get hurt since it’s all sharp edged.”

  “Close the scissors and try to open the pliers.”

  “The what?”

  “The pliers. If you don’t know what they are, bring it to me and I’ll point to them.”

  Marie brought the tool and can to him. He struggled to get his hands to cooperate. Eventually his muscles relaxed enough that he was able to grasp the knife. He worked his hand down the tools until his finger touched the pliers. “Here it is, Marie. Open this and use it to bend the top of the can down and smash it smooth with force.”

  Once Marie had pulled out the pliers tool from the knife handle, she understood what to do. She had seen people using pliers before, but the name of them was confusing to her. Slowly she turned down the edges of one can to perfection so that it was no longer a hazard for anyone to eat out of. She handed it to Sam, picked up another can, and started working on fixing it into a bowl for Patrick.

  “I’m okay but thirsty. Could you get me a drink from the stream?”
asked Helen.

  “Sure, Sis. I’ll be right back.” Marie grabbed her rain blanket and ran down the beach to the stream with a water bottle and the collapsible water container to fill. When she returned, she quickly popped a tablet in the water container and shook it until the tablet was all gone. Then she filled up her bottle and helped her sister sit up to take a drink. Helen swayed in her arms while trying to swallow.

  “Helen,” Marie said once her sister had drunk as much as she could manage, “we have a problem. Look what I found down by the stream.” She held up a torn-up bag of water-soaked granola bars. They were ruined.

  Everyone looked at Nicholi reproachfully. He looked innocently back at them. He knew he hadn’t been careless, but still their glaring made him look down.

  “How many were in there?” asked Helen.

  “About twenty.”

  “I hope someone rescues us before we starve to death,” said Patrick.

  “You’re a bad boy!” Marie screamed at Nicholi. “I don’t want to go hungry.”

  “Oli” (Nicholi), said Sam with sadness.

  “I didn’t take them. I swear,” yelled Nicholi. His facial expression was terrified and angry.

  Lillian watched him with no expression on her face. She showed no anger or frustration, just observation of the situation.

  “I didn’t do it.” Without even grabbing a blanket, Nicholi ran out of the shelter and disappeared in the direction that he and Lillian had gone clam digging. The tide was in. He stopped to catch his breath once he was out of sight of the camp spot and looked out at the water and then up the bay. He hadn’t taken the food. Everyone was against him.

  Back at the fire, everyone looked at each other. They knew he was guilty.

  Sam added wood to the diminishing fire and soon it was roaring again. Lillian put the pot of clams, water, and seaweed in the coals to the side and kept a close eye on it to make sure the pot was turned so the precious food wouldn’t burn on one side. In a half hour the chowder was cooked to perfection. They had only one set of silverware from the pack, so they would have to take turns using them. Marie had made two more tin can bowls by that time.

  Lillian stirred the soup with a long, smooth stick, picked up the one bowl they had, and poured a heaping bowlful. She squatted down and proceeded to slurp up the first good meal she had had in days. Sam, Patrick, and Marie, watching her, decided it must taste wonderful, so Marie filled up the tin bowls, and she and Sam sat around holding onto the hot cans with their long shirt sleeves for hot pads, enjoying the heat on their cold fingers. After Lillian was full, she filled the bowl again and proceeded to feed Patrick, one spoonful at a time.

  “I declare, Lillian, you are the best cook on the planet Earth,” he said.

  Lillian smiled and continued to shovel the warm soup into his mouth until he was burping with happiness. “No more, Lil. I think I’m full.”

  Since Marie had finished drinking her soup from her can, she had been watching Lillian and Patrick as they used the only spoon. When they were finished, she rinsed the spoon off. “Your turn, Helen.” She picked up her dizzy sister and propped her up against Sam.

  He held her firmly.

  “I don’t think I can do this, Marie. I’m so dizzy.”

  “Sure you can.”

  “If I close my eyes, maybe I won’t feel so seasick and my stomach won’t feel like it’s gonna throw up.” She closed them and, sure enough, she felt better.

  Marie filled up her can with hot soup and started spooning it into her big sister’s mouth like she was a baby. Talking with a weird, singsong, adult voice, the kind people used when feeding a baby, she said, “Come on, bigggg sisterrrrr, open wiiiiide.”

  Patrick said in the same condescending voice, “You’d better eat it faaaast or your little sisterrrrr will eat all your porridge and you’ll go hungry like Goldilocks.

  Sam and Lillian laughed.

  Helen giggled, but that started spinning in her head, and she caught her-self. “Stop teasing me, you guys!” She concentrated on staying as still as possible and swallowing.

  Lillian filled another can for Marie, and they kept pouring the food into Helen’s mouth. Once everyone had eaten, they looked around for Nicholi, but he still hadn’t returned.

  “There’s enough left in the pot for one more person. He helped Lillian with the clams, so the rest is his,” said Patrick.

  Sam signed, “Okay. That was great. Thanks, Little Woman” (his sign name for Lillian).

  Lillian smiled as she made sure Nicholi’s soup wouldn’t get too overcooked.

  Chapter 15

  Nicholi

  Looking at his mirror, Nicholi said, “I didn’t take those lousy green granola bars! They’re disgusting!” He continued to storm down the beach, talking to his mirror. “Why does everyone hate me? My dad loves his girlfriend more than me. Now my friends hate me too, all over some stupid bars!”

  He stopped and sat down on a black and white barnacle-covered rock that had an old, large canopy spruce growing up the side. The tree sheltered the rock from the wind and rain, so his seat was relatively dry. Actually the rain had stopped finally, but he still couldn’t see far because of the very low clouds and the wind, which was still blowing briskly. The air was damp, as was everything, but at least he wasn’t getting drenched, thank goodness. Hunger was on his mind, but there was no way he was going to go back and ask for one of their precious green granola bars. He really wanted some of the clam chowder he had worked so hard for. They could have those bars, though. He saw an even larger spruce tree, and under its canopy the grass looked relatively dry. He got up and wandered over to it, pushed the tall grass down neatly, and lay down. Soon he was snoring away, unaware of any other living things around him. He had worked hard with Lillian, digging all those clams, and he was feeling the effects of it.

  Half an hour later he drifted back to consciousness. He had a good view up the hillside from where he was. Something shiny up there grabbed his attention and made him take a second look. As he was trying to figure out what it was, he noticed something large, furry, and dark brown with lighter-colored shoulders that was halfway between him and the shiny thing.

  He gasped in air and froze. Was it a large dog? No, too big for that. It had to be a peninsula brown, like the one they had noticed down by Pebble Lake from the airplane. It wasn’t close, but close enough. He slowly got up and started silently and carefully walking back up the beach to where the team was. He had to warn them. They were in bear country. As he walked by the creek where they filled their water containers, he noticed fresh bear sign. The pile was large and soft, very different from caribou or moose nuggets. This was, more like—he didn’t know what it was like—horse or something. He had seen horse poop in Fairbanks. Definitely different.

  When the trees got thick and he was no longer visible from the hillside, he ran as fast as he could to the shelter. They all watched him run up. Sam, Lillian, and Marie covered their heads with their arms. Was he attacking them? Was he going to hurt them?

  “Bear! I saw bear!” he huffed out.

  “Where?” said Patrick.

  “Up the hillside.”

  “Oh crap, we are so a target—Nicholi, quick! eat the soup. We have to get the smell of food away from the shelter. Bears can smell really good and if they think we have food, they’ll come and get it. Oh, crap.”

  “Here’s the bear spray,” said Marie. “At least we know where it is.”

  “Nicholi, eat!” repeated Patrick as he pointed at the fire. “This is your share.”

  Nicholi quickly grabbed the pot off the rocks where it was staying warm. Sam handed him the spoon and he happily gobbled the soup as fast as he could. Oh food, real food, no more green granola bars, forever! When he had thoroughly cleaned the pot, he went down on the beach, keeping watch for the bear, and rinsed it out as Patrick had told him to.

  When he returned Patrick said, “You really didn’t take the bars?”

  “No, I hate them! I’m hun
gry but—I didn’t take them!”

  “I believe him,” said Marie. “I don’t think he took’m either. I think our bear has already been here at night when we were all sleeping. I bet he stole them from us.”

  “We have to keep this site clean if we’re gonna avoid havin’ unwanted company at night. He’ll be back; it’s just a matter of time,” Patrick said.

  “Bear, oh, bears!” moaned Marie. She was terrified.

  Sam continued to play with his cars. There was nothing he could do about it, so he didn’t worry.

  Lillian sat on the floor of the shelter, her arms wrapped around her legs, rocking slowly as she thought about their situation. She had to find a solution. She had had bear encounters before and sort of knew what to do, but she was still terrified.

  “Oh, crap. Oh, crap” was all that was coming out of Patrick’s mouth. He was bear bait, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was totally helpless, and no one there could protect him.

  Helen slept blissfully through the evening, comfortable, with her stomach full of clam chowder, unaware of the storm ending and the bear in the vicinity.

  Patrick looked at her and said, “Ignorance is bliss.”

  Chapter 16

  Mark Helps—Day 4

  Mark quickly hung up the phone with FAA at Kenai Radio. Everything was still the same; they hadn’t found Helen the night before. The weather was finally getting better, though, and it was now safe for all size planes after the big storm.

  The radio buzzed awake with the familiar voice of Ron, a pilot from Maritime Helicopters, asking for local information. Mark looked out his small tower window and saw the blades turning slowly over a copter as it warmed up across the runway on the other side of Homer Airport.