Heart So Hungry

by Randall Silvis

  A half-hour later she and George stood together atop the hill. The sun was slowly sinking toward the western horizon, a magnificent orange glow spreading out from it—reaching toward us, she thought. In the opposite direction lay Seal Lake, winding like a broad river between the hills. Its calm surface caught and held the orange of the sun, glimmered and sparkled. In every direction there were blue hills and, between them, more lakes. From the distance it seemed a fairyland, impossibly beautiful.

  “It’s been three weeks less a day since we left the North West River Post,” George told her. “We’ve come a hundred and fifteen miles, more or less. It won’t be long before we get to Michikamau.”

  Something welled up in Mina’s chest then, a mixture of pride and something else, so heavy in her chest she could not speak.

  George pointed to a low ridge of mountains to the southwest. “Over there is where I crossed with Mr. Hubbard. You see that little opening? I think that’s where we crossed over from the head of Beaver Brook.”

  Her voice was hoarse and throaty. “What are those mountains called, George?”

  “I don’t know that they have a name.”

  “Then I shall call them the Lion Heart Mountains.”

  He nodded. It was a good name.

  She gazed at the mountains, blue and snow-capped, awhile longer. Finally she turned slowly to take in the entire panorama, where she had been, where Laddie had gone, and where she was headed. “It’s almost all too beautiful,” she said.

  He understood, and said nothing.

  “Do you think there will ever be a time,” she asked, “when the beauty will cease to bring pain?”

  He would have liked to tell her yes, and to mean it. But there was nothing he could say.

  Monday morning began with an early breakfast. Then, as always during a portage, the men allowed Mina her privacy in camp while they carried the first loads forward. By the time they returned for the final load, she was ready to join them.

  Mina thought this a glorious morning, awash with full, unbroken sunlight, the sky clear and the wind still—a combination of elements not often enjoyed in those latitudes. Their trail led down into a valley enclosed on three sides by steep hills. The hills were covered with the sombre green of spruce trees, but here and there the white bark of a birch glimmered. Above the treeline the hills were bare and windblown, their faces sometimes sheared down to nothing but stone walls and cliffs.

  The valley opened before them in a widening corridor toward Seal Lake, their destination, a point of golden light in the far distance. For the most part the party hiked without speaking. The morning itself was hushed and wordless, so that the only sounds were of the singing rapids and the trill, now and then, of a small bird.

  Finally they reached a place where the rapids were not so fierce. “The boys can take the canoes through these,” George told her. “You and me will walk on ahead some.”

  But Mina had had enough of walking for a while. She studied the rapids. “If the boys can ride through them safely, why shouldn’t I?”

  “Nobody said they was perfectly safe.”

  “Then perhaps we should all continue to portage.”

  “It’s safe enough for the boys, is what I meant.”

  “And why not safe enough for me as well?”

  “They have experience with rapids.”

  “And how am I to gain experience if you won’t let me near one?”

  George turned to the other men for help. But all three just stood there grinning at him.

  He turned his back to them and stepped closer to Mina. Softly he told her, “I could never forgive myself if anything was to happen to you.”

  “Well, then,” she said with a smile, and briefly touched a fingertip to his cheek, “allow me to absolve you in advance.”

  With that she strode toward the shoreline and the waiting canoes. “Where shall I ride?”

  Joe cut a quick look at George, read the expression of surrender on George’s face and told her, “You can ride with me and Job if you like, missus.” With a challenging grin cast in George’s direction, he added, “We’re the ones know the most about handling the rapids.”

  George came forward. “Let Job go with Gilbert this time. I’ll ride with you and Missus Hubbard.”

  Within minutes the canoe was launched. Immediately a wave broke against the bow and splashed all the way back to George in the stern. Mina, seated in the centre, gasped as the cold slapped her face. Joe turned to look at her, his eyebrows arched.

  “Oh, it’s fine,” she told him. “It’s fine! Go on!”

  The men dug in hard with their poles, driving the canoe through the waves. Up a wave and down into a trough, then thrust up again, the bow being pushed to the side, corrected by Joe, then tossed up again with a splash, then splashing down. Mina gripped her seat and sat low, huddled tightly, breathing in short gasps and exhalations. The buffeting lasted only a few minutes before the rapids faded, by which time her face was shiny wet. The second canoe pulled alongside and Gilbert called out, “How’d you like the ride, Missus Hubbard?”

  “Oh, I liked it fine, Gil! It was exhilarating!”

  She turned on her seat to flash a smile at George, but when she saw the strain in his face she lost all desire to tease or gloat. The short ride had obviously been an ordeal for him. He had not only fought the waves and the current, but with every ounce of strength he had been willing the canoe to stay upright, keeping Mina glued to her seat. With every jounce and slip of the canoe he had wanted to reach out and grab her, have her safely in his grasp should the canoe capsize. The effort of not doing so had utterly drained him.

  So all she said was, “Thank you for letting me experience that, George.”

  It took him a while to find enough breath for words. “You’re welcome, missus.”

  Not long after that they came to another set of rapids, these too rough for any of the party to brave. During the portage, which took them along a well-worn bear trail over white moss, George told her, “I’ve seen men couldn’t handle rapids the way you did back there.”

  “Really, George? Did I do all right?”

  “Lots of men would’ve jumped out of their canoes rather than go through those places.”

  “They weren’t very big rapids, though.”

  “Nearly as big as we can handle.”

  “Honestly?”

  “I wouldn’t want to tackle any much bigger.”

  “Does that mean I can ride them with you from now on?”

  He laughed softly. “I don’t suppose I’ve got much choice, seeing as how I just said what I did.”

  “You weren’t lying, were you?”

  “I wouldn’t ever tell you a lie, missus. You can count on that.”

  So many of their moments lately seemed to call for a touch of some kind, her hand on his arm, her fingers squeezing his. But he was two steps behind her, a heavy pack on his back, his rifle in his hands. So she merely kept on walking. Still, the connection felt unfinished.

  After a while she spoke again. “You know, George, climbing that hill yesterday and looking back the way we did, and seeing how far we’ve already come, and then running those rapids with you and the men, all of us in it together for a change … I almost feel like an explorer finally.”

  “It’s what you are,” he told her.

  “Yes, but … This is your expedition, really. You’ve always been the one in charge.”

  “You’re the only one thinks that, missus. This is your trip start to finish. Always has been.”

  Again she felt the need for contact, and slowed just a bit, hoping he might come up close to her, put out his hand, touch her shoulder, turn her around. But he slowed too and stayed a full pace behind. And she thought, maybe he’s leaving me in charge of that as well.

  Seal Lake was a mile wide where they entered it, but as they moved northward the shorelines drew closer, widened again, then grew closer. On both sides the ground sloped up toward hills of solid rock, some standin
g monolithic and sharp. One, named Mount Pisa, leaned toward the east. The surrounding countryside had been burned over years earlier, but white birch and alder had regrown from the shorelines to the cliffs. Close to the shores were numerous small islands and sandy hummocks covered with grass.

  All along the way they saw geese, ducks, gulls and muskrats. A family of seals, lounging on the sunny rocks near an island, slipped into the water at the canoes’ approach, then watched curiously with only their round dark eyes and black heads visible as the canoes glided past.

  Near the northern end of the lake a long arm of water reached some thirty miles to the west. But just ahead to the north lay the opening to the Naskapi River again. Here the hills were low and less rugged, but the river, as it turned southwest toward Lake Michikamau, was fierce and foaming.

  By seven P.M., when they pulled ashore, they had made seventeen miles that day. “A good day’s travellin’,” Gilbert said.

  George hopped out of the canoe and held it steady as Mina disembarked. He said, “We’ve been making good time.”

  Mina was proud of their accomplishment, but also concerned. “Do you think anyone has done better?”

  Gilbert, Joe and George all spoke at once, a chorus of protests. When they fell silent, she turned to the laconic Job. “Do you agree with the others?” she asked.

  “We doin’ fine,” Job told her. “Wallace nowhere around.”

  “From your lips to God’s ear,” she said.

  Mina did not sleep much Monday night, tormented by mosquitoes and the drone of troubling thoughts. The walls and ceilings of her tent were thick with insects. Though she huddled inside her blankets and veil, the pests could not be kept at bay. They pricked at her through the veil, crawled into her clothing, slithered under the tops of her stockings. Finally she gave up trying to sleep and, knowing that a candle for reading or writing would only call greater hordes of insects to her tent, embarked upon a systematic extermination of her tormenters, squishing them one by one until her fingers were slippery with blood.

  She could smell the smoke from the men’s pipes and she hoped they were faring better in the other tent. But if they were sitting up smoking, they too must be unable to sleep.

  Around four she heard one of the men moving about outside. She peeked out of her tent and saw Joe building up the fire. By the time she had dressed for the day, the other men were moving about as well, all sleepy and silent and many times bitten.

  But before they had finished breakfast the rain came, a hard, unrelenting downpour driven by winds that would have made paddling impossible. They had no choice but to return to their tents and hope the shower would pass quickly.

  The rain continued without relief until Wednesday morning, nine a.m. At the first sign of clearing they took to their canoes. Now, finally, the men had something to do, and the effort of paddling up a swift river brought smiles to their faces again. They rode another nineteen miles that day, even with a few pauses for shooting, which added a partridge, two geese and a muskrat to their larder.

  But the good day was not to be soon repeated. Thursday brought another deluge of rain and wind. Despite these conditions, the men could sit still no longer. Around noon Job went off to climb a steep rise they had named Red Rock Hill. Mina, who spent the day reading, writing and occasionally napping in her tent, heard the other men moving about and talking in low voices outside. When Joe called her to supper she finally saw what they had been up to all day. They had strung up a tarpaulin so that it not only protected the fire but provided ample space for all to sit out of the rain. The ground beneath the tarp was dry and fragrant, covered with a lush blanket of fresh wood shavings.

  “What a lovely place you’ve made!” she said.

  “You can’t eat fresh goose in a buggy tent,” Joe told her.

  She was both humbled and flattered by the way the men took care of her. They did so, she knew, not because she was their employer but because they truly cared about her. There was no drama or ulterior motive to their affection; it was quiet and unassuming and real. Each of the men was as tough as a river stone, hardened by his life, but they were some of the kindest and gentlest men she had ever known. There was little anger in any of them and not the slightest trace of malice.

  She remembered the way Wallace had described the Labrador natives in his book—as mostly uncouth Indians and half-breeds, incapable of doing much more than following the simplest of directions. Those descriptions were an embarrassment to her. Caspar Whitney had harboured even harsher sentiments for Indians and had often made his low regard for them known. How was it, she wondered, that her own experience, and Laddie’s, had been so different from the others’?

  Because kindness begets kindness, she told herself. And contempt begets contempt.

  Just in time for goose, Job returned from his long hike up Red Rock Hill. He was soaked to the skin and carrying a pound of mud on each pantleg. Mina asked him, “What was it like up there, Job?”

  “Like bein’ in the clouds.”

  Gilbert asked, “Did you see any angels?”

  “Seen one. But she just passin’ through.”

  “Can’t you at least tell us what she looked like?”

  “Looked like girl I knew back home. Only better.”

  The men laughed and nodded. The goose was too delicious to be shared with conversation, its skin crisp and smoky and dripping with grease, the dark meat buttery in their mouths. They also had flatbread fried in lard, and strong tea sweetened with sugar.

  When nothing remained of the goose but a pile of bones to be boiled for broth in the morning, George said, “Did you see anything useful up on that hill, Job?”

  “Two rapids up ahead,” Job answered. “Then a little lake.”

  “How far to the rapids?”

  “Two mile, maybe.”

  The rain continued without a break through the next afternoon. After lunch beneath the tarpaulin, George told Mina, “The boys all want to go climb that hill. Get a good look where we’re headed.”

  “That’s a fine idea. Just let me change into my boots.”

  “Oh no, missus,” Job said. “Hill too steep for you. Too slippery.”

  “Nonsense. I’ll be fine, won’t I, George?”

  George looked uneasy. “Job said it wasn’t an easy climb, not even for him. There are lots of places where a person could fall off and get hurt.”

  “A person?” she said. “Or a helpless little woman like me?”

  George lowered his eyes. “I’d just rather you didn’t try it.”

  “Well, I am not going to sit here all day with the rain and the mosquitoes while you men have all the fun.” Then she had an idea. “You can take me up the rapids, George!”

  “That’d be no less dangerous than climbing the hill! With just me paddling we’ll turn over for sure.”

  “I could go with you,” Gilbert said.

  But Mina had other ideas. “No, you go climb the hill with the men. George will take me up to the rapids. We can go at least that far, can’t we, without placing my life in jeopardy?”

  The way she looked at George when she said this, her eyes sparkling with firelight and the corners of her mouth turned up in challenge, he felt a fluttering in his chest.

  “You needn’t look so frightened,” she teased. “I have no intention of throwing myself into the rapids. But to just sit here and swat mosquitoes all day? How ignominious is that for a famous explorer such as myself?”

  She was baiting him, and all the men knew it. George knew it too. And to think that she had turned down Gilbert’s offer to accompany them, right in front of everybody! It took George’s breath away.

  The first set of rapids proved to be nearly three miles above their camp. It swung toward them around a high sandy point that extended a third of the way into the river. South of this point was a little bay, and there George landed the canoe. Afterward he and Mina approached the rapids by foot. The rocks scattered along the shore were in various shades of red and gree
n and blue. Mina stooped to pick up a small green one, a smooth oval speckled with brown. “It looks just like a bird’s egg,” she said. “See how pretty, George?”

  “Put it in your pocket for good luck.”

  “Can a stone bring good luck?”

  “Anything beautiful can. Put it in your pocket and let’s find out.” She did so. “We’ve had good luck so far, haven’t we? Do you think it will last?”

  “Now that you’ve got your good luck stone, it will.”

  A few minutes later they stood together on a flat rock under which the rapids surged and chortled. “They look so wild and fine,” Mina said. “I feel almost giddy standing so close to them like this.”

  “That’s what I told you about getting dizzy and falling in.”

  “I can see how it might happen. It could happen to me now.” With that she leaned forward as if losing her balance.

  George lunged toward her, but she turned to him, smiling, just before he grabbed her arm, and he stopped himself short.

  “Don’t you want to save me?” she asked.

  “You’re only teasing me now.”

  “But I could tumble in at any moment. Don’t you at least want to take hold of my hand, just to be safe?” And she offered her hand to him.

  “What if you pull us both in?” he asked. “Do you think I might?”

  Instead of answering immediately he only looked into her eyes. They were wild and fine too, and every bit as dizzying as the rapids. Looking at her like that did something to his balance, made the world seem to tilt beneath him.

  “I’d rather we both went in,” he told her, “than let you go in alone.”

  It was late when they returned to camp, past sunset, and the men, having long ago returned from climbing Red Rock Hill, had cleaned up, prepared a supper of four partridges and begun to worry.

  “It was hard paddling against that current,” George told them as explanation for his and Mina’s late arrival.

  But the men noticed how quiet Mina was all through supper, and how George kept his eyes lowered, staring at the fire, so the men were mostly silent too, and only smiled to one another across the dance of flames.