The Pilgrim

by Paul Almond

  After a long time of standing, I’m not sure how long, I became conscious of being more than usually chilled. I went inside in and closed the door, and then proceeded to do some warm-up exercises, beat my hands around my body and leap about. I had to prepare myself for bed and knew I should not get under blankets this chilled. Whatever had possessed me out there, I wondered, as I began to pant with exertion? A big day lay ahead tomorrow, I knew, and I had to force myself into a good deep sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next morning being crisp and clear, I went to dig the dogs out of their snowbound enclosure. I brought them up, fed and harnessed them, attached their traces to the pittuk loop and, having already cleared and loaded the komatik, off we went.

  It seemed almost a shame to ruin the beautiful snowscape with these crass runners cutting double clefts through the drifts. By the same token, although we headed out immediately onto the ice, the dogs found it heavy going. I got my rackets off the komatik and put them on so that I could plough on ahead of, or beside, the team. We made for the cape at the end of a bay and, rounding it, made slow progress, always keeping the shore to our right.

  We spent the day keeping close to the shore. When we’d hit a patch of windblown ice, I’d get back on the komatik and away we’d go. Late in the afternoon, I did see what appeared to be some movement on the shore. The scattering of huts looked more like igloos, being buried under the previous day’s drifting snow. Nonetheless, these were my parishioners, and in I went.

  I was given a fine welcome, but I concede they were having their own problems just surviving this winter. The cod fishing had been good, but not the seals and so they had not managed to catch enough food for their dogs. I broke out what I could for supper, and afterwards led them in a short service of thanksgiving for what they did have. It was edifying to see how much they appreciated my presence and how they longed to be able to give me succour from what little stores they had, but I could take none of it. In fact, I only wished I’d had more to give them. They assured me it was not too far to the next large settlement, Kegaska, with its decent-sized community of Anglicans, and also to Natashquan, where I’d be able to buy more.

  The next three days went well enough, and I did feel I achieved some goals of my ministry, even counselling two families. In fact, I met with the RC priest in Kegaska, a good deal nicer fellow and younger than the one down our way. So I felt ready to push on to the Foremans, the first family Gene and I had visited.

  And so my trip went, one settlement visited after another, with my struggling through drifts, fighting the ever-blowing wind, twice losing the way when we had to go inland to cut off a large cape. I began to pay attention to the differing tracks in the new snow: the rabbits were easy to make out, and some I knew to be fox, tiny lines were mice and even a partridge or two’s resting place. But after my brush with that icy winter storm, I was now rather more afraid of losing my way. I couldn’t remember anything about the next settlement or indeed any of the names. Everything looked so different from a komatik in midwinter than from a mission boat in full summer. I searched my mind for clues to the next community.

  It had not been easy to reach the Foremans’ cabin before and now I found this even harder. I tried to remember the trail I had walked on with Eugene, and it did not feel as if this were right. Should I cast around? Go further inland perhaps, or back toward the coast? Those first days when I arrived here, we had chosen well-travelled trails and I had paid little attention to my orientation from the sea, nor indeed to important distinguishing marks such as stands of certain trees that would now help me locate myself. The last thing I wanted to do was get lost. Especially as another storm seemed in the offing. Would these storms never cease? Debilitating to get twinges of panic at every sight of great clouds rearing up in the distance. But then, one cannot always be a hero.

  I did seem to remember having climbed a hill soon after the Foremans’, and to my right I saw an odd and rather substantial hill. Thither I directed the dogs, but when we reached it, the climb seemed to be heavy with no broken trail. I persevered because from the top, I knew I’d have a good view.

  The going became more difficult. The snow had blown up this side of the hill; in places the drifts were surprisingly deep. Tuck did not want to try it at all. She kept moving to her left to go around the peak and back down. I should have paid attention. But no, as is often the case with northern tragedy, I was stubborn and pig-headed. “Come on Tuck,” I called, “radda radda,” go right, and finally, she did keep at this really impossible ascent.

  I walked behind the komatik, struggling, sweating, often on my knees, pushing as hard as I could while the dogs themselves, often over their heads in snow, tried to make it upward. By late afternoon, it seemed we were well and truly stuck. I castigated myself for being such an idiot. I dug with my rackets and tried to clear some kind of path, first for Tuck and then the komatik. Such a steep angle! However, after much sweating and shovelling, we got going again and, as the sun was setting, achieved the summit.

  Yes, there in the distance, I did see three columns of smoke rising from deep in the woods. That must be them, I thought. Then again, would the Foremans remember me from the previous autumn, me being only a companion to the Rev. Eugene Bishop? Well, at least the smoke meant a house — any house would be welcome with night falling and the storm clouds streaming at us. I resolved I would definitely give myself a day’s rest before turning and setting off on the long trip back.

  But then I looked down. We stood on the verge of a steep slope, almost a cliff. Heavens, how would we manage that? Go back the way we came, I told myself. But that tower of cloud was fast approaching. I stood there, frightened, as the sun kept sliding sideways into the horizon, the dogs panting, and my mind churning with a thousand indecisions. Oh yes, even within sight of those distant stovepipes, this whole adventure could end in tragedy. Dreadful being such a coward, I told myself, so buck up, for pity’s sake! Just make the best of it, put on double drags, or brakes, and slither straight down. Much faster, easier, simpler (if we made it, sure) and then no worries, we’d head off into those woods and find the source of the smoke, where I believed the Foremans to be.

  Going back down the way we had climbed would be safer, of course, but then, would I ever find our way to them out around the point in the dark? I might have to bivouac for the night. The clouds were closing over, the storm almost upon us, nothing to light our way if we faltered. Chilled and frightened, I thought, well, give it a try — nothing like a thrilling run down the side of a steep hill. Probably the most exciting run I’d ever have. But, I begged, not the last!

  I put on the drags, got the dogs to their feet, and down we started.

  Was that a partial track leading off left? Yes, that might be less steep. We set off in that direction, a direction that Tuck also wanted. But before I realized and could correct for it, the dogs hit some loose snow and down we all went sideways — over a much steeper drop. Faster and faster we tore, and then the komatik straightened and actually overran the dogs. Down I went with it, clinging with all my might as we dragged the dogs on their backs behind.

  Huge pinnacles of ice called ballicatters (from “barricades” ) rose to face us at the foot of these cliffs on the sea’s edge. I closed my eyes and prayed not to hit one, always leaning sideways to keep the komatik from overturning; the dogs were yelping, dragged on their backs as faster we went, sliding sideways until I jammed my leg down and righted it again so that now we tore head first out onto the flat bay ice and then, slowly pulled to halt. I tried to stand.

  I was whitefaced, I’m sure, and certainly trembling. Lord, what a narrow escape! After catching my breath, I walked back to where the dogs lay entangled in their traces.

  I hope I had not broken any dog’s leg.

  Fortunately, Tuck was unharmed and got up, wagging her tail when I released her. One by one, I lifted them, talked to them nicely, and got them sorted out. But then, I came to Grey. Oh dear, he couldn’t stand,
his hindquarters would not move. The runners must’ve struck him. It looked to me as though we had broken his spine.

  Now what?

  Bring him over and lay him on the komatik? Strap him on? Bring him to the settlement? But what would they do there? A spine, as we all know, is not curable. But leave him here to slowly starve and freeze?

  Oh what a wretched rogue and peasant slave I am, I cursed as I mangled Shakespeare. How could I ever forgive myself? I had actually damaged one of my seven wonderful companions — whose brave hearts and sturdy legs had carried me so many miles? And only through thoughtless stupidity – how horrible. I stood above Grey, chastising myself. But dusk was falling and the storm looming.

  Nothing for it, but to get the revolver my church warden had given me in case I ran into intractable situations. Wearily I plodded over to the komatik box, rummaged around, and found the gun.

  What would the other dogs think when they saw me? But then I knew my mission came first. My parishioners needed my care. I could not, for their sakes, endanger my own life or that of the team.

  I loaded the revolver.

  The dogs sat panting, their traces still not fully untangled. Fix all that later, after my unthinkable task was done.

  I knelt by Grey who looked up at me: I could see he was in pain. I bent down, and touched my forehead to his, almost hoping he would tear my throat out before my dreadful deed. But no, he lay back on the snow, and waited.

  I rose from my knees, pointed the revolver down at his head, and pulled the trigger.

  Grey’s blood spread a great stain on the white snow.

  I walked back and sorted out the harnesses. For some reason, the clouds had not poured out their vengeance yet. As if sleepwalking in a nightmare, I hitched the team, got back on the komatik, and gave the shout to move off. No point in wasting precious time in burying the poor dog; the coming snowfall would do it for me. On we sped across the windswept ice and then toward the black forest. Before we entered I checked for the direction of the smoke. Heading that way, I came upon a kind of roadway hewn through the stunted trees. In single file, the dogs quickened their pace, smelling the smoke and human habitation, which meant a good meal.

  Finally we arrived at the group of dwellings, when night, black as my own soul, fell upon us like a smothering curtain. I got off the komatik, banged at the door, my heart leaden. The Foremans opened it.

  “Mr. John!” Ralph cried at once, “Welcome. Welcome!” He ushered me in. I knew the team would not go rushing off, for they were always fed at a house. I left them outside and stepped into the modest log cabin.

  Esther came rushing across, shaking my hand, but then she could see that all was not well. “What is wrong, Mr. John?” she asked, concerned. “Has something happened?”

  I nodded. “That cliff back there. I should never have gone over.”

  “But whatever happened?” Ralph asked. “Did ya have an accident?”

  I nodded again, too heart-broken to speak. “Yes, an accident...” I stood mute, and then realized I should not subject them to any more of this self-flagellation. “My fine dog, Grey, broke his back, and I had to shoot him.” I stood, mute, doing my best to control the tears.

  In the rocking chair next to the stove normally reserved for Esther and her newborn, I couldn’t stop shaking. The couple had been more than kind and very understanding. The stove had been stuffed with their best birch from the interior and threw off a good solid heat that warmed my bones. I just had not realized how much the accident, the frightening race down the mountain, the brush with my own destruction, and then, the tragedy of my lovely dog Grey, how much it had all affected me. Indeed, I wondered then if I would ever get over it.

  Ralph had seen my state, and after having got me by the fire and stoked it well, he had taken my team, unhitched them, and put them in the dog pen of his next neighbour who had gone off on a five-day jaunt to look for game. It became clear that if the man shot no game, the little settlement might even starve, for the month of March was coming to an end and with it their meagre provisions. How could I ever conduct a service for them all in my state, and with their starvation approaching? The winter storm had struck hard here too, rattling their windows and shaking the timbers.

  “Mr. John? Mr. John!” I opened my eyes. Esther stood before me, a mug in her hand. “Mr. John, I know it’s not a woman’s place to serve you this, but Ralph whispered to me when ’e went out. ’Tis left over from the celebration when I ’ad my baby. Rum, just a tot. Do you no harm. From what I see, might even do ya powerful good.”

  I shook my head. “No thank you, Esther. I could never take a service after —”

  She interrupted, “No question of a service tonight, Mr. John. They’s... they’s just not ready. And the storm ’as come. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be better. You ’ave a good sleep tonight, and tomorrow we’ll gather. In fact, in the afternoon, you can give us all a fine service. After that, maybe we’ll put together what little food we ’ave left and celebrate. Yis,” she said, obviously having made up her mind, “Yis yis yis, that’s just what we’ll do. A service, and a celebration. We needs it, for sure.”

  I was so overwhelmed that I reached out and touched her arm. Then I took the rum. “Well, if you say so.” I couldn’t stop my teeth chattering as I spoke, and it made me giggle. She laughed with me. Then I took a good slug.

  I coughed as it went down. But no doubt, just what I needed. After a few minutes, rocking by the fire, letting the heat seep into me, sipping my rum, I felt more myself, so that when Ralph came back, he smiled.

  “Well, I see you’re on the way to recovery, Mr. John. Mighty good thing for all of us.” He took off his outer things and hung them on hooks. “Your dogs is fine. I found the seal meat where you told me and they’re ’aving a good feed. Poor fellas, I think that there accident shook ’em all. I never seen dogs so quiet. They was almost polite when they tore into that there meat.”

  I smiled again. “Well, I guess something good came out of it after all.” And I found myself chuckling.

  How could I laugh — when I had just, through my own stupidity, my own thoughtlessness, destroyed one of my seven finest companions? But laugh I did, and all three of us joined in. In fact, Ralph himself went to the corner, squeezed the last drop of rum out of the container, and came over to sit beside me. We chatted and drank like buddies, and I found myself (the rum loosening my tongue) pouring out my own shame and guilt for what I had done. Ralph readily sympathized and told of other accidents, none by any means the fault of the driver. Esther contrived to make us some weak soup for our suppers. I knew I would later bring in my provisions. But for the moment, this fireside moment, this welcoming home, it was the best thing that could have happened to me, after my ghastly mistake.

  The storm was passing, and the next day after a simple dinner of tea and moistened hardtack, and even porridge from my supply of oatmeal, the households gathered for a lovely service. After that, their modest celebration began. I joined in, hoping their warmth and good comradeship would wash away the pain, and that by the next day I would be ready for my long return.

  But with only six dogs... would we make it safely? I’d have to walk a good part of the way. I put such thoughts out of my mind. Tomorrow would have to take care of itself.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tonight, Harrington Harbour.

  I sprang out of bed at the thought. My long return journey was coming to an end. These last days since visiting the Foremans had, if anything, put me in fine fettle: I must have trekked a good halfway on my rackets. Heavy snows came and went as expected, and after each storm, I had to break a trail at the head of my reduced team. Two or three nights I did sleep out of doors, finding shelter among spruce trees or once, even nestling down in a snowdrift at the base of some high rock. The snow, I found out, makes a wonderful insulator. Last night, I slept the soundest of them all.

  At first, I had fought the dreadful image of Grey lying on the snow, but then, I fell upon an important
trick: let in a special image — that of glorious red cheeks, black eyelashes, dark eyes, glossy black hair: the lovely Lorna. Her lilting laughter made even poor Grey disappear.

  Released from my torture, I felt in a better position to minister to my parishioners. Because I wore the collar and the marks of the priesthood, I had been treated with a devotion and respect I had not earned. That knowledge alone sustained me on the long, often lonely, but never boring, route home.

  My memories of the settlements tended to blur into each other: the Mingan Islands, Natashquan, Kegaska with its Hudson’s Bay post and cheerful manager (called a “factor”), Saint Peter’s Harbour, and many other smaller places I visited. Some were admittedly more charming than others: Christian Bay (where happily I found that my solution had put everyone, including the Bucklands and Stubberts, in a good humour), Old Edwards, Blais, and Mainland — so-called because on the islands where they went fishing, fishermen would refer to their winter homes as Mainland.

  As I set off across the bay for the island with Harrington Harbour, I grew anxious. Was it because I hoped Lorna would still be at the house of John Bobbitt? Or had she returned to Mutton Bay? And what of Phil Vatcher? Had he now won her heart? I certainly had no claim upon her myself. With a shudder I remembered how brusque I had been when she had welcomed the notion that we should travel together as man and wife.

  All right then, did I really want to get married? Such an enormous subject — each time it arose, I put it aside. I recalled my mother’s second thoughts as recounted by cousin John that first Christmas of my university stint, when she’d left the day after their marriage. And I told myself, my first duty did lie here in this enormous parish. The whole drama of matrimony, with its many accoutrements, might be too diverting: learning to live with another, all the family implications, children that surely would come, no, I felt I could not handle it all just at the moment. But of course, that could change.