Demon Spirit, Devil Sea

by Charlene D'Avanzo

  “Funny you ask. At the end of the dive, a seal swam around the boat like it was looking for something. When you surfaced, it watched you for a moment and disappeared.”

  “Right. I saw it, too. Hey, won’t you join Harvey and me in the bathhouse? That way I can properly applaud your terrific dive-guide skills.”

  She grinned. “I just might take you up on that.”

  The tide was much lower, which made the ramp between the floating dock and pier steep. Lost in thought, I slowly made the climb and tried to make sense out of two bizarre events. First, a gust from nowhere carried a single feather on Ninstints and now a seal freed me from kelp? I could easily dismiss the savior seal. Nitrogen narcosis, also called raptures of the deep, could result in hallucinations when divers breathed gases under elevated pressure. Dismissal of the kelp mummy wrap was more of a stretch, but that could’ve been part of the delusion. After all, Harvey said I’d disappeared for less than a minute.

  I reached the top of the ramp and took in the sweeping view. Damn. Why couldn’t I just cool it, forget about what happened—for now anyway—and enjoy myself? I was in an ecologist’s paradise with stunning scenery and magnificent animals, like seals and whales, and kelp critters in a riot of colors.

  But like my mother had always said, I wasn’t the cool-it type.

  My mind replayed the advice my mother, a marine conservationist, had given me when I started college.

  If you want to be an exceptional scientist, you must be open to completely new ideas—ones that aren’t in the textbooks.

  In my back-and-forth about the visions, there was a quality of an exceptional scientist I’d ignored—open-mindedness. After all, if Alexander Fleming had dismissed the odd idea that mold could kill bacteria, there’d be no penicillin. With creative thinking, Rosalind Franklin used her fuzzy X-ray diffraction images to draw the double helix structure of DNA. Maybe I was missing something with my stubborn ideas about reality.

  Huh. The idea was intriguing. I was getting nowhere obsessing about feathers and seals. I could let the fixation go for now, and be open to what might happen. Instantly, this seemed right. Something important was just beyond my reach. It wasn’t a scientific finding, like Fleming’s or Franklin’s. It was about me, personal.

  With a lighter step, I walked along the pier. Below, a row of wooden dinghies bleached gray, olive, and brown crowded each other above the high-tide line, suggesting that the Council meeting would be well attended. Harvey and Ted had stopped halfway down the pier. Fixed on something, they leaned on the railing and looked down. I followed their gaze to see a crowd of people around the hot pool where William had died. They all gaped at the pool.

  Well, what used to be a pool.

  The water had drained out. Now, there was only a big dry hole.

  15

  I caught up with Ted and Harvey. “Jesus. What the hell happened?”

  “Not sure when it happened,” Ted said, “But a seismic shift below must’ve caused what happened.”

  “Just one pool drained?”

  “As far as we can see,” Harvey said.

  I hugged myself. “D-damn coincidence it’s the one where William died.”

  Despite the confusion outside, Harvey and I took our time in the bathhouse. After all, we’d been immersed in fifty-degree water for nearly an hour and chilled to the core on the ride home. I slipped down into warmth, pushed hair off my face as I surfaced, and knotted it into a tight ponytail. The knot held for a change.

  My core temperature had returned to normal by the time Aaka arrived. She stripped off her clothes, dropped into the tub without a word, leaned her head back, and shut her eyes. Her faced was scrunched up like she was in pain.

  I touched her shoulder. “Aaka, what’s the matter?”

  She slid under the water, came up, and raked her hands down her face. “Um, what’s happened out there.”

  “That water drained out of the pool?” Harvey asked.

  “It’s the one William died in.”

  Aaka looked like she was about to burst into tears. Was she related to William? I didn’t want to pry and wasn’t sure what to say. Harvey looked at me and shrugged.

  Aaka broke the tension. “William and I were lovers. We were going to get married.”

  Now I was utterly confused. Anna had said she and William talked about marriage.

  “Oh,” was all I could manage.

  Harvey was more gracious. “Aaka, how terrible this must be for you. I’m so sorry.”

  Aaka’s eyes filled with tears. She slipped under the water again.

  When she came up, I went for a neutral question. “Have any of the pools emptied like this before?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I remember. This is going to freak people out. Especially the older ones.”

  “Yes?”

  Aaka clicked into guide mode. “For Haida, hot pools are sacred. They’ve been here for centuries. Longer.”

  “And they attract tourists,” Harvey said.

  “That, too. If more drain, it’ll be a disaster.”

  “Speaking of tourists,” I said, “where’s your dive operation and where do you live?”

  “Up on Moresby Island. I usually dive there but came down a lot to—” She looked to the side and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “You’re a terrific guide. I’d recommend you to anyone. You know the currents, the natural and cultural history. You’re very safety-conscious. I’m sure Harvey agrees.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Aaka pushed herself up onto the edge of the tub. “This is a dangerous place to dive. We’ve had a couple of deaths. Last one got tangled in the kelp.”

  My stomach flipped.

  Our dry clothes hung on the bathhouse pegs. We toweled off and said good-bye to Aaka. We’d paid her earlier and told her to look for another check—our tip, a generous one. She said she needed time alone and asked us to thank Ted for her.

  Harvey and I stepped outside.

  “I feel so bad for her,” I said.

  “Yeah. It was hard to know what to say.”

  Ted was waiting for us outside the men’s bathhouse. We walked down the path to join the crowd.

  Twenty-odd people circled the empty bowl. Hunched, pale, and tight-lipped, Gene stared down at the dry hole.

  I walked over to him. “Gene, what happened?”

  He straightened up and blinked. “Oh, um…Mara. Let’s see. I was out here this morning and noticed the water level was down. When I came back later the pool was dry.”

  “Has it drained before?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Ted asked, “Gene, would you like us to find out if there’s been tectonic activity out here? Would that help?”

  “Probably not.” He glanced over his shoulder. People around the pool clustered together in little groups. “They believe it drained because something bad happened here.”

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “If it was only the drained water, I’d pay attention to the geologists.”

  “There’s more?”

  Gene stepped away from the pool, out of earshot from the crowd. We followed. He spoke so quietly we had to lean in to hear. “William’s parents called me this morning. They were upset and confused.”

  I frowned. “Confused? Why?”

  “Let me back up. The coroner ordered an autopsy because William’s death was so unexpected. I guess that’s routine.”

  I pictured William’s body on the table for an autopsy. The image was gruesome.

  Gene continued. “I don’t know the details. From what his parents said, it’s difficult to determine if heart failure or drowning is natural or not.”

  “So they think maybe someone—” I didn’t have to finish the sentence.

  “Anna talked to them. She’s convinced William was, ah, murdered.”

  The foul word hung in the air.

  “I don’t get it,” Ted said. “No offense to Anna, but she’s probably not thinking stra
ight. Why would William’s parents listen to her?”

  “That’s the part they didn’t want to talk about. Apparently, Anna gave them a name.”

  Anna’s words rang in my head. Someone did it.

  “Damn serious thing to do,” Ted said.

  I put my hand on Gene’s arm. “What happens now?”

  “Don’t know. Coroner has to decide. I just hope it’s quick so we can put this behind us.”

  “Gene,” Harvey asked, “are you going ahead with this meeting?”

  “There’s nothing we can do now, so yes. And talking about something besides William and what happened here might help.”

  Great. We’d be speaking with a roomful of locals faced with the death of one of their own and sudden drainage of the pool he died in. Someone sniffled, and I cringed at my insensitivity. The people gathered around the hole in the ground were struggling with grief and an inexplicable event. My concerns were trivial in comparison.

  Gene looked seaward. I followed his gaze. Rows of waves rolled across the bay.

  “Where’s my head?” Gene asked. “Almost forgot to tell you about the storm. A typhoon remnant, I think that’s what the weatherman called it, in the Pacific unexpectedly turned east. It’s heading our way now. They’ll keep planes in Vancouver. No morning flights from here to the mainland, and who knows when they’ll go again. You better change your plans. The meeting won’t start for a half an hour, and you can use my phone. Door’s unlocked.”

  As Gene walked away, we frowned at the clouds.

  “Damn,” Harvey said. “Now what?”

  I put my hand on her shoulder. “We call the UN’s travel agency. They’ll take care of the flights. Bummer for sure, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  Gene quickly circled the pool and headed up the path. People trailed behind him. We were the last to leave. I paused in front of the spot where William died and caught up with Harvey and Ted.

  “It’s too weird,” Harvey said, “A young man dies in a pool that’s dead?”

  “You know, William could’ve died someplace else if he was killed,” Ted said.

  The idea that someone had carted William’s body down to the pool before I arrived was too shocking to consider. “Let’s not make stuff up. We don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Sure. It was just an idea.”

  In his cabin, Gene had a reliable phone connection to the mainland. We crowded into the tiny back room to make our calls. The travel agent told us told us not to worry—she’d take care of everything.

  “Nice to have a professional handle this,” Ted said. “Usually, I’m on the phone waiting for”—he air quoted—“‘the next available agent.’”

  We called a colleague at MOI. Arthur studied sea-floor spreading and would surely know about fault activity off British Columbia.

  Luckily, Arthur was at his desk. He knew all about the tectonic event. “The Pacific and Atlantic plates meet along the Queen Charlotte fault, so you’d expect seismic activity there. Magnitude six earthquake early this morning about ten kilometers south of the islands.”

  We were on a speakerphone.

  Ted leaned in so Arthur could hear him. “Wouldn’t we have felt that?”

  “Not necessarily, if it was shallow.”

  I spoke up. “Arthur, it’s Mara. Would you expect more earthquakes in the next few days?”

  “Gimme a minute.” Over the speaker, we heard his fingers on the keyboard. “Right. Magnitude five aftershocks were measured following the earthquake. Wouldn’t be surprised if there are more.”

  “So more pools might be impacted?”

  “Could very well be.”

  We thanked Arthur, said we’d see him in a couple of days, and hung up.

  Harvey looked at the phone. “Arthur’s a good egg.”

  I nodded. “He is. Now if we’re asked, we can sound intelligent about tectonic activity out here.”

  “Let’s go over the issues before the meeting,” Harvey said.

  Ted leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “Top on my list is whether what we say matters. You heard Gene. Like with the tectonic event, some will barely listen.”

  Ted sounded frustrated, which I understood. As scientists, we relied on data, evidence, and theories based on key principles. Sudden releases of energy in the earth’s crust caused plates to shift. Earthquakes were the result. But people who treasured the heated waters for their spiritual and healing powers might not care a whit about tectonic plates and earthquakes. Our reasoned arguments about the iron fertilization project might not have much impact either.

  “Maybe some won’t care to listen, but others probably will,” Harvey said. “All we can do is respect what they say and try to be as clear as we can.”

  “The issues with the iron are the same,” I said. “They violated international law. In such rich waters, it’s extremely difficult to tell if iron fertilization works, and they’ve been duped by Roger Grant.”

  Grim faced she added, “What’s different is who’ll be there. I think this will be a free-for-all.”

  16

  We ducked through the longhouse door. The long room echoed with murmurs, like the inside of a church. People ranged in age from about twenty to eighty. A few wore black vests decorated with red symbols, but most were just dressed in regular street clothes. I could have been in Maine at a town meeting.

  Council members had spread out across three sides of the pit benches. What I guessed were observers stood next to the walls. The only one I recognized was Bart. The row of steps nearest the door was empty. Gene waved and pointed to the unoccupied seats. We walked over and sat down, like three ducks in a row.

  Gene welcomed council members and visitors and outlined the agenda. He’d begin with brief remembrances of William—a memorial service would take place soon. After he reviewed the iron project’s plan and progress, he would introduce the UN visitors. The rest of the meeting was open for comments and questions, including ones directed at us.

  In his tribute, Gene described William as a bright, curious young man. He was an outstanding Watchman who tackled every challenge with passion and commitment, including the iron controversy.

  Several others, mostly women, added their memories. With tears running down her furrowed face, Charlotte said she’d known William since he was a baby, and loved him as one of her own. The nods and sniffles said her remembrance hit home.

  Gene ran through the project’s chronology. He reminded members what the council had paid Roger Grant, plus the dates and amounts of iron added. The UN visitors, he explained, were oceanographers familiar with iron fertilization projects and charged with evaluating the iron’s impacts on Haida Gwaii’s waters.

  At first, council members directed questions at Gene. How much iron slurry was it again? Where was it added? Didn’t the water green up? Salmon fishing was still poor. Why was that?

  When council members appeared satisfied with Gene’s answers, he formally introduced us. After a polite moment, the questions began. I was used to fielding belligerent, sometimes nasty, questions from lobstermen who didn’t like my answers—mostly about climate change. Compared to them, these folks were genteel.

  A bookish woman with owl glasses went first. “You’re only here a couple of days. How can you tell anything from that?”

  I stood. “Excellent point. But first, each of us would like to thank the Council and others here today for your generosity. You live in an astoundingly beautiful, precious part of the world. We will never forget Haida Gwaii.”

  A few looked surprised at my comment but most just smiled and nodded.

  To address the first question, I described our trip out to the fertilization site, how we’d sampled the water, and our use of satellite imagery for situations like this.

  Owl-glasses woman said, “You’ve certainly been busy. That’s very helpful.”

  The questions went on, and we took turns fielding them.

  “Haida have watched over these waters si
nce the beginning of time. Aren’t we our own protectors?”

  “Roger Grant tells us we’ll get lots of money from carbon, um, credits, I think he called it. Are you saying we won’t?”

  “It’s been weeks since that iron was dumped. I’m still not catching salmon. When’s that going to change?”

  “Before that iron was thrown into the sea, the ocean was in balance. Now it’s upset. What will happen?”

  Caleb, the guy who’d barged into the first meeting, stood away from the wall across the room when he spoke. “The ocean greened up right after iron was added. Anyone could see that. How can you tell us it didn’t happen?”

  We emphasized again that the satellite photos would help us determine the iron’s impact. So, no, we had not come to any conclusion.

  Caleb stepped toward us and crossed his arms. “Roger Grant’s worked with us. Spent time here, like he’s done other places. You come in for what, three days? Then you go. I put my money on Grant.”

  Gene stood and faced Caleb. “Enough. These are our guests.”

  At least half a foot taller than Gene, Caleb pressed his lips together, narrowed his eyes, and glared at his accuser. The muscular man looked like a bull about to charge, but Gene didn’t flinch.

  Gene cleared his throat and turned back to the group. He said, “The new Council vote is the day after tomorrow. That will give you time to think about what you learned today and talk to other members if you want.” Gene then called an end to the meeting and gave a surprise announcement. “The Haida Queen should be anchored off the dock by now. The captain’s invited us for a buffet dinner. You’ll remember the food was great last year. And there’s a storm on the way. The captain is hauling anchor after the buffet so they get back to the mainland before it gets too windy.”

  While Gene spoke, I watched Caleb. Red-faced, he still held clenched fists to his chest and continued to focus an angry scowl at Gene. But people didn’t appear to notice. With the meeting over, people closest to Caleb just walked away like he was a statue. Maybe his aggressive behavior was a familiar nuisance best avoided.