The Codfish Dream

by David Giblin

  As Vop trolled into the bright green fresh water the bait in the tank died. He and Carol decided this was the signal to reel in the lines, start the big motor, and head to the beaches. The spot they were going to was about ten miles up the inlet. The inlet narrows there, and on the western shore is a large creek that runs year-round. At the mouth of the creek are the largest of the sandy beaches. It also has one of the best views. On the opposite shore a mountain rises steeply to over six thousand feet. The ice cap on the summit glistens green-white as the sun reflects off its facets. A small creek carves a narrow path from the ice cap all the way to the sea, falling in a series of spectacular waterfalls on the way. It was the ideal setting for the picnic Vop had in mind.

  Vop pulled the boat up on the sand. Together they carried the baskets and coolers to a shady spot beneath some trees where the forest came down to the beach. The sky was clear blue, without a hint of cloud, and the air was crisp and cool, a reminder of the glaciers that had created the beach.

  While the scenery was awe-inspiring, there was something else that made it incredibly restful. For the first time in weeks they were completely alone, and in that solitude was silence. There were no chainsaws, no outboard motors or lawnmowers, no airplanes or helicopters taking off and landing, and, perhaps the subtlest of all, no pervasive throb of a diesel generator. Lying on the beach, they could hear the rustle of a snake as it moved through the grass behind them. They could hear the distant drubbing of a grouse, and, most startling of all, they could hear the wind rustling through the wings of a raven as it flew overhead.

  Carol finally broke the silence.

  “So, I’m curious, why are there two places named Church House at the south end of the island?”

  “You mean Old Church House and New Church House?”

  “Yeah, what’s the story there?”

  Old Church House is a deserted bay on the south end of Sonora Island, almost directly across from the Landing. New Church House is a small cluster of houses surrounding an old church on the mainland side of the inlet. It’s nestled beneath the protection of the mountain behind it. Once it was a busy First Nation settlement; now just a few people lived there.

  “Years ago,” Vop began, “around the turn of the last century, the federal government wanted to settle the Indigenous people around here on the reserves they had established for them, supposedly for their own good. I think it was mainly to get them out of the way of the loggers who were starting to work in the area. They had chosen what we now call Old Church House as the site for this new village. But the people were very reluctant to move there. They weren’t as enthusiastic about the idea as the government thought they should be.

  “The agents for the government had a hard time understanding why. When they finally condescended to ask, the people said that the Spirit of the Wind wasn’t happy with the choice. Of course, to the bureaucrats involved, good Christians all, this sounded like so much superstitious nonsense. At the time it was government policy to suppress the religion and rituals of the Indigenous people in their benevolent care. The authorities were especially freaked out by the potlatch custom. I guess there was something about the concept of giving away all your worldly goods to benefit other people that struck them as positively unchristian.”

  Carol remained attentive so Vop continued. “Anyway, I guess to prove the people were wrong, they went ahead and planned a whole community there. The First World War came along and slowed things down a bit, but by the twenties the loggers were all back. They forced the local people to move by making it a condition of financial aid, and they made residential school attendance mandatory. Even the church got in on it by making attendance at services dependent on where they lived.

  “You’d never guess it now, but the place was like a small town when they had finished. I’ve seen old pictures in the museum in Campbell River. The place had wooden sidewalks and a little dock, neat little wooden houses . . . but as good as it looked, the Indigenous people were still reluctant to move there. They still talked of the spirits and how unhappy they were.

  “This only made the government work harder to move them. The church stepped up the attempt by telling them to worship God or be considered heathens. The preacher railed at them—they had to forget the old ways, the old superstitions, and enter the modern God-fearing world if they wanted to survive. You can imagine how they would have carried on. Then the government threatened to take away their children if they weren’t being educated. Most of the people succumbed to the pressure then and moved there.

  “The thing is, as anybody who lives here year-round knows, high winds are very common here, especially in the winter. The wind blows out of the north and then right down Bute Inlet. It funnels down the inlet and slams into the back of Stuart Island, reaching hurricane force every couple of years. That’s why there are no cabins built back there. It deflects over the top of Big Bay and then comes howling across Calm Passage and hits Old Church House full on. The small valley in the back acts like a Venturi tube: increasing the speed of the wind even further. It’s got to be one of the worst places on the coast for the shear strength of the wind. A few winters ago the Bute wind reached 120 miles an hour, with gusts up to 140, and it blew like that for several days.

  “The first time the Bute blew, several houses in the new village were flattened and the roof of the new church was damaged. The Elders must have clucked their tongues and nodded to each other about the fury of the wind spirits. The government, not ever known for having a very poetic sensibility, wasn’t going to give in easily. They rebuilt and repaired the damage. There were probably a few more sermons about heathen superstition. About three years later there was an even stronger blow that took out half the town, but still the government wouldn’t give up. You know how much they liked admitting they were wrong.

  “The spirits must have been having a great deal of fun by this time. They backed off for a few years, and then one winter they came raging and screaming out of the inlet. The wind blew down trees and ripped up the town. This time the wooden buildings caught fire and the whole thing burned to the ground. The poor people were left shivering on the beach in the middle of winter.

  “The government finally gave in and moved the settlement across the inlet to the place where you see it now. They never did apologize or admit to making a mistake, but the people know better. New Church House is where they’d suggested building the settlement in the first place.”

  “None of that surprises me,” said Carol when Vop had finished. “The government did the same thing to my grandparents. They came from Russia seeking freedom from persecution. The Doukhobors believed in a communal way of life. We’ve already discussed how those Christians felt about sharing. The government wouldn’t let them educate their children their way, and they were told that their organic method of farming was spreading disease. It was all bullshit, of course—the local businessmen couldn’t make any money selling them fertilizer and pesticides. They were told to adopt a more modern approach. Now everybody wants to farm organically, but so much knowledge has been lost. So many of the old people died without passing it along.

  “I guess that’s why I like coming to a place like this. It’s so peaceful and still so wild, you can almost forget the rest of the world exists. We don’t do it enough, but I guess there isn’t much of an opportunity.”

  “We’ll just have to make the opportunity. I don’t have to take on as much work.”

  “Maybe I’m just using that as an excuse.”

  “What do you need an excuse for?”

  “Oh, Vop, don’t take this wrong, but you and your friends make me nervous.”

  “We make you nervous. You think we take too many chances in the tide?”

  “No, it’s not that simple. You guys are really careful and you all know what you’re doing. It’s stranger than that . . . it’s hard to explain without sounding paranoid. I never know when I can let my guard down. Look at what happened the other day just going to get the mail. I d
on’t resent rescuing that bird, but I don’t know if I was ready for that much excitement. And that was just going to check the mail.”

  “You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

  “I know that, but it doesn’t always seem to be in your control.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re nervous about being with me ’cause of stuff that happens that I have no control over. How can I do anything about that?”

  “I’m not sure I can explain it any better. You and some of the other guides seem to be magnets for truly weird things. Things that never happen to me or anyone else I know.”

  “But how can I not make stuff happen that I have no control over? I don’t even know why you’re holding me responsible.”

  Carol sighed. “I don’t even know why we’re talking about this. I know it sounds crazy. But you have to admit, things just happen around you . . . it’s weird.”

  “There is one thing I’ll admit to.”

  “What’s that?”

  Vop looked at Carol. The sun shone on her hair and made her skin glow. She had lost her winter pallor, and the combination of sun and time on the water made her more attractive to him than ever. She had never looked more beautiful. A strand of hair blew across her face and Vop reached out to brush it away. He cupped her cheek in his hand and drew her face toward him as he leaned forward to kiss her.

  An intense ripping, tearing sound made him stop.

  Vop had heard a sound like that before; the time a tree blew down near him in a windstorm—but there was no wind, not even a breath of air. He wondered illogically if in his clumsiness around her he’d ripped a neck muscle or torn a ligament. The thought gave him a terrible turn, but the noise came again and from behind them. He turned to look. There was a large old alder tree. It stood out from the others around it and was moving toward them. It swayed for a moment as if making up its mind. Then, with a hideous shriek—a tree’s final protest against gravity—it fell right where they lay on the sand.

  Vop simply got up and stepped to one side, the way he might step aside for an elderly person trying to get through a door. It was a movement he made calmly as if it were the most natural thing in the world. If a tree is about to fall on you, it’s best to get out of the way. Carol, however, was frozen in place. She made the mistake of taking the tree’s behaviour personally. It was about to fall on her!

  Vop reached over, took her by the hand, and pulled her beside him so calmly it was as if he did it for etiquette rather than lifesaving. He was like a father moving an ill-mannered child who remained in the way of the elderly person.

  The tree slammed into the ground with a roaring crash that echoed off the mountains around them. Their blanket was driven deep into the sand by the jagged branches. Where a moment before they had been sitting and talking, there now lay a tangle of broken branches and a smashed tree trunk.

  “Are you okay?” Vop put his arm around Carol protectively.

  “Uh, yeah, fine. I’m fine. It’ll just take me a second to catch my breath, that’s all.”

  Carol leaned her head on Vop’s shoulder. Then a thought occurred to her and she pulled away.

  “How can you be so calm about this? You’d think trees were always falling on your head, no big deal! Vop, this is exactly what I was talking about. You seem to expect stuff like this to happen. I’m starting to suspect you’d be disappointed if it didn’t.”

  “You make it sound like it was my fault.”

  “Dammit, Vop, I can almost believe it is! Ummm, Vop, I’m talking to you.”

  Vop had walked away from her to the fringe of trees. Something in the tall grass had caught his eye. He reached into a clump and pushed it aside with his hands.

  “Uh, Carol, before you get too mad at me, you’d better come have a look at this.”

  She came over beside him and looked down at what he had found. There was a rather official looking government sign nailed to a stake driven into the ground. The sign read:

  THESE TREES HAVE BEEN

  SPRAYED AS PART OF

  A WEED TREE ERADICATION PROGRAM

  OF THE

  PROVINCIAL FORESTRY SERVICES

  CAUTION:

  TREES MAY BE UNSTABLE

  IN HIGH WINDS

  PROUDLY WORKING FOR A BETTER TOMORROW

  thirty-three ROOM SERVICE

  “I WANT TO hear the story one more time . . . there you are on a beautiful deserted beach. You’re about to kiss the woman of your dreams and a falling tree almost squashes the both of you.”

  “I’d rather not talk about it anymore if you don’t mind.”

  “Are you sure you’re not making this up?”

  “I wish I was, but I don’t have that much imagination.”

  “Vop, you have a totally weird and twisted imagination. Don’t forget, I’ve seen you dreaming and it’s not a pretty sight.”

  “You can ask Carol if you don’t believe me. If she’s still talking to you, that is.”

  “What did I do? She thinks I dropped the tree?”

  “I can’t even begin to explain it. I don’t think she can either. Can we not talk about this anymore?”

  “Whatever you say, Vop. By the way, Troutbreath wants to know if you can guide tomorrow.”

  “I think I need to go back to work just for a little peace and quiet. My time off hasn’t been all that restful.”

  “The Brelands are coming up with a couple more people this time.”

  “That’d be cool. I hear he’s a good tipper. Uhhh, I don’t have to talk to Lenny do I?”

  Lenny and I had been working off and on for the Brelands. They kept the yacht at the resort and commuted between it and their estate in Ladner, just outside Vancouver. Most of their trips were made mid-week; they missed the busy weekends, which made fitting them into my regular bookings easier.

  The next afternoon the three of us took them out fishing. Mr. Breland went with Vop and they returned to the dock later with a limit of sizable springs. Vop didn’t go on board for drinks afterward. Later that night he expressed misgivings about guiding for them.

  “I’ve got to talk to Troutbreath about taking me off this party,” he told me as we sat at a game of dominoes.

  “You guys slayed the salmon. You didn’t get along or something?”

  “No, it’s not that, we had a great time, caught lots of fish, a great time. It’s my past. It may be coming back to haunt me.”

  We continued our game into the night and Vop told me a long and curious tale of growing up on Cortes Island.

  On the north end of the island was a beautiful and secluded cove. It had a white sand beach, protected from the wind on all sides. A cleared field visible from the beach was planted with apple, plum, and pear trees; it had once been a homestead. There was a large and well-made log house in the middle of the clearing. The house was two storeys, and the ceiling of the main living room went right to the rafters. The second-floor bedrooms opened onto an interior balcony, from which one could look down. A huge stone fireplace dominated the living room and heated the whole building. The kitchen had an antique wood stove with water coils in the firebox. They were attached to the hot water tank and supplied the kitchen and bathroom with running hot water, something of a luxury in that part of the world.

  Vop had started visiting the house when he was still a young boy. Nobody ever seemed to go there and the house felt lonely to him. He would often hike the trail through thick woods and spend the day there. If it was raining, he would go inside and start a fire in the cook stove to keep warm. He loved the feel of the old kitchen, and the house seemed to enjoy his presence. The warmth kept it from deteriorating in the incessant damp.

  As he got older he spent more and more time there. He collected and chopped firewood. He kept the fire stoked over the winter to keep the place warm and dry so the rot and mildew wouldn’t take over. He kept the water running so the pipes wouldn’t freeze and burst. He fixed the roof if the shingles were loosened by the wind. In the spring he
planted flowers and herbs in borders around the house, and even a few vegetables in the garden. One year he packed in a saw and pruning tools to take care of the fruit trees.

  Friends began to help him, and soon there was a group of them that spent almost all their time there, just hanging out and enjoying the peace and the hot water. The newly pruned orchard was producing so much fruit it took days to process it all. They moved in bedding and kitchen supplies as they stayed there longer. Some of them began to live there full-time. Somebody pitched a tent in the field, and a little communal scene unfolded happily and peacefully on the property.

  In the warm days of summer there was no need to wear clothing. They would lounge on the beach or work in the garden getting an all-over tan. Over the years the garden was expanded and more fruit trees were planted. The people living there set up areas for candle making and weaving. They made craft items to sell at the summer fairs. A whole village was evolving in a kind of anarchic tranquility that was interrupted one day in the middle of the summer.

  A Cessna float plane circled overhead and then landed noisily out in the cove. It taxied up to the beach slowly. The engine shut down and it glided to a stop in the soft sand. A man stepped out onto the pontoon.

  He was an older gentleman, wearing a powder blue leisure suit with white belt and shoes. He reached back into the plane and helped a woman onto the pontoon. She was dressed in a similar manner to him, only in pink with a fluffy white angora sweater draped over her shoulders. The man helped her off the pontoon and onto the sand. With their heads down, concentrating on their footing in the loose sand, they walked up the beach toward the house.

  They were so absorbed in watching where they put their feet that they almost walked right over Vop, who was sunning himself, stretched out, on a blanket. He stood up as they approached and smiled. Vop was wearing a friendship bracelet on his left wrist, an earring, a smile, and a really good tan. The man looked up, startled.