Northwest Passages Read online

  “Yeah, course it is,” Jack said quickly. He glanced at Robert and shook his head; a small gesture, but Peggy noticed it. “Anyway, we heard your Jeep; we were kinda surprised to see someone living up here. We figured it was only a summer place.”

  “No, I’m up here spring through fall,” said Peggy. “Afraid you’re stuck with me as your nearest neighbour. Don’t worry, I don’t play the electric guitar or throw loud parties.”

  It was a small joke, but Jack smiled again, as if he appreciated Peggy’s attempt to lighten the mood. Robert nodded his head in the direction of the van, and Jack’s smile vanished.

  “Well, we’ve got to get going,” he said obediently. “Nice meeting you, Peggy.”

  “Nice meeting you two,” she said. “If you need anything . . . ”

  “Thanks, that’s really kind of you,” said Jack. He seemed about to add something, but Robert cut in.

  “Can’t think we’ll need any help,” he said curtly. “C’mon, Jack. Lots to do.”

  “Yeah, right, lots to do. Thanks again though, Peggy. See you around.”

  “Probably. It’s a big country, but a small world.”

  “Hey, that’s good.” Jack smiled. “Big country, small world.”

  Robert, who had already climbed into the driver’s seat, honked the horn, and Jack turned almost guiltily towards the van. The passenger door had hardly closed before Robert was turning the van around. Jack waved as they passed, and Peggy waved back, but Robert kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel. Within moments they were through the gate, and the curve of the road had swallowed them up.

  Over the next few days Peggy replayed this encounter in her head, trying to put her finger on what bothered her. Yes, Robert had been rude—well, brusque, at least—but then a lot of young people were, these days; some old people, too. Their story about wanting to see something different; that wasn’t unusual, exactly, but Peggy could think of quite a few places which were different but which didn’t involve fixing up a dilapidated shack in the middle of nowhere. Yet Jack had said they’d done that sort of thing before, so it was obviously nothing new for them.

  Were they runaways? That might explain why they came to check out who was in the cabin. But if they were running away from someone, they would hardly have driven right up to her front door. Drugs crossed her mind; it was almost impossible to pick up the paper or turn on the news without hearing about another marijuana grow-op being raided by police. Most of them were in the city or up the Fraser Valley, but she had heard about such places in the country, too; and didn’t they grow marijuana openly in some rural spots, far away from the prying eyes of the police and neighbours? That might explain why Jack had looked so nervous . . . but, when she recalled the conversation, and the way Jack had looked at his friend, she realised that he was not nervous on his own account, he was nervous for, or about, Robert, who had seemed not in the least bit nervous for, or about, anything. He had merely been extremely uncomfortable, as if being in the proximity of someone other than Jack, even for five minutes, made him want to escape. What had Jack said? They wanted to go somewhere they wouldn’t be bumping into people.

  Robert must have had a shock when he saw me here, thought Peggy. Bet I was the last thing he expected—or wanted—to run into.

  She did not see the pair again for almost three weeks. Once she saw their van at the side of the road as she drove out towards the highway and town, but there was no sign of Jack or Robert, and on another occasion she thought she saw the pair of them far up on the hillside above her, but the sun was in her eyes and she couldn’t be sure. She thought once or twice about hiking over to their cabin, which was two miles or so away. There had been a decent trail over there at one time, which she and Len had often walked; but the days were getting hotter, and her legs weren’t what they once were, and when she reflected on her likely reception she decided she was better off staying put. If they wanted anything, or needed any help, they knew where to find her.

  It was late morning, and Peggy had been clearing a new path. A wind had been gusting out of the northwest; when she stopped work and looked up the hill she could see it before she heard or felt it, sweeping through the trees, bearing down on her, carrying the scent of pine and upland meadows before rushing past and down the hill, setting the wind chimes by the front door tinkling, branches bending and swinging before it as if an unseen giant had passed. Sometimes a smaller eddy seemed to linger behind, puffing up dust on the paths, swirling round and about like something trapped and lost and trying to escape. But Peggy did not think of it like this; at least not then. Those thoughts did not come until later.

  She straightened up, one hand flat against her lower back, stretching, and it was then that she saw the boy standing at the edge of the property, by the mouth of the trail leading to the prospector’s cabin. She had no idea how long he had been standing there, but she realised that he must have been waiting for her to notice him before he came closer, for as soon as he knew he had been spotted he headed in her direction.

  “Hello there,” she said. “Jack, isn’t it? Haven’t seen you for a while; I was beginning to wonder if you’d moved on.”

  “No, we’re still here.” He gave a little laugh. “Kind of obvious, I guess.”

  “A bit. Your friend with you?”

  “No.”

  “I’m not surprised. He didn’t seem the dropping-in type.”

  “No.” Jack seemed to feel that something more was needed. “He was a bit pissed off when he found someone was living here. He thought we had the place to ourselves, you see, no one around for miles.”

  “He likes his solitude, then.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Still, it’s not as if I’m on your doorstep,” said Peggy reasonably, “or, to be strictly accurate, that you’re on mine. If your friend doesn’t want to run into anyone, he’s picked as good a spot as any.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been telling him, but I think we’ll be heading out before the end of the summer.”

  “Because of me?”

  “Well, no; I mean, sort of, but that’s not the whole reason. Robert”—he paused, looking for words—“Robert likes to keep on moving. Restless, I guess you could say. He’s always been like that; always wants to see what’s over the next hill, around the next corner, always figures there’s somewhere better out there.”

  “Better than what?”

  Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. He gets somewhere, and he seems happy enough for a while, and then, just when I think ‘Right, this is it, this is the place he’s been looking for’ off he goes again.”

  “Do you always go with him?”

  “Yeah, usually. We’ve known each other a long time, since elementary school. His family moved from back east and we wound up in the same grade three class.”

  “Where was that?”

  “Down in Vancouver. Point Grey.”

  Peggy nodded. Point Grey usually, but not always, meant money, respectability, expectations. She could see Robert, from what little she knew of him, being from, but not of, that world. Jack, though, looked like Point Grey, and she wondered how he had found himself caught up in Robert’s orbit.

  “He’s always been my best friend,” the boy said, as if reading her thoughts. “We hung out together. I mean, I had other friends, but Robert just had me. It didn’t bother him, though. If he wanted to do something and I couldn’t, he’d just go off on his own, no problem. It’s like he always knew I’d be there when he needed me.”

  “Has he always liked the outdoor life?”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah, he’s always been happiest when he’s outside.” He shook his head. “I remember this one time I got him to go along with a group of us who were going camping for the weekend. We were all eleven, twelve; our parents didn’t mind, they figured there were enough of us that we’d be safe.” He paused, remembering. “We rode our bikes from Point Grey out to Sea Island; you know, behind the airport.” Peggy nodded. “The
re used to be a big subdivision out there, years ago, but then they were going to build another runway and the houses got . . . what’s the word . . . expropriated, and torn down, and then nothing happened, and it all got pretty wild, the gardens and trees and everything.

  “Well, we all had the usual shit . . . I mean stuff; dinky pup tents and old sleeping bags and things, and chocolate bars and pop, but not Robert. He had a tarp, and a plastic sheet, and a blanket, matches, a compass, trail mix, bottled water; he even had an axe. You’d’ve thought he was on a military exercise, or one of those survival weekends, instead of in the suburbs. We goofed around, and ate, and told stories, and then we crawled into our tents, all except Robert. He’d built a fire, and a lean-to out of branches and the tarp, and he said he’d stay where he was, even when it started to rain. Rain in Vancouver: who’d think it?

  “Anyway, when morning came round we were a pretty miserable bunch of kids; the tents had leaked, and our sleeping bags were soaked, and we’d eaten almost everything we’d brought. And there was Robert, dry as a bone, making a fire out of wood he’d put under cover the night before, with food and water to spare. Made us all look like a bunch of idiots.”

  “Sounds like a good person to have around you in a place like this.”

  “Yeah, you could say that.” He scuffed the toe of one foot against the dirt, watching puffs of dust swirl up into the air.

  “So where is he this morning?”

  Jack stopped scuffing and looked up at Peggy. “He went off a couple of hours ago; said he needed to get away for a while, be on his own. He gets like that sometimes. I hung around for a bit by myself and then . . . ” His look was almost pleading. “It just got so quiet, you know? You don’t realise how quiet it is till you’re by yourself. Robert doesn’t mind; sometimes I think he’d rather be by himself all the time, that he wouldn’t even notice if I never came back.”

  Peggy tried to think of something to say. Jack went back to scuffing the dirt, and a breeze picked up the cloud of dust, swirling it in the direction of the paths. Jack followed the cloud with his eyes, and seemed to notice the paths through the grass for the first time.

  “Hey, that’s pretty cool.” He took a couple of steps forward, and she could see his head moving as he followed the curves of the paths with his eyes. “Bet it would look neat from overhead, like in one of those old Hollywood musicals.”

  Peggy had not recognised the tension in the situation until it was gone; its sudden disappearance left her feeling slightly off-balance, like an actor momentarily surprised by the unexpected ad-lib of someone else on stage. Jack was still gazing out over the paths.

  “Must’ve taken a long time to do this,” he said. “What’s it for?”

  “Nothing, really.” Peggy moved forward so that she was standing beside him. “It was my husband’s idea; he said he got tired of watching me trying to control the brush, that I should work with it, not against it.”

  If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, she heard Len’s voice say. And looking at all that—he had waved his hand towards the expanse of scrub and the hills beyond—I don’t think you’re ever going to beat ’em, Peg.

  “If you can’t beat them, join them,” said Jack, and Peggy started slightly and looked sideways at him. “That’s how I feel about Robert sometimes. Can I take a closer look?”

  “Go ahead.” Peggy looked at her watch. “I’m going to go and make some lunch; nothing fancy, just sandwiches and some fruit, but if you want to stay then you’re more than welcome.”

  “Could I?” he asked eagerly. “I’d really like that. Our cooking’s pretty . . . basic.”

  Peggy, noting Jack’s pinched face and pale complexion, could believe it. “I’ll go and rustle something up; come in when you’re ready.”

  She stood at the kitchen counter, letting her hands move through the familiar motions of spreading butter and mayonnaise, slicing tomatoes and cucumber, while in her head she went over the conversation with Jack. There were undercurrents she could not fathom, depths she could not chart. She had thought of them as two boys from the city playing at wilderness life, and Jack’s words had not dismissed this as a possibility; but there was something else going on, she was sure of it. Were they lovers? Had they had a fight? That could be it, but she did not think so. She could not connect the dark, intense figure she had seen three weeks ago with something as essentially banal as a lovers’ tiff.

  Through the window she could see Jack moving slowly along one of the paths, his head down as if deep in concentration. He stopped, as if aware of her gaze upon him, but instead of turning towards the cabin he looked up at the hillside above, intently, his head cocked a little to one side as if he had heard something. Peggy followed his gaze, but could see nothing on the bare slope, or in the air above; certainly nothing that would inspire such rapt attention.

  She stacked the sandwiches on a plate, then sliced some cheese and put it, with some crackers and grapes, on another plate. She wondered what to offer as a drink. Beer would have been the obvious choice, but she had none. Milk or orange juice; or perhaps he’d like a cup of coffee or tea afterwards. . . .

  Still pondering beverage choices, she put the plates on the table, then went to the door. Jack had not altered his position; he seemed transfixed by something up the hill. Peggy looked again, sure that he was watching an animal, but there was nothing to be seen.

  She called his name, and he turned to her with a startled look on his face, as if he could not quite remember who she was or how he had got there. Then he shook his head slightly and trotted towards her, like a dog who has heard the rattle of the can opener and knows his supper is ready.

  “Sorry it’s nothing more elegant,” said Peggy, pointing to the table, “but help yourself. Don’t be shy.”

  She soon realised that her words were unnecessary. Jack fell on the meal as if he had not eaten in days, and for some minutes the only sound was him asking if he could have another sandwich. Peggy got up twice to refill his milk glass before finally placing the jug on the table so he could help himself, and watched as the cheese and cracker supply dwindled. Finally Jack drained his glass and sighed contentedly.

  “Thanks, Peggy, that was great, really. Didn’t know how hungry I was until I saw the food. Guess I wouldn’t win any awards for politeness.”

  Peggy laughed. “That’s okay. It’s been a long time since I saw someone eat something I’d made with that much pleasure. I’m sorry it wasn’t anything more substantial.”

  Jack looked at his watch. “Geez, is that the time? I better be going; Robert’ll be back soon, he’ll wonder where I am, and I’ll bet you’ve got things to do.”

  “Don’t worry, my time’s my own. Nice watch.”

  Jack smiled proudly, and held up his wrist so Peggy could see it better. Silver glinted at her. “Swiss Army. My parents gave it to me when I graduated. Keeps perfect time.” He sat back in his chair and looked around the cabin. “You live here by yourself? You said something about your husband. Is he . . . ?” He stopped, as if unsure how to continue the sentence to its natural conclusion, so Peggy did it for him.

  “. .. .. . dead, yes. Four years ago. Cancer. It was pretty sudden; there was very little the doctors could do.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. You didn’t know him. He went quite quickly, which is what he wanted. Len was never a great one for lingering.”

  “So you live up here for most of the year on your own? That’s pretty gutsy.”

  Peggy could not recall having been called gutsy before. “You think so?”

  “Yeah, sure. I mean, this place is pretty isolated, and you’re . . . well, you’re not exactly young.” His face went pink. “I don’t mean that . . . it just must be tough, that’s all, on your own. Don’t you ever get lonely?”

  “No, there’s always something to do. I spend the winter with family on the Island; I get more than enough company then to see me through the rest of the year.”

  Jack nodd
ed. His eyes continued moving around the cabin, and he spotted the light switch. “Hey, I didn’t think you had power up here.”

  “We don’t. That’s a bit of a joke, for visitors.”

  “Bet you don’t get too many of those.”

  “You’d be right. My nephew and his family have been up a couple of times, but not for a while. He doesn’t like it much up here; says it makes him uncomfortable. This sort of place isn’t for everyone.”

  Jack nodded. “You’ve got that right.” He looked through the screen door towards the hillside and gestured with his head. “You ever feel that something’s up there watching you?”

  Peggy considered. “No, not really. An animal sometimes, maybe; but we don’t get too many animals up there. Odd, really, you’d think it would be a natural place to spot them.” A memory came back to her; Paul, her nephew, on one of his rare visits, standing on the porch looking up at the hills. “My nephew said once it reminded him of a horror movie his sons rented: The Eyes on the Hill or something.”

  “The Hills Have Eyes,” Jack corrected automatically. “Yeah, I’ve seen it.” He was silent for a moment. “Do you believe that?”

  “What—that the hills have eyes? No.”

  “But don’t you feel it?” he persisted. “Like there’s something there, watching, waiting, something really old and . . . I don’t know, part of this place, guarding it, protecting it, looking for something?”

  Peggy couldn’t keep the astonishment out of her face and voice. “No, I can honestly say I’ve never felt that at all.” She considered him. “Is that what you think?”

  “I don’t know.” He paused. “There’s just something weird about this spot. I mean, we’ve been in some out of the way places, Robert and me, but nowhere like this. I’ll be kind of glad when he decides to move on. I hope it’ll be soon.”

  “I thought you wanted him to settle down somewhere.”

  “Yeah, I do, but not here.”

  “Why don’t you leave? Robert seems able to fend for himself, and he seems to like this sort of life better than you do. Why do you stay with him?”