macCLOUD FALLS, page 6
‘So Rick here says you’re worried about your friend, the writer guy from over in Scotland,’ George asked, when everyone had settled down. ‘We met him across the river in Valhalla the other night, didn’t we? Nice fella.’ His wife and sister in law nodded.
‘You workin on a film about Jimmy Lyle?’ the smaller son asked.
The tall woman glanced at Rick, who was listening, a curious smile on his face. ‘No. Gil, that is, Mr Johnson is just doing some research.’
George nodded. ‘He said that. Was asking when we met. He was a good man, Jimmy Lyle. My father and him were big friends.’
‘So maybe you’ll be bringin a film crew up here sometime soon?’ the bigger son inquired.
She frowned again at Rick. ‘Come on, I want to be honest with you all, I’m not who you seem to be thinking I am,’ she sighed, looking around the gathering, smiling.
Big George chuckled. ‘Course you ain’t.’ And he winked at the company. His family all grinned, nodding as if they were in on the secret. She stood up quickly, was about to contradict them, but her head began to spin with the heat and tiredness after her long drive, and she felt a bit dizzy. When she recovered her balance, she said ‘Honestly, I can tell you no film is on the horizon. It’s just Gil… Mr Johnson who wants to find out about your Jimmy Lyle. Right now, I’m just worried that he’s okay. Because he’s been ill, you know. Very ill.’
‘Would make a good film,’ the bigger son said.
‘Rick said,’ Big George nodded. ‘You think he may be intendin to do away with himself? Jump in the river?’
She shook her head. ‘You’ve said too much, my friend Rick.’
‘Hey now,’ George’s wife said, ‘It’s alright, honey. You got worried about him. Everybody does about them they love.’
Love? What did she know? It was disconcerting, their familiarity, this kindness. She looked down at her dog, lying comfortably in the arms of two strange children who were petting him like one of their own. Hero peered up at her, seemed to smile, then lay back down, enjoying those little hands rubbing his neck fur.
At that moment the phone inside the motel began to ring. Rick got up and went to answer it. She flopped back down into her chair and the two women soothed her with words she couldn’t quite make out as she tried to hear what happening on the phone. Then Rick reappeared.
‘George,’ he said, ‘It’s Billy for you.’
‘That’ll be word, betcha,’ George said, getting up.
She listened as George took the call, ummin and ahhin as the caller, whoever he was, talked. When George’s lumbering frame reappeared in the doorway to the terrace, she heard him say, ‘We better go look for the Scotsman, boys. Billy says somebody saw him headed up the Echte Valley, thinks he must’ve been looking for Jimmy Lyle’s old cabin. It’s a long old way, he may be stuck up there somewhere.’
George’s two sons stood up, the bigger and the smaller, ready to leave.
‘Where’s that at?’ Rick asked.
‘It’s a place. Secret place to us. It seems Pearl told him about it when he went to see her, and he must have decided to go try find it for himself.’
‘I don’t understand,’ the woman who had given up trying not to be Ms. Weaver said. ‘Who’s Pearl?’
‘She’s one of our elders. Your guy saw her yesterday. She was tellin him what she knew about Jimmy Lyle. Guess he must have decided to try and go seek out the place he lived.’
‘You mean he’s out there somewhere in the wilderness? Where?’
‘It’s a sacred place to us,’ George’s wife said. ‘Secret. Always has been since way back. But Jimmy Lyle built a cabin up there for him and his wife, lived there maybe ten years, long time ago now.’
‘There’s a trail in. The cabin is still there, but it’s a long way and nobody ever goes there much now,’ George’s wife’s sister offered.
‘We’ll take the truck, go look,’ George said. ‘He’s probably somewhere on the trail.’ He turned to the rest of his family. ‘You all stay here. Me and the boys will find him. Come on now.’
Big George and his two big sons left. Ms Weaver laid her head back on the chair. She felt tears well up. ‘I knew it, I knew something was wrong. I told Rick. Didn’t I?’
George’s wife’s sister patted her hand. ‘George will find him, honey. You’ll see. They’ll find him and they will bring him back. It’ll be okay.’
‘But anything could have happened. He doesn’t know anything about anything. He could have met a bear, or wolves or...’
‘No, not here,’ one of the children piped up. ‘No bears here. Worst thing is rattlesnakes.’
‘Ssssh,’ George’s wife scolded. ‘That’s enough already. Don’t you frighten the poor lady.’
But Ms Weaver’s calm had disappeared. She pictured the wandering Scotsman surrounded by all the wildest, most dangerous creatures she could imagine, and a rattlesnake shaking its tail, springing at him while he stood transfixed, not knowing what to do. She stood.
‘It’s lovely to meet you all. You’ve been so kind. But I’m going upstairs now,’ she said, on the point of tears. ‘Call me as soon as you hear anything, will you? Come on, buddy.’
Hero reluctantly left his two new best friends and followed her up the staircase to room 14. There she lay on the bed again, her head still spinning a little at first, then after a while, once she’d recovered her poise, she opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet and took out the handwritten story she’d concealed there earlier. It seemed more precious now, more a communication to her from him, and whatever qualms she had harboured about reading it were gone now. She needed to know how he had felt about those days in Vancouver. Felt it was her right. She turned the pages, glancing over what she’d already read, until she found the place where Gil woke up the morning after the hockey. She settled herself on the bed, propped up by pillows, and tried to read, but her eyes kept drifting to the window, the fading violet daylight slowly disappearing, and her ears were primed for the slightest sound of Big George’s truck returning.
How long would it take them to get there, to look for him? Would they make it before it was dark? And if not, and he was out there all night, would he survive? She should have gone with them. She should have insisted.
Then her mind drifted back to the fact that he had spoken about killing himself. Was this the way he’d chosen to do it? At Lyle’s cabin? Had he set out with no intention of coming back? Was he surrendering to nature in the way he’d talked about surrendering to the cancer? Maybe there was some clue in the journal.
He slept a drunken half-sleep, restless with dreams he couldn’t recall when he woke. Something about Egypt, the incest of twins, something he’d read somewhere lingered, but he couldn’t place it. He couldn’t even place himself at first, waking as he did in this strange bed. He checked his phone. It was almost mid-day. No calls, no messages. He turned over, feeling a little nauseous, remembering the poutine he’d eaten and the beer, the fumbled embrace when he’d overstepped the boundaries. He thought he should do some work, maybe at the main library downtown, if he could bear the bustle of people and traffic. There was comfort in being amongst books. But when he got there he found himself persuaded by the need to look through Lyle’s photographic archive and he began to note down titles of significant images for future reference. The descriptions he took to be Lyle’s own handwriting.
36242 Indian graveyard July 1916 - Single cross standing near corner of short wooden fence. “Indian graveyard ½ mile west of Cloud Falls on north side of river. Very picturesque about 20 - 30 years ago, all woodwork being painted in bright colors, fences surmounted with carved figures of birds and symbol of sun, moon, blankets, guns, baskets etc. Graveyard now neglected and all overgrown with rose and other bushes. Condition: negative in poor condition.
36245 View from Coyote Sweathouse Bluff July 1916 - Scene across river showing bridges and railway tracks. “View across Thompson River from Coyote Sweathouse Bluff. Looking up Nicola River at mouth showing part of east slope of slaka ‘heaped up’ mountain and some rounded hills or buttes in distance. When snow goes off these in spring (April) there will be no more frosts down in the valley and it is safe to put out tender plants. Indians and whites watch for this.” Condition: good
26265 Hunting camp - Large canvas tipi with smoke flaps. Snowshoes, hunting equipment and animal carcass next to tipi. Cloth stretched over pole. “Taken during absence of hunter, tipi, snowshoes, deerskins, venison and two deer not yet cut up.” TsEkiextcin Valley fifteen miles north of Cloud Falls. Condition: good
39754 Woman Digging Roots 1917 - Profile view of “Kokowatko” or Kaukuwatko ‘sage brush water’ woman of Potato Garden Band digging roots of Erythronium Grandflorum (yellow adder tongue lily) showing method of loosening soil with root digger. Sack slung around her waist. Mount Botani. Condition: good
39758 Cooking Sticks 1917 - Thirteen cooking sticks for cooking meat before the fire. Each had been used for this purpose at the same time. Indians must have killed deer in this place and cooked a lot of meat to eat while camping overnight. The remains of their fire was to the left of picture but there were no signs of tents having been pitched. Party must have been large to use so many sticks at once as indications were that the sticks had been used late last fall. When Indians left they stuck the sticks in the ground in a line all pointing the way the party had gone. Not usual to use these sticks for the latter purpose, Upper Skonkon Creek Valley near Botani July 1917. Condition: good
30609 Camp for Washing Gold 1915 - Roughly made shelters of canvas and a few poles on rock beach of Thompson River. Used by Indians washing for gold. Condition: original negative broken and repaired, unclear image
30611 Favorite method of Washing Gold 1915 - Woman standing on platform at edge of river carrying burden basket on back. Condition: good
30612 Woman washing for Gold - Woman kneeling on the rocks at river’s edge with platform behind her washing the clean up out of the sluce box in a gold pan. Condition: good.
30995 Inga Lyle Horseback 1915 - Profile full length view of little girl on horseback. “Horse equipped with woman’s riding saddle, saddle blanket and saddle bags, also baby carrier, horsehair bridle and halter and eagle feather horse necklace.” Condition: good
23161 Coiled baskets of Cedar Root 1912 - Three tiers of baskets showing different sizes, shapes and decorations. “Coiled baskets of cedar root showing different imbricated designs. Including a basketry rattle, three birchbark baskets, one juniper bark basket, one elaeagnus twine basket with horsehair carrying strap. Cloud Falls band Nicola Division. Condition: fair
The list of photos went on, but her concentration was short. She flicked through pages of notes till she found another scene featuring her alter-ego, a description of the day she took him to meet Pauline Johnson. He seemed to have passed over the moment he first met Hero, how naturally they got along. And for some reason, he’d called him Henry.
The dog-walk involved crossing town to a park she called Pacific Spirit and the traffic was heavy. He wanted to say something about the night before, but the silence between them felt comfortable, as if they could co-exist without interacting, so he stayed quiet. Finally, she pulled up at the entrance to Squamish Trail.
‘The park is huge,’ she said, ‘acres upon acres of land between the city and the university at the end of Point Grey. There’s lots of trails. This is one of our favourites, isn’t it, my lad?’
Henry was very happy to be off leash in the cool air of the forest. He busied himself rooting around in the undergrowth, disappearing and then returning to them as they walked, naturally in step, as if their strides were synchronised. An odd sense of ease spread over him, a deep companionship. Did she feel it too?
‘I come here every day, before my nap,’ she said after they’d walked in silence for a distance. ‘Ever since the cancer. It’s been a kind of healing balm, my time in the woods with Henry.’
‘I read an article a while back,’ he recalled. ‘It was about some Japanese scientists who’d been studying how human beings respond to being in the forest, how their bodies react. They have a name for it, shinrin-yoku, if I remember correctly, which means something like greenwood bathing.’
‘A kind of cleansing?’
‘I suppose so. A way of getting rid of all the noise and clutter of life. And this,’ he said, gazing around him at the huge conifers that stretched off into the distance, ‘is a wonderful place to bathe.’
‘Isn’t it? But you know, these trees are quite young. All of this was logged. There’s only a few old growth left, though you see the remains quite often. Look, over there.’ She pointed to a vast decaying stump, like a giant anthill or a termite mound, or something sculpted.
‘Looks like something of Gaudi’s. But that’s quite sad,’ he said. ‘To think of all those ancient trees cut down.’
‘I guess. But the forest keeps on growing. Even fallen trees are nurseries for new shoots. See?’
Again she pointed into the crowded wood, and he saw an old decaying trunk lying horizontal that had sprouted three separate saplings from its core, which were now flourishing.
They walked on, in easy silence, as Henry roamed, till she called the dog over and put his leash on.
‘He met a coyote here one day, not so long ago. Disappeared on me. I don’t take any chances now.’
‘The call of the wild?’
‘I guess,’ she laughed, ‘But he wouldn’t survive long out here, my poor lad.’
The trail wound on, uphill and down, a snaking route through the forest. She seemed to know her way well, and he simply followed. After a while, she let Henry loose again. She peered up at him as she undid the leash from the collar. Her brown eyes caught a beam of sunlight through the canopy and shone golden for an instant as she held his gaze. It was a look of intimacy.
‘About last night... you know, when we were lying on my bed...’
‘Were we? I don’t remember. I must have been very drunk. What happened?’
Now that she had posed the question, he lost courage. If she really didn’t remember, maybe it was alright.
‘It’s nothing, then. I just thought...’ but he lost the thread.
‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Don’t think so much.’
As they walked on, side by side, step for step, he wondered if she really didn’t remember, or if she was simply being kind by pretending to forget. Perhaps it didn’t matter either way, as long as they could still be together without awkwardness. They came to a clearing, where she stopped and gazed upwards to the little patch of sky.
‘It’s amazing, but trees don’t grow over the top of one another up there. They seem to sense the others and leave space. There’s a name for it – crown shyness.’
‘Really? Crown shyness? I like that. It’s quite poetic.’
‘Isn’t it? If only people were as polite, the world would be a happier place.’
He looked at her, wondering if that was a warning, but she didn’t give anything away. The trail began to circle back on itself. Though he had no idea where they were, he could sense that much. Henry’s roaming became a gentle tired trot at her heels, and he panted.
‘I have to go out of town tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I’ve arranged to see a friend over on Bowen Island.’
‘Ah,’ was all he could muster.
‘It’s weird,’ she went on. ‘I feel very close to you and we only met a couple of days ago.’
‘Well, I’m right here beside you,’ he joked, to lighten the mood.
‘Will you still be here when I get back?’
‘I’ve got three more days. Four more nights.’
‘I’ll see you again, then. We can do something. Maybe have dinner?’
‘I’d like that. It would be good to talk more. I feel like I hardly know anything about you.’
‘Well, you know I had cancer. You know that I’m a translator. I’m Czech. You know that I moved to Canada when I was young. And now you know Henry. What else do you want to find out?’ Something in her tone meant he sensed she had a secret core to her being, that he would never come to know her inner self. Her mystery would remain impenetrable. So he didn’t answer.
The sound of traffic signalled the end of the trail. As she clipped Henry’s leash on, she asked ‘What will you do?’
‘You mean while you’re away?’
‘Yes. And afterwards.’
‘Well, I’ll spend more time in the library, I’ll visit the city museum and the museum of anthropology, I’ll try to get a better picture of Vancouver and BC in Lyle’s time. I’ll check out the bookshops. After that, I’m going to catch a Greyhound bus up the canyon to Cloud Falls and stay in what the website claims is the oldest inn in British Columbia, see what I can find out. From there, I’ll go on to Merritt where Lyle lived later, then I’m going to visit a man who lives up north of Kamloops.’
‘Wow. So who is this guy you’re going to see?’
‘I know him as a client. He’s bought books from me. His family came from Scotland a few generations back. He’s a Scot who has never been to Scotland.’
‘So you’ve never met then?’
‘Not yet. We’ve corresponded. His name is George Gordon Fergusson. He’s a very knowledgeable man and he knows about Lyle.’
‘Ah, your man Lyle! So that’s quite a long way, if it’s north of Kamloops. Maybe not so easy to get to?’
‘I checked. The Greyhound does stop on the highway nearby. Gordon will pick me up.’
He went to get into the wrong side of the car, a brief reminder of how unfamiliar this world was to him. The prospect of heading into the interior suddenly took on a more ominous complexion, as if he was about to enter the wilderness, heading off in search of Kurtz. ‘That is, if I ever get there,’ he added.
As she squinted over her shoulder to see if it was safe to pull out, she glanced at him curiously. ‘What do you mean?’
In the passenger seat he sighed. ‘I don’t know, it all seems a bit crazy. Coming here, thinking I could write this book. I’m barely over the radiotherapy. And I’m not sure I have the will to make it happen. Or the ability.’
