smoke. So much for quitting. “Six weeks. You working in town for a while?”
“I’m retired.”
“You’re living here then?”
“I would call it more like resting. I’ve found myself at a bit of a crossroads.”
I nodded. If he wanted me to know what his choice of roads looked like, he’d tell me.
“I used to work as an expediter, for an outfit out of Edmonton. Diamonds. Northwest Territories are riddled with them. Mining camps and teams of surveyors and drillers all over the place, and they all need supplies. I was the man who found said supplies and acquired them, and saw to it that they were delivered. I kept a small apartment in Edmonton, but the better part of the time I was on the road. It’s a fine job, if you like to see the lesser travelled regions of the country.”
I just let him go. I could tell he needed someone to listen to him.
“Had a close call last spring. A little Cessna four-seater. Engine failure, over a particularly desolate stretch of the tundra. I thought that pilot was going to be the last soul I ever set my eyes on. I found myself apologizing to God for all my misdeeds.”
Hector raised his wiry eyebrows, to see if I was still listening. “And I’m not much of a religious man.”
“What happened?”
“The pilot managed to bring the plane down in a little lake, which scared the shit out of me even more than all those pine trees coming at us so fast. I’m not much of a swimmer, you see. But once I got the wind back into me, I
hung on to the cushion from my seat, and a guy in a speed-boat picked me up after about ten minutes. Couldn’t move my legs when he dragged me into the boat, though. Water’s still pretty icy in May.”
“The pilot?”
“Christopher. His name was Christopher Dawson. Young fellow, full of piss. He told me to hang on to something, that he was going to swim to shore and bring back some help.” Hector leaned over and dropped the cherry of his cigarette butt onto the concrete. Crushed it methodically with the tip of one boot, then slowly bent over to retrieve it. He dropped the butt into a tin bucket next to the bench and reached into his sweater pocket again for his pouch of tobacco.
“So by the time this guy drags me into his boat and we head off to find Christopher, it was too late. Took three days for them to drag the lake for his body. Coroner said the hypothermia probably got to him almost immediately because he was swimming so fast, and because he was in such good shape.”
I raised my eyebrow in a question mark.
“No body fat. No insulation. Swimming exposes the parts of the body that dissipate the most heat into the cold water. Myself, I have a bit of extra around the middle, and I did nothing but float around. That’s what saved me. Being a bit overweight and waiting around to be rescued.” He ran his tongue along the edge of the cigarette paper, gave it a twist, bit the end off, and spat it out. “Haven’t been able to get myself on an airplane since.”
The highway below us was turning into a caterpillar of headlights.
“Interest you in a bit of a drink, Joseph? How do you feel about single malt scotch?”
I folded up my map, stuffed it inside my coat, and followed Hector into the light escaping from his open door.
H ector’s room was identical to mine, just flipped in reverse. He unwrapped the paper from a clean glass and dropped two ice cubes into it, followed by a healthy shot of scotch. It warmed my throat on its way down and collected in a hot pool in my belly.
Hector had pulled the bedspread off one of the beds in his room too, and replaced it with a heavy checkered blanket. His leather shaving kit was laid out neatly beside the little sink outside of the bathroom, his clothes hung up in the closet. Four identical pairs of work pants, denim shirts in several shades of faded, one brown suit, and one white shirt still in the drycleaner’s plastic. The television glowed into the middle of the room, its sound turned right
“I’m retired.”
“You’re living here then?”
“I would call it more like resting. I’ve found myself at a bit of a crossroads.”
I nodded. If he wanted me to know what his choice of roads looked like, he’d tell me.
“I used to work as an expediter, for an outfit out of Edmonton. Diamonds. Northwest Territories are riddled with them. Mining camps and teams of surveyors and drillers all over the place, and they all need supplies. I was the man who found said supplies and acquired them, and saw to it that they were delivered. I kept a small apartment in Edmonton, but the better part of the time I was on the road. It’s a fine job, if you like to see the lesser travelled regions of the country.”
I just let him go. I could tell he needed someone to listen to him.
“Had a close call last spring. A little Cessna four-seater. Engine failure, over a particularly desolate stretch of the tundra. I thought that pilot was going to be the last soul I ever set my eyes on. I found myself apologizing to God for all my misdeeds.”
Hector raised his wiry eyebrows, to see if I was still listening. “And I’m not much of a religious man.”
“What happened?”
“The pilot managed to bring the plane down in a little lake, which scared the shit out of me even more than all those pine trees coming at us so fast. I’m not much of a swimmer, you see. But once I got the wind back into me, I
hung on to the cushion from my seat, and a guy in a speed-boat picked me up after about ten minutes. Couldn’t move my legs when he dragged me into the boat, though. Water’s still pretty icy in May.”
“The pilot?”
“Christopher. His name was Christopher Dawson. Young fellow, full of piss. He told me to hang on to something, that he was going to swim to shore and bring back some help.” Hector leaned over and dropped the cherry of his cigarette butt onto the concrete. Crushed it methodically with the tip of one boot, then slowly bent over to retrieve it. He dropped the butt into a tin bucket next to the bench and reached into his sweater pocket again for his pouch of tobacco.
“So by the time this guy drags me into his boat and we head off to find Christopher, it was too late. Took three days for them to drag the lake for his body. Coroner said the hypothermia probably got to him almost immediately because he was swimming so fast, and because he was in such good shape.”
I raised my eyebrow in a question mark.
“No body fat. No insulation. Swimming exposes the parts of the body that dissipate the most heat into the cold water. Myself, I have a bit of extra around the middle, and I did nothing but float around. That’s what saved me. Being a bit overweight and waiting around to be rescued.” He ran his tongue along the edge of the cigarette paper, gave it a twist, bit the end off, and spat it out. “Haven’t been able to get myself on an airplane since.”
The highway below us was turning into a caterpillar of headlights.
“Interest you in a bit of a drink, Joseph? How do you feel about single malt scotch?”
I folded up my map, stuffed it inside my coat, and followed Hector into the light escaping from his open door.
H ector’s room was identical to mine, just flipped in reverse. He unwrapped the paper from a clean glass and dropped two ice cubes into it, followed by a healthy shot of scotch. It warmed my throat on its way down and collected in a hot pool in my belly.
Hector had pulled the bedspread off one of the beds in his room too, and replaced it with a heavy checkered blanket. His leather shaving kit was laid out neatly beside the little sink outside of the bathroom, his clothes hung up in the closet. Four identical pairs of work pants, denim shirts in several shades of faded, one brown suit, and one white shirt still in the drycleaner’s plastic. The television glowed into the middle of the room, its sound turned right
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