True North - John Gardiner

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He'd moved north when his wife had died. He used her insurance and his savings to buy a small, run-down lodge up in the northern part of the province and he'd tried to become of the north. He'd patiently learned the ways of the place. Cursing and sometimes even drinking like a northerner. He'd even learned, much to his surprise, to fish. And to take a razor-sharp fillet knife to the guts of a fish, causing them to spill onto the brown butcher's paper, blood and intestines slopping through the paper, discolouring the counter top. He'd been surprised at the fervour with which he'd pitched his one-time life; the one he had shared with his wife. The day he had watched her remains lowered into the immutable earth, he'd decided he wanted no more of it -- the suits, the meetings, the people. And as often as they'd spoken of it together, running from the rat-race they'd called life, he decided there was no other time for it now that he was on his own. They'd had no children, so there were none of those kind of ties. He gave little thought to his job. He got a fair insurance settlement, and once he sold their house, or perhaps their home, money was not really a concern. So, he decided he would head north. To the type of place they had always talked of going during nearly twenty years of marriage. But he went on his own, now that she was gone, and he went to become a part of it. To dwell within it. To disappear inside of it. And so he learned to curse and sometimes drink, and sometimes even think like a northerner. And he learned to fish. Which was surprising considering how he'd always hated things that were slithery and slimy and existed under the surface of life. Because that was almost how he had come to regard the surface of the lake. That its skin separated the outside from the inside, so that when he caught a fish, and pulled it out of the water and toward the net, it was like he had reached out and plucked one of his own dark thoughts from the underside of his life. And that as the fish gasped its last breath and ceased to be, that the dark thought was somehow exorcised. He remembered his first outing fishing. He had chartered a boat, anxious to learn this part of the north and knowing no other way to do it, and headed out across the surface of the lake. He had clumsily fumbled with the fishing rod, nervously afraid that he would stab himself with the stiletto-like hook, as he struggled to thread the lure onto the line with his seemingly too-big fingers. Then, as he had stood in the back of the boat, trolling, his line extended hundreds of feet behind and down, flatlining along in the depths of the black, seemingly bottomless water, he remembered how entirely uncomfortable he had seemed. Continue >>>

(continuation) Nerd-like, he guessed you might say if you used today's vernacular. And it was then that he realized this was a man thing, or could be perceived as such, and never in his life had he felt comfortable doing such things. He remembered how effeminate it had made him feel, and how he had been embarrassed, knowing the boat's owner and pilot, himself a longtime northerner, and no doubt a real man who did feel entirely comfortable doing all different manner of man things, was watching, regarding, him. But he had refused to be intimidated by any of this activity, so certain was he that he wanted this life. He had quickly learned to look the part, dressing down for the occasion, usually going unshaven for several days at a time, and wearing one of those beat-up, bent-out-of-shape baseball hats to protect from rain and sun. And although it had taken longer, he had also learned to live and feel the part, so that he became most comfortable while drifting deliberately over the surface of the water of the lake in the early morning mist, trolling for lake trout, and thinking about things. And that was what he did. Especially when life seemed tough. And now he felt comfortable doing all sorts of man things. And when the hook on a lure grabbed his finger, he roughly pulled it out, and swore. And it seemed to feel better. And it caused him to smile. And so he had lived for these past five years, having almost forgotten what he had left behind. When one day, when he picked up his mail at the government dock, something he did about twice a month, there was a letter in the company of the bills. It was from an old friend; one he had last seen at his wife's funeral. But one he had known well in his other life, so he was interested to know the letter's contents. He couldn't help but regard his rough, weather-worn hands as he tore the envelope open. There were the usual hello's and how-are-you's, then an offer to come visiting; to see what had become of him. He smiled as he read the letter. Yes, he thought, it might be good to see someone from the old days. So, even though there was a touch of anxiousness, he decided he would write his friend and tell him he and his wife were welcome.

Between the time he mailed the return letter and the date of their arrival, he found himself thinking often of his wife and what she had meant to him, as though their visit was reminding him. So that as he sat alone in front of the lodge in the late evenings with a drink for sipping, and as he listened to the plaintiff cries of the loon as they echoed hauntingly and somewhat forlornly across the water toward him, he almost felt her presence. And it was the first time such feelings had been so strong, and he wondered if perhaps he had done the right thing by accepting company. But, in the end, he decided the emotion felt good, so he welcomed it, and let it wash over him.

He wrote the date of their coming on the blackboard he kept for reminders beside his front door, because he was not always attentive to the passage of time, and he didn't want to forget such an occasion. Also, he found himself looking nervously forward to it, thinking that it was time he had guests. A few days before they were to come, he even found himself busily cleaning, trying to make the place a little more hospitable, not bearing too many marks of bachelorhood, and the day before he took the boat to town and bought a large supply of groceries.

And on the appointed day, he found himself nervously fidgeting about the lodge as he waited for the call to tell him they had arrived at the government dock. It was late afternoon before it came.

He walked to the boat and warmed it up. He found it disconcerting that he felt like a kid on Christmas eve imagining what was to come as he skimmed across the surface of the lake toward the dock.
As he rounded the point leading to the bay where the dock was located, he was surprised to see three figures standing beside the pile of luggage, instead of the two he expected. He took a bearing on them and guided the boat toward the spot.

He could readily pick out his friend, Bob, and his wife, Shiela, but was unable to make out the other person until he got closer. At first, he could tell it was a woman, but that was all. But as the boat closed the distance to the dock, he felt a flicker of recognition rise within him. He knew her. Taylor. He felt his blood rush just ever so slightly. Taylor.

He'd not seen her since the last year of high school. She'd sort of been one of their crowd -- in a Taylor sort of way. But a little wilder than the rest. She'd gotten pregnant that last year, in a time when such was unthinkable. First, the rumours had circulated. Then, the hushed gossiping. Finally, she had been gone. But even as he watched the woman standing on the dock, there was no mistaking her. Starkly but vividly attractive, even in jeans and an old jacket. Like most of the guys in their crowd, he'd had his crush on her. He still didn't know what it had been, but she had made his blood rush even then -- in a way not even his wife had in later years. He'd made his play for her, but fallen short like the rest. She spurned all the boys of their crowd, choosing instead to seek out the older guys, men, who frequented the road house out on the edge of town and drank liquor and perhaps even fought over their women. But, then, she had gone. Out of the small town where they'd grown up. Out of their lives. He shook away the memories as the boat pulled alongside the dock, nudging it slightly. "Hey, George, how are you?" Bob said, as he started for the boat with the first of the bags. "We've brought a friend. I hope you don't mind." "Taylor," George said, his voice showing as little emotion as possible. "I'm surprised you remember," the woman said, also stepping forward toward the boat and bringing two bags with her. And in the instant she spoke, their eyes met and he thought he felt energy arc between them, sparking feelings he was sure he had not felt for years; those he had thought had been dead within him. She seemed to feel it as well. Her sentence seeming to hang in the air, and it was like even the other two felt something also, such was the awkward, little silence that grew between the dock and the boat. "Good to see you, George," said Bob's wife, Shiela, interrupting the silence and finally also stepping forward to say hello. "You're looking like a real outdoorsman." He smiled awkwardly, and for the first time in some considerable while, he felt somewhat self conscious of his appearance. "It's probably really comfortable," Taylor said, seeming to sense his discomfort. "Hey, when in Rome," he said. And they all shared a laugh. And he helped them load their things and themselves into the boat and he pulled it away from the dock and out into the lake. "I can't believe you're living somewhere you've got to reach by boat," Bob said, as they skimmed across the water. "I just wanted to get away," George answered. "I needed to make a change in my life after Janet died." "I know," Bob said, "and you told me at the funeral when I tried to talk you out of such a crazy move that you and Janet used to talk about coming up north to live. But I was surprised that you actually did it. I thought you were a city guy for life." Continue >>>

(continuation) George just smiled and looked out through the windshield and over the lake. He wasn't sure what to say, not really sure he wanted to get into the whole issue of why he had come. "Sometimes, this is what you need," Taylor said, seeming to answer for him. "I've only just arrived and I think I can already see what you might see in this place. It's haunting, even in the daylight. It's beautiful." And she smiled a deep, warm smile at him. "Sometimes, this is what you need," Taylor said, seeming to answer for him. "I've only just arrived and I think I can already see what you might see in this place. It's haunting, even in the daylight. It's beautiful." And she smiled a deep, warm smile at him. Then, Bob asked him some questions about the geography of the region, so they spent the rest of the boat trip discussing those types of things. Taylor and Shiela sat toward the back of the boat, appearing to watch the scenery as it passed. And, then they'd arrived. "God, this is great," Shiela said, as they walked into the lodge. "What a place. What do you call it -- a lodge?" "Yea," he answered. "It's about the same as a winterized cottage, but up here we call them lodges, I guess." "It's really nice," Shiela said. "Did you decorate it?" "Big," Bob said, giving his first impression of the inside of the place. "No," George said, turning to answer Shiela. "It was pretty much done this way when I bought it. I've added a couple of things, but not much." "Well, my compliments to you for recognizing good taste," Shiela answered. "This is really fixed up nice." George caught sight of Taylor out of the corner of his eye and turned his attention to her. He found himself watching her as she stood looking out the big picture window that looked out over the lake. "Quite a view," she said, before turning back toward the others in the room. "I like it," he answered. "Now, let me show you to your rooms, so you can settle in before we get something going for supper. You must be hungry." "Famished," Taylor said, and Bob and Shiela both nodded in agreement. And so he took them up into the back of the lodge where there were several spare rooms. He had known where Bob and Shiela would sleep, but had to do a quick mental check on which other room might be in the best state of repair before deciding where to put his other guest. Finally, he decided on the one he thought had the best view of the lake. "Sometimes, this is what you need," Taylor said, seeming to answer for him. "I've only just arrived and I think I can already see what you might see in this place. It's haunting, even in the daylight. It's beautiful." And she smiled a deep, warm smile at him.

Then, Bob asked him some questions about the geography of the region, so they spent the rest of the boat trip discussing those types of things. Taylor and Shiela sat toward the back of the boat, appearing to watch the scenery as it passed.
And, then they'd arrived.

"God, this is great," Shiela said, as they walked into the lodge. "What a place. What do you call it -- a lodge?"
"Yea," he answered. "It's about the same as a winterized cottage, but up here we call them lodges, I guess."
"It's really nice," Shiela said. "Did you decorate it?"
"Big," Bob said, giving his first impression of the inside of the place.
"No," George said, turning to answer Shiela. "It was pretty much done this way when I bought it. I've added a couple of things, but not much."
"Well, my compliments to you for recognizing good taste," Shiela answered. "This is really fixed up nice."

George caught sight of Taylor out of the corner of his eye and turned his attention to her. He found himself watching her as she stood looking out the big picture window that looked out over the lake.
"Quite a view," she said, before turning back toward the others in the room.
"I like it," he answered. "Now, let me show you to your rooms, so you can settle in before we get something going for supper. You must be hungry."
"Famished," Taylor said, and Bob and Shiela both nodded in agreement.
And so he took them up into the back of the lodge where there were several spare rooms. He had known where Bob and Shiela would sleep, but had to do a quick mental check on which other room might be in the best state of repair before deciding where to put his other guest. Finally, he decided on the one he thought had the best view of the lake.

After leaving Bob and Shiela, he showed Taylor to the room he had chosen.
"I hope you don't mind me sort of dropping in," she said, as they walked into the room.
"As long as you'll forgive me for trying to pick you up back in high school," he answered with a twinkle in his eye, immediately not sure why he would answer such.

She laughed. "I likely should have said yes," she said.
He felt himself blush and felt his embarrassment at her answer.
"Anyway, I'm already glad I let Bob and Shiela talk me into coming," she said, perhaps sensing his discomfort and changing the subject.
"I'm glad you came," he said, hoping she could hear only sincerity in his voice because he was glad she had come. She had brightened his day.

He barbequed hamburgers for supper, and they had some store-bought potato salad, but he promised them fish the following day -- if they could catch their own. Then, they sat in the living room and shared a few drinks and a few memories of growing up in a small town. And there was considerable laughter and gaiety in the lodge; the most there had probably ever been since he had dwelt here.

But, finally, the drive seemed to catch up with them, and first Shiela, and then Bob, said their goodnights and headed to the room he had provided. He promised they'd head out on the lake the next day for some sightseeing and some fishing.
So that only he and Taylor were left to deal with an awkward silence that had seemingly come to be in the room. He sat in his big, comfortable easy chair, off to the side of the room and somewhat out of the light, while she sat at the other side of the fireplace, on the end of the couch, a soft reading light bathing her in a kind of glow and providing the only illumination in the room. It had seemed somehow brighter when the other two had been in the room. He felt the lack of light and that he could see only her, while all around her was blackness, so that there was no other world, only her.

"You like it here," she finally said. "I know."
"I guess I do," he answered. "I guess it probably shows."
"I admire you for leaving all the crap," she said. "I heard about your wife. Bob and Shiela told me. It must have been awful."
He looked away, as if he could not bear to look upon another while his thoughts were of her. He felt himself gripped with anguish.
"I'm sorry," she said, seeming to feel his pain. "I've upset you."
"It shouldn't upset me," he answered. "It was a long time ago."
"Not that long," she said. "Obviously not long enough."
"It's hard to believe it could take this long," he said, "for the pain to go away, but sometimes I think I'll never be able to deal with it."
"You will," she said. "You already have been."

He followed her as she moved to one side of the boat, then held up his own pole and reel, so she could watch while he explained the workings of it. When he asked if she thought she knew what to do, she nodded enthusiastically that she did. And soon their lines were extended far out from the boat, deep under the surface of the water, and there was quiet, except for the quiet purring of the trolling motor.

And so they fished. For what seemed a good length of time, with the silence broken on only a couple of occasions when he reminded her to set her line firmly if she felt a bite. As he did on all mornings when he was out on the water like this, he felt the peaceful, quiet serenity of the place, but on this morning, he also felt her presence in the boat. It was almost like it was electric, so he could feel her every move as if an invisible force surrounded her, and pushed against him through the air. For the most part, he kept his eyes away from her, watching out over the water, wondering what lay beneath and what would perhaps be caught on this morning.

It was she who first felt a fish. And she pulled hard against it, as he had told her to. And he rushed to her side, casting his own pole aside, catching a look out the front of the boat to make sure their course was true.
She worked the reel awkwardly, but he made no effort to interfere other than offering her advice as she worked the fish up toward them. Then, he reached for the net, and bent low to bring her catch into the boat.

"It's a beauty," he said. "It's probably seven or eight pounds. Lake trout."
"Look at the poor thing," was all she could apparently manage, as he reached into the net and pulled the fish out, her lure hanging from its mouth, blood flowing from the wound it had caused.
He looked up at her, puzzled.
"I guess I forgot that the fish has to die," she said somewhat apologetically.
"It comes with the territory," he offered. "It's not like they're really thinking creatures."
"No, I guess not," she said with what sounded like uncertainty.
"They're just fish," he said. He held the fish more clearly out of the net for her to examine. It flipped and flopped from side to side as he held it.
"It looks like it's suffering," she said, a look with some sadness on her face.
"I don't think fish suffer," he said. Then, as he looked into her face, he suddenly remembered what she might be feeling.
"Listen," he said, "I felt the same way you do the first time I caught a fish."
"Really?" she asked, looking from the fish to him.

"Really," he answered. "But the old guy I was out with just asked me how my hamburger had tasted at lunch. Or when was the last time I had Kentucky Fried Chicken. I wasn't sure whether to believe him either, but I guess I reasoned that if animals can think at all, surely cows and chickens are higher up the evolutionary ladder than fish. And look what we do to them."
She looked at him, still with some uncertainty on her face.
"If you give it a try, I think you'll get used to it," he said, and he reached over and gave her hand a firm little squeeze, quickly pulling his hand away. "But if you don't want to do this, you don't have to," he added, knowing that it was the right thing to say.

She paused for a moment, seeming to think over her possible response.
"I'll try," she finally said, and the uncertainty on her face was replaced with a kind of determination, as she looked over at him.
And so he pulled the fish from the lure and dropped it into the cooler he had for such occasions, and they continued on with their fishing. Only for a short while longer. She caught another one and he landed two himself. Then, they headed back for the lodge to see if the others were up.

The others were up, so, after telling them about he and Taylor's fishing exploits, he made them breakfast, although he had to admit that they all helped out, and soon they were all sitting out on the deck looking out over the lake and sharing a few more stories about the old days. He had to admit he was surprised that the remembering didn't cause him more difficulty because his wife was often in this memory or that one, but he found that he often looked toward Taylor, and found his attention returned, and that seemed to provide him with some solace.

She had aged well, he thought. She looked every bit as appealing as she had in high school, maybe even moreso. She had filled out somewhat from what he remembered and she seemed to look better with that air of maturity surrounding her. The blackness of her hair had become streaked with gray, but again that seemed to suit her. She is a beautiful lady, he thought. So odd she's never married. So very odd.

And as he watched her, he felt himself attracted to her. And it embarrassed him to think that he should have such feelings again, he having thought that they were forever in his past. He wondered what she thought. And he wished he could be alone with her again. But there seemed little chance of that.

In fact, it was late into the night, after they had played cards, enjoyed a fresh trout dinner, and gone fishing as a foursome, before such an occasion presented itself.
It was well after midnight when Bob and Shiela decided to turn in. And in fact, Taylor had excused herself just moments before and his heart had sunk. She's going to bed, he thought. I won't see her until tomorrow. He had endured a moment of quiet desperation as the thought crossed his mind. Perhaps Shiela and Bob had also sensed her destination, so had decided to excuse themselves for the night, as well.

After they left, he got up and walked to the bar, where he fixed himself one for the road. Then, he headed out into the stillness of the night, resolving to feel mean, bitter and alone. Always alone. Or so he felt.
Perhaps this had been wrong -- coming to the north. Perhaps he was not the island he had thought he was after his wife had died. Perhaps he had cut himself off too much. He would remember her always, but perhaps he needn't mourn for her always. He felt tears well up in his eyes at the thought of her. Again he felt embarrassment over what he had felt for the other woman earlier in the evening. But he also felt emptiness within him. A deep, hollow void that filled him with nothingness. That ached in the night. Oh, god, how it ached.

He thought he felt the presence of another.
"Mind if I join you?" he heard her voice and looked toward her.
He motioned for her to sit.
"Do you want a drink?" he asked, quickly composing himself.
"No thanks," she softly answered.
And they sat quietly for a moment, apparently looking out to where the silvery moon glistened off the still surface of the lake. It was he who finally spoke.

"Mind if I ask you a question?"
"No," she answered.
"I find it hard to think you never married," he said.
"You mean after the way I was in high school?" she asked.
"I guess," he answered.
"Getting pregnant in high school wasn't the greatest," she said. "But giving the baby up for adoption......." She paused for a moment, as if the thought still caused her grief. "I don't think Iever really got over that," she continued, admitting it. "It was the hardest thing I ever did in my life. I got to hold her for a minute, you know. I'll never forget the way she seemed to look at me."
"Why did you do it?" he asked, wondering if it was the right thing to ask even as he asked it.
"Hey, life was tough for a single mom back in those days," she answered, her voice suddenly with a firm, hard edge to it. "Anyway, it was what my family wanted. There didn't seem to be many options."
"It must have been awful," he said.
"It was a nightmare," she said, her voice just as suddenly crying out with sadness and misery.

She pulled her hands up in front of her face, and he could see her sob.
"I'm sorry," he said, and he went to her. And he leaned over to her and put his arms around her. "I'm so sorry," he said softly. And he held her to him as she wept.
Finally, though, after a couple of moments, he felt her calm within his arms, and he pulled back from her. But she kept his hand in hers, refusing to let him go, and she looked up at him. And in that instant, his heart melted within him, and he felt himself overwhelmed with the desire to hold her again, only closer; to become a part of her; to know her; to be with her.

She stood up from the chair and into his arms again. By the pale light of the moon, he found himself looking into the sadness of her eyes and he saw the tear tracks on her face. And he sought her. And his mouth was on hers and he pulled her more toward him.

Then, he abruptly pulled away from her.
"I'm sorry," he said, reaching his hand toward his mouth, as though it might have somehow wronged him.
She smiled. "No reason to be," she said. And she pulled him toward her, and her lips were on his, and she kissed him, slowly and sincerely.
And he returned the action.
"I want you," she said, her voice with a sultry hoarseness to it.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and stood holding her in his arms.
"And I you," he softly answered, even the smell of her hair filling him with re-assurance and comfortableness.

And they walked, hand in hand, and arm in arm, back toward the lodge. And they made love into the morning, she having saved hers over almost a lifetime, and he for too long, as well. And, finally, it was early morning, and they were spent. And then there was sleep, entangled one with the other, and dreams of liquid, tranquil lovemaking.

And it was late into the morning before they stirred. And then it was only to make love again. He surrounding her and she filling him. Only then did they arise from his bed.
Bob and Shiela smiled knowingly as they came down from his loft.
But it was good.
And they played cards, and ate a trout dinner, and went fishing as a foursome.
And Bob and Shiela went home.
But she didn't.

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