This Distant Northern Sea
by Holly
Ray and I set up camp a few kilometres outside Tuktoyuktuk. We had searched all along the edge of the Beaufort sea for weeks. Now we were headed back to civilisation. I could feel the weather turning colder, the snow solidifying, the days shortening. When I pointed this out to Ray he told me cold was cold, to him there was no difference. You can take the man out of the city, but not the city out of the man, he had tried his best. It was not his homeland; after all, it was mine. And I tried to share with him the knowledge and pleasure of my land.
I had shown him the siksiks, explained how they lived in holes and made a tasty meal for the bushy tailed foxes. We had marvelled together at the huge floe edge where the solid ice ends, enormous chunks rolling and crashing into each other. We saw black nosed polar bears walking on the thin ice catching seals. I had shown him how to use a kakivaak to catch fish in the cold water. We cooked and ate the fish he caught. We saw lots of wildlife as we travelled through the Arctic Circle, Ray was surprised at how abundant it was. It made me proud to be able to point out snowy owls (the ukpigjuaq) wolves, lemmings. And caribou. We were lucky to see a herd of them walking back from their spring calving grounds. Ray laughed at the black faces and skinny legs of the calves. it was good to see his face light up, revelling in the joy of nature.
So now we were sitting by the campfire, ready to return to civilization after six or more months of searching. We didn't find that hand of Franklin, that reaching out hand. But I don't think we failed in our quest and I'm sure Ray does not feel failure either. We found something much more valuable. Call it peace of mind, call it resolution. Call it whatever you like. It was a romantic notion, an escape. We found strength in each other. Opened up our hearts to each other, gave each other solace. We helped each other recover from the pain of loss.
For Ray it was an escape from the memory of Stella and the feeling that she had abandoned him once and for all. During our search he had come to terms with the fact that Stella had left him to run off with my former partner, the man Ray had impersonated for over a year. His alter ego. You had to laugh at the irony of it: Ray took over his life so the other Ray took the love of his life. It took a while but Ray finally did laugh over it. Out there by the Beaufort sea, with just me, his friend, and the sunbathing seals, to hear him. He laughed till the tears stained his cheeks. Till he had to lay down on the snow his legs were so weakened. And I was there for him, to help him see that everything would be all right. That he could return to Chicago and become Stanley Raymond Kowalski again, but working now for the 27th Division as his true self.
"Okay Fraser," He said to me, blinking in the bright sun, flat on his back in the white snow, "I've had it with that hand. What about you? What say we call it quits and go home ?"
I had to admire him for that. For recognising that it was time to give up, and that giving up did not necessarily mean losing face. He had come a long way.
So that was Ray. Sorted out.
But what about me? What ghosts did I lay to rest? What did I find that resolved my quest? I knew all along that we weren't really looking for that hand.
No, nothing so tangible. It was an internal search. The peace I sought was release from the sorrow of finally losing my father for good. I lost him once, when he was murdered, then I was given the chance to get to really know him. I lost him for a last time in that mineshaft. I also found then lost again a mother I hardly knew. She stroked my cheek and smiled at me and I cried. If only I could have made that moment last forever. So as we trekked along this distant northern shore, Ray and I, I nursed the heartache of deep losses. Too many losses. I needed that hand to heal my damaged heart.
Staring into the flames, the spaghetti and coffee warming up, I begin now to feel more at peace, I'm coming to terms with those losses. And in doing so I realise that I must keep hold now of those I love who are still alive before they are lost too.
And that means you Margaret. It struck me in this wilderness by this cold sea that I loved you. That loving you meant finding you and telling you. It meant ignoring protocol, logic, rules and all those silly things we allowed to get in the way of our love. I should never have let you go. I should be with you. You know my parents spent very little time together. All that is left of their short relationship is me. I want children of my own. I want a wife I can be with for a very long time. I want you.
When I get back to Ottawa, I will search for you. I'll search and I won't give up until I find you again. Whatever your name, in whatever your disguise, I'll find you. After all, I'm the best tracker there is.
One of a kind. The last of a breed.
*****
"...This distant northern sea
The sea of Faith"
Matthew Arnold "Dover Beach"