CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
"Got any more of that stuff?" Ray asked.
Fraser handed him a piece of pemmican from the pouch in his pocket and took a piece for himself.
"What's in it?" As he started to explain, Ray remembered who he was talking to and stopped him. "Wait! Do I want to know?"
Fraser chewed thoughtfully, before replying, "I think so."
"OK, tell me."
"Venison, suet, raisins," he said, then pausing to chew, added, "And ... this is a tad unconventional, Ray ... I added a handful of dried figs to this batch."
"You're a wild man." He chewed and swallowed. "Tasty. Wish I had a beer to chase it with."
"Peach juice?" Fraser asked, holding up a can.
He grimaced. "I think I've had my limit."
The tug chugged along through the night, still on the northeast heading. Ray and Fraser were now hunkered down in the big crate. Fraser had untied the ropes holding the tarps in place, prying up the nails in the lid with his boot knife. The crate was full of cardboard cases marked "canned peaches in heavy syrup." To make room inside, he had handed out the cartons to Ray, who had opened the boxes and confirmed the contents were indeed peaches, before deep-sixing them. Fraser hadn't liked dumping the cartons overboard, but there was no alternative. When the crate was emptied enough, Fraser climbed in and lifted more cases out. One carton was too light. When Ray opened it, he found a large sealed plastic bag containing a white powder.
"Whaddya want to bet? Flour for the pie crust?" he said, looking down at Fraser in the crate.
"I'm not a gambling man," he said. "But if I was, I still wouldn't take that bet."
Ray cut the bag open, confirming what they already knew. Cocaine. They found five more bags. The rest of the cases were, indeed, peaches in heavy syrup. Ray kept one bag intact as evidence, slit the others open, and dumped the cocaine overboard. Fraser would not allow him to dump the plastic bags. He rolled them tightly and stuffed them into the pocket of his jacket.
"Ray, if you've ever seen an Arctic tern dead after swallowing a plastic bag it thought was a fish, you'd understand," he explained.
Ray couldn't argue with that. The discovery helped explain why they were cruising so far into Lake Michigan. It was a two-fer, he told Fraser. Not just a body disposal operation, but a delivery, too. To where and to whom, only time would tell. And there were more than five bags of cocaine on this old barge, he knew. He would bet every crate had a hidden treasure in the midst of its more prosaic contents.
They left the last few cartons of peaches. They made handy seats. They could sit on the cartons and still have a foot of headroom. It took them about an hour to complete their task, being careful to keep the light to a minimum and their body movements below eye level. The men in the tugboat had taken no notice of their activities.
They climbed in to the crate. Fraser had cleverly rigged the lid from the inside with some of the rope, creating a system of knots and pulleys which pulled the lid in place. They had tested it before climbing in. Once engaged, it looked secure and untampered with. Even the tarp was pulled taut. In reality, a flick of the wrist and a quick shove and the lid would be off.
It was close quarters, and smelled of lumber, peaches, and men who hadn't bathed since yesterday, but it was not too uncomfortable. And, Ray had to admit, it was a lot cozier as their body heat warmed the enclosed space. For now, they had the lid off for fresh air. Through the open space, they could see the stars. Away from the light pollution of the city, the star field was an incredible sight.
"What's that clump there?" he said, pointing up.
Fraser followed his pointing finger. "The Pleiades." He added, "The Inuit call it Sakiattiaq."
"And those three in a row?"
"That's the belt of Orion."
"Which the Inuit call the Suspenders," he joked.
Fraser chuckled.
Ray, whose watch did not have a luminous dial, asked, "What time is it?"
Fraser looked at his wrist. "5:01."
"What time is sunrise?"
"7:13"
"Huh." After a while, he said, "What time is it now?"
"5:04"
"There sure are a lot of stars up there."
"Yes."
Ray stared upwards. "The more you look, the more you see. It's almost like they're swallowing up the black space." He sighed. "What time is it?"
"5:08." Fraser answered, settling against his side of the crate. He closed his eyes.
"I hate waiting," he muttered, stating the obvious. "What time is it now?"
"5:13," he replied, then said. "Ray, do you know the story of "Nightfall?"
"Inuit?"
"Asimov."
"Nope. Sci-fi, right?"
"Science fiction," he corrected, automatically, then continued before Ray could ask for the time again. "It's set on a planet located at the galactic core." He pointed out the hazy contours of the Milky Way. "Right in the center, there. In the short story, the planet has a complicated orbit. There are six suns that never completely set. So, on this world, it's always daylight. Imagine the North Pole in summer, only all the time."
Ray tried, but he couldn't imagine the North Pole at all, summer or winter.
"They don't even have words for the concept of night, or dawn, or stars. They never invented candles or lanterns or electric light. It's always light." Fraser paused. "Except once, every fifty thousand years or so. Then, there is a convergence of celestial bodies. All the suns set. And the world goes dark."
Ray took another bite of pemmican and chewed. He settled back against the crate.
Fraser's voice took on the resonance and rhythm that Ray thought of as his 'storyteller' mode. "It's a modern civilization, like ours, scientific, erudite. But, the planet is about to experience darkness for the first time in living memory. The astronomers have precisely calculated the movements of the suns and the planet. All the world is looking up for this unique event, some from a scientific point of view, some religious, many with a festive attitude."
Ray grinned, "Like Y2K in a few years?"
"Well, that's a manmade event, Ray, not a natural phenomenon," he paused in thought. "But an apt analogy, nonetheless." He continued, "The story takes place on the day that night will fall. There is anticipation, curiosity. But, there is also an ominous note. Archaeologists have found evidence of past civilizations in the geologic record. And, a mysterious layer of ash separating the epochs. Every fifty thousand years, it appears that all the world's cities burn, society collapses, and the world enters a 'dark age'. Not literally dark, of course, because the suns do come up again. But a period of savagery ensues where the world descends to primitive prehistoric levels, before civilization slowly and painfully returns. Only to burn, leaving nothing behind. Except ash. Again and again, the cycle repeats itself. Every fifty thousand years."
Ray had stopped chewing and was looking up at the night sky, mesmerized.
His face lit by starlight, Fraser continued, "Before the suns go dark, psychologists try an experiment where volunteers on this bright world are put in artificially darkened spaces. But, the subjects can't tolerate the darkness. They become too agitated, panicked. Like a claustrophobic, who is locked in a confined space."
"Like a crate," Ray said, dreamily.
"Exactly," he said. "As nightfall approaches, one scientist puts it all together. He theorizes that the unaccustomed darkness incites a mass insanity in the people of a world who have never known darkness. In their madness, they crave light above all else. To create light, they burn ... everything. As each of the six suns sets, one by one, and total darkness approaches, his fellow scientists, panic clawing at their throats, begin to believe that his theory is correct. But it is too late. The world goes dark."
"And then they go mad?" Ray asked, quietly, his eyes riveted on their patch of sky.
"No."
"No?"
"No, Ray, it's not the darkness that drives the world mad." He turned his face up to the night sky. "They go mad when the stars come out."
Ray stared up at the star-strewn darkness. As he watched, more stars appeared. And more. And even more.
"All the stars come out," Fraser intoned. "Not the mere thirty six hundred stars visible from our Earth, perched as we are on the far rim of the galaxy. No, this planet inhabits the center of the galactic cluster. Thirty thousand stars bore down on the people with a soul-searing intensity."
Ray shivered. A shooting star flashed across the sky, then vanished.
Fraser's voice grew in intensity. "Imagine those stars, Ray. Frighteningly cold, horribly indifferent, causing black terror and hopeless fear beyond bearing." His voice was seductive, hypnotic. "The Dark and the Cold and the Doom had found the people of this world. It crushed them, and squeezed them and obliterated them till they all went mad. Until, they burned everything so they couldn't see the stars anymore. And, in their madness, they burned and burned and burned. For the long night had come again."
As if from a great distance, Ray heard a voice. He blinked.
"... ray ... ray ... ray ... Ray!"
Ray shook himself. He pulled his enthralled gaze away from the sky, then punched Fraser in the arm.
"Ow!"
"What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"What?!" he asked, rubbing his arm.
"Telling a story like that out here?! With that," he pointed at the night, "up there!"
"I'm sorry," he said, surprised. "I thought it would help pass the time."
"Pass the time? Jeez, Benny! How would you like it if I started telling ghost stories?" Before he could answer, Ray waggled both hands at him, fingers spread, and wailed, banshee-like, "Woooooooooo! Here comes Resurrection Mary in her long white dress!" He put a hand to one ear, "What's that I hear! Why it's Mrs. O'Leary's cow, with her ghostly cowbell round her skeleton neck!" He cringed, dramatically and pointed. "Woooooooo! Look, there's Vinnie and Joey! They're covered in maple syrup! Back from the dead to haunt our crate! Woooooooooo!"
"OK! OK!" he said, defensively. "Sorry."
"Yeah, you should be," he muttered, pulling his coat closer. "What time is it?"
"Time to ... you know," Fraser said, standing up.
"Use the can?" he snickered.
"Very funny, Ray." He grabbed the empty peaches can they had been using as a urinal. They were taking advantage of the darkness to use the can out on deck, then pitch the contents overboard. The atmosphere in the crate would get ripe quickly once daylight limited their movements. He stepped up on the carton and started to climb out. "And, for the record, I'm not afraid of ghosts," he said, over his shoulder.
"BOO!"
Fraser yelped and fell off the carton, landing nearly in Ray's lap. His father peered down from above, grinning broadly.
"Gotcha, son!"
Ray pushed him up and off irritably, as he worked to right himself and calm his racing heart. "Knock it off, Benny," he growled. "I'm spooked enough out here without you making it worse."
"Sorry, Ray," he muttered, then said, glaring upwards, "I'm not afraid of ghosts. I just don'tlike them dropping in where they're not wanted." Gathering the shreds of his dignity around him like a cloak, he climbed out of the crate and moved to the back of the barge.
"You have to admit that was pretty funny, son," his father said.
"Do you mind, Dad?" Fraser said, turning away slightly.
"Oh, don't be so modest."
"I'm not. But your surprise appearances are making me look like an idiot," he grumbled.
"You don't need my help for that, son."
"Oh, thanks a lot, Dad. That's really helpful."
"Well, just look at the predicament you got yourself into here. I didn't do that."
"I could hardly leave Ray alone, to be discovered by mobsters under a pile of bodies, in the middle of the Lake they call Michigan," he protested.
"You need a plan, son."
"We have a plan."
"Hiding in a crate? That's the plan?"
"It's part of one," he said, defensively. "The rest ... we have to play by ear."
"That sounds like something the Yank would say."
"Well, he's not wrong," Fraser finished and zipped up. He maneuvered between stacks of crates to the edge of the barge, tested the wind direction with a finger, and tossed the contents of the can over the side.
His father rocked back on his heels. "This reminds me of the time Buck Frobisher and I were ..."
"Were you and Buck ever stranded on a barge in the middle of a Lake with two dead bodies, outnumbered and outgunned by drug-dealing mobsters, while hiding in a crate filled with canned peaches?"
"Well, no. Not exactly," Fraser, Sr. said, frowning.
"Then, I don't see how this helps, Dad." He walked cautiously back to the middle of the barge, leaving his father on the stern. "I'm coming in, Ray."
He maneuvered himself back on to his perch on the carton of canned peaches. "It'll be dawn in about an hour." He set the can he had used in the furthest corner and settled back. Ray didn't answer. He was turned away, his shoulder resting on the side of the crate, his head hanging down. Fraser thought he might be sleeping. But something in his posture looked unnatural and made him uneasy. He reached over and touched his shoulder.
"Ray? You alright?" When there was no response, he shook him harder. Perhaps, he had sustained a concussion in the fall after all. "Ray!"
Ray suddenly spun towards him, emitting a maniacal laugh. His face, twisted in a grusome leer, was lit from below giving it a wicked cast. With a gasp, Fraser reared back and nearly fell off his seat. Ray clicked off the flashlight under his chin, shaking with laughter. "I gotcha! You were spooked!"
"No, Ray, I was concerned ..."
"Admit it. I scared you!"
"I was surprised ..."
"Come on, you screamed like a little girl!"
"I certainly did not! I was startled ..."
"Don't deny it, Benny!"
He gave up. "Alright. You spooked me, Ray." He punched him lightly in the arm. "Knock it off."
Ray grinned and returned the flashlight to his pocket. "Even Steven, then?"
"Even Steven."
They sat in silence. After a while, Ray said, "What time is it, Benny?"
With a sigh, Fraser told him.
