For What He Could Become Page 21

  “Thanks, Dad,” he said.

  “Gee, gee,” he said in almost reverent tones. The dogs looked back, then the lead dog made a move and the others followed. When they were lined out straight, he called, “Get up,” softly, and the dogs worked into a slow lope.

  The ease with which they handled this slower speed amazed Bill. He recalled that his dad had used basically three commands. Carl’s dogs seemed to have at least five gears, and they were just puppies. He wanted to try the big team. This was just too much fun to be legal.

  They reached the end of the runway when he yelled “Haw, haw” and the dogs turned onto the road picking up speed going down the slope from the airstrip to town. He braked to avoid running over the back of the wheel dogs and to cut the dust that was boiling up under his feet. Once on the road, the dogs made a beeline for the dog yard. Carl was drinking coffee and Bill could see Ilene looking out the window. He almost forgot what to do when the lead dogs stopped at Carl’s feet.

  “Whoa,” Bill said.

  Carl smiled at him. “Looks like they ran into a red light, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, that’s good. I wasn’t sure they’d ever stop.”

  “You have any trouble?”

  “Not a bit.” Bill climbed out of the car and tied the rope to the post. “God, Carl—that’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

  Carl took a sip of his coffee. “Well, driving them is the rainbow over all the work, about nine months of good hard work to where they’ll do that for you. Finding the breeders, raising the pups, feeding and cleaning every day, training every day, building sleds…Then you get to ride and pray to God they don’t run into a moose and get themselves killed.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  “Just often enough to remind you it can happen any time.”

  Bill stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked at the ground.

  “Could I run the big team once?” When he looked up Carl was staring hard at him.

  Carl threw the last of his coffee out and stuck the cup on a nail driven into the dog-yard post. “Help me unhook these guys,” He unhooked the wheel dog’s tug line, led it into the yard, and hooked it to a chain. Bill limped around the team with the other wheel dog.

  When they got to the lead dogs, Carl said, “I’ll get those. Don’t want them to be handled by anyone but me for a while yet.”

  Bill shuffled over to the gate.

  “Carl… .”

  “Look, I don’t want you messing with the team. Taking the young dogs out a time or two isn’t going to hurt them any, but I just don’t want you driving the big team.”

  He walked to the cabin, his back to Bill.

  “Where’ve you been?” Verda said.

  “Over at Carl’s.”

  “I can’t be holding meals all hours of the day.”

  Bill looked around, not wanting to meet her eyes.

  “Verda, I—”

  “Oh, get in here and eat before it burns to the bottom.”

  She was filling a bowl with caribou stew when the sound of the airplane engine caught his attention. She slid the bowl in front of him and walked back to the sink. He sat there a moment, looking at the steam rising from the warm surface.

  He shoved the chair back and walked over to his bed, pulled the duffel bag out, stuffed the few items he had brought into it and zipped it up.

  “What’re you doing?” she said.

  “Think I’ll go back to town.”

  Verda stared at him, the strand of hair pulled under her nose and a hard look in her eyes.

  “How long did you think about it, Bill Williams?”

  “About long enough.” He set the duffel by the door.

  “You gonna run and run and run until you’ve got no place to go?”

  He shook his head. “Why’d you throw that cup at me?”

  “You deserved it.” Verda moved to the table.

  “What did I do?”

  “Here you are—in your forties and you’re as loose as a caribou. You’ve got no home, no family, nothing to call your own but you’re still thinking about it. Seems to me the thinking time is over. I’m offering you a place here—and you’re thinking about it.”

  “I don’t know what you want from me, Verda?”

  “Course you don’t. You haven’t thought about it!”

  He didn’t have an answer for her. He opened the door and limped out towards the store. The pilot was standing on the porch drinking a coke.

  Bill nodded to him. “You got room for me going to Anchorage?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  When he walked out on the bowl of stew Verda had set out for him, it hadn’t occurred to Bill that he wouldn’t eat the rest of the day. As soon as he got out of the plane, he threw his duffel over his shoulder and headed west towards the Salvation Army Corp. Clouds drifted in from the southeast across the Turnagain Arm and covered the sun. The chill made him pick up his pace.

  A good feeling pulsed through his body as he walked along 4th Avenue to C Street. His hunger and the absence of alcohol for weeks made him raise his head and swing his arms. He was looking forward to hearing Major Russell expound on the evils of drink, homelessness, and joblessness, and then the sweet offering of stew, fresh vegetables, and hot rolls. Major Russell, finding him sober, would be smiling when he greeted him.

  He climbed the stairs and walked into the warm food smell. The Jesus clock on the wall told him it was time for vespers. Hoping his stomach would keep quiet through the service, he headed for the chapel.

  He eased the door open and slid into a seat. The man next to him didn’t look up. He had several days’ beard on his face and bags that made three separate folds under his eyes. Major Russell’s clear baritone boomed out over the group, and Bill joined in the hymn, “Onward Christian Soldiers.”

  “…With the cross of Jesus, going on before.” It was just like Major Russell to try and stir the spirit in these people with a good marching song.

  The major missed the final chord on the piano, but his voice was strong enough to drown it out and with a deftness born of practice he quickly removed his hands from the keys. He spun around on the stool and with a smile on his face, looked out over the audience. The major, sensing within him the needs of every soul there, would now say one of three things: 1. “Let’s pray.” 2. “Let me tell you a story about…” or 3. “I believe God’s gift of food and drink is ready—are you ready to receive it as the gift it is, the miracle He has made with earth and water and sun?”

  It all depended on how he read the audience, the season that was upon them, and the condition of the individual he deemed to be in the worst shape. If he thought the worst of them could hold out a few minutes longer, he chose #2. If he thought there was time for a quick heartfelt prayer, he opted for #1, always in the hope that he might, through Jesus, reach just one soul with that uttering. And if he could see that time had run out and there was the risk of imminent audience collapse, he would choose #3, holding out the concept of God’s bounty. Tonight he chose #2 and began to give the details of Bill’s relationship with the Salvation Army. He told the story in sequence, right up to his sobering up and cleaning up and being sent back to his village for a funeral.

  “…And he now has returned to us and is in the audience tonight. When you are getting your heavenly rations, please take a moment and welcome Bill back in his new capacity as community coordinator for this corps.” He broke into a wide smile and closed with a prayer thanking God for the food, the warm room they were in, and the healing grace He provided.

  “Let’s eat,” he said.

  The congregation filed out, some stopping to say hello to Bill as they passed by. Bill waited for Major Russell, who was herding people down the front aisle and toward the dining room. When he got to the door where Bill was standing, he reached out his arms and gathered him in.

  “Bill…so good to see you. And look at you—you’re looking so good, so clean…let me smell your breath.” He sniffed
and then smiled. “So clear. Good for you, good for you.”

  Bill nodded and smiled. “I’ve missed you too.”

  “How were things in the village?”

  “Pretty much the same.”

  “You look thinner. Didn’t they have moose stew and fresh bread?”

  “I took a little walk—wore me down some.”

  “A little walk?”

  “About ninety miles.”

  “Ninety miles! You’ll have to tell me about that. You hungry? Let’s go eat.” He took Bill’s arm and guided him toward the dining room.

  As they approached the room, Bill heard sounds that resonated with him. At first he couldn’t make the connection, then he realized what he was hearing called to mind. The dog yard at feeding time. The only noises in the dining room were the sounds of eating, flatware clinking against dishes, bowls being set down on tables, platters being moved around, feet shuffling underneath the table. No conversation.

  Same thing in the dog yard. Barking, tail wagging, rattling of chains, until the food was ladled into their bowls and the sounds changed to lips closing on food, slurping, chewing. Bill wouldn’t ever in his life think of these folks as animals—it was just that the way they entered into the eating of free food was remindful of the peace and contentment the dogs got from their food. Being hungry and getting filled and giving your attention to the meal until it was finished. Then you could look around, wipe your mouth with the Salvation Army napkin and, having that need satisfied, consider your next need and where it might be satisfied.

  “How was it Bill?” Major Russell asked when they’d carried their casseroles to a table.

  “It was okay.” He blew on his first bite, sensing the temperature of the bubbling cheese. “I got into a lot of trouble. I flew out to look for gold, spent all of the widow’s money to do that, didn’t find any gold, and walked back ninety miles. A bear took my food, and I wasn’t in the kind of shape you need to be in to do that. I was stove up for a few days. Hobbled around like an old man.”

  “Hmmm…”

  “Then I ended up getting everybody mad at me,. So I just left.”

  “Bill, we need to have a serious talk about where you’re going, now that you’re back. Armand was asking about someone for a night clerk’s job at his hotel. I think you could do it.”

  “What was this about a community coordinator you mentioned? And what about the name change—this is a corps now instead of a post?”

  Major Russell beamed. “Tell you the truth, we don’t have a position like that, but seeing you sitting there clean and sober, the Lord just created the position in my head and pushed it out of my mouth with details to follow. We need a coordinator to work with the natives,. They’re a substantial portion of the corps’ population. Now that you’re sober, you’re an ideal candidate for the job.”

  “I don’t know…” Bill said.

  “Sure you do,” Major Russell said. “Bill, life either wears you down or polishes you up, depending on what you’re made of. Are you a soapstone or a diamond?” He chewed a mouthful of food while he looked expectantly at Bill.

  “What does a coordinator person do?”

  “It would only take an hour or so a day, and you’re with them at that time anyway. It just makes you more visible in your community; helps identify people who need help before it’s too late. Surely it’s something you can do for your fellow travelers.”

  Bill looked at him. “You also said something about a night clerk?”

  Major Russell nodded. “I did. You’ve met Armand, who’s on our board. He wonders if there’s anyone here who’d like the night clerk job and could be counted on to fulfill it. I nominated you.”

  “Seems like you’ve been doing a lot of nominating.”

  The major held up his hands. “Guilty.”

  Bill finished eating and pushed the dishes out in front of him. It reminded him of the end of a meal on the Northland Echo. He half expected to hear Mike O’Leary’s voice.

  “I don’t even know what a night clerk does,” he said.

  “I don’t either, but it can’t be hard to pick up. Armand would like you to come over and see the situation. Could you go after supper?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I hadn’t planned on anything like that.”

  The major laid his hand on his wrist. “Bill, you haven’t planned anything. This is a chance to get back up—you could start from this point and only look ahead. Forget the past. Work with me on this.” He looked around at the people still in the dining room.

  “These people, Bill…they have so far to go. But you— just a little bit of effort now and you’ll be in a new life. You’ll be the next commander of this corps.”

  Bill snorted.

  “No, I mean that. You can lead if you try. This is an opening God has provided to you. Showing you His hand. Showing you His love. Take it. I know you can do it. You know it too. You led half a dozen guys out of the biggest battle in Europe, and you can do this.” He withdrew his hand. “ A corps, by the way, is larger than a post. It shows we’ve come a long way here.”

  Bill stared at him for a long moment.

  “Okay,” he said finally.

  “Praise the Lord!”

  Armand was the first Armenian Bill had ever met. He stuck out his hand and said, “Welcome to the Plaza, Bill. Let me show you around.” He started for a small restaurant and bar combination adjacent to the lobby. His movements were quick and fluid, and Bill found he had to walk fast to keep up.

  Over two coffees in a deserted corner of the restaurant, Armand outlined the duties of the night clerk.

  “Bill, is there anything in the job description you think you’d have any problems with?” he said.

  “I don’t see any,” Bill said.

  “Major Russell tells me you were a corporal in the army. You directed men in their duties?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you feel about that?

  Bill twisted in his seat. “Not sure how I felt.”

  “Did you feel good about it? Did it make you feel strong and reliable? Dependable?” Armand cocked his head waiting for the answer.

  “Actually I felt cold and tired and hungry all the time there. I didn’t have these feelings you’re asking about.”

  “All the time you were in the Army?”

  “No, when we were surrounded and trying to get back to our lines.”

  Armand looked at him for a long moment.

  “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll get in touch with you at the corps tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “How’d it go?” Major Russell asked when Bill got back to the corps.

  “Okay, I think. I’ll know tomorrow.”

  “Guess who came in while you were gone?”

  Bill squinted his eyes and looked out the window. “I can’t guess—you’ll have to tell me.”

  “Wayne Turner. He’s in the kitchen.”

  His head plopped forward and he blurted, “Wayne Turner?”

  Bill wasn’t sure he would have recognized Wayne. He was huge—had to be 300, 350 pounds.

  “Hello, Bill,” Wayne said, his smile wide as a river. He was seated, an empty plate in front of him, holding a cup of coffee. The grin on his face was welcoming. “Do I need to stand up and salute?”

  “No, we don’t salute in here,” Bill said reaching down and hugging his gigantic shoulders. My God it’s good to see you.”

  “All of me?”

  Bill smiled. “There is a lot of you.”

  “After the Bulge I never wanted to be without food again. And you know what?

  “You haven’t,” Bill answered. “Bet you’re not as fast as you were,” Bill said.

  His eyes lit up and he smiled. “Faster than you’d think.”

  “What are you doing here?” Bill said.

  “Construction. At least I was until the snow hit. It shut down the asphalt plant, so we’re laid off for the winter.”

  “What brings you
in here?”

  Wayne gestured at the empty plate. “The food.”

  Major Russell poured a cup of coffee and set it down on the table. Bill looked around for something to eat and found some sourdough buns in the breadbox.

  “Any more of those?” Wayne asked.

  “They didn’t give you enough supper?”

  “I suppose to them it was plenty. I take a lot these days.” He buttered the bun. “I’ve got diabetes. I need something all the time.”

  “Diabetes?”

  Wayne patted his stomach. “Fat. Too much fat—too much sugar.”

  “Why don’t you cut down on it?”

  “Ah—I like it too much.” He bit off half the bun and chased it with a gulp of coffee. “What’ve you been doing?”

  Bill gave him an abbreviated version which left out a lot of his activities with George, but covered his search for gold.

  “Where you gonna live?” Wayne asked when he finished.

  Bill shrugged. “I just got back.”

  “You could stay with us. We’ll be needing some help on the rent.”

  “Who’s us?”

  “Me and a couple of guys from the crew. There’s room.” Wayne looked at him and smiled. “We’d keep your share low, ’cause you’d be on the couch.”

  “Sounds cozy,” Bill said.

  Wayne opened the door. It wasn’t like Ilene’s place. Scattered clothing was on the back of the chair and couch, dirty dishes and pizza boxes on the table, newspapers on the floor. Wayne picked up a pair of socks and a shirt in front of the couch, then ran his meaty hand across the back, pushing everything into a pile which he threw on the floor in the hall.

  “Sit down,” he said with a wave toward the newly cleared couch.

  Bill looked at his back walking toward the refrigerator. He was amazed at the thickness of him—twice as wide as he remembered. Wayne popped the caps on two beers and set one in front of Bill. Then he lifted the bottle and drank half of it in one draught, belched, smiled, and launched himself onto the couch. It tilted toward his end.