For What He Could Become Read online

  Two other men ran to the winch and changed the angle of the drum so it would pull the line back on in even rows. Bill ran up to help, but they ignored him as they battled to pull a pin that held the winch at an angle.

  A big man handed him a steel pry bar, then bent over to pull on the pin handle with both hands. The pin kept the winch head in place, but at the wrong angle to rewind the cable. Bill stuck the bar between the winch and the iron frame to relieve the pressure on it.

  “NO!” yelled the man closest to him.

  He pulled back. They continued tugging at the handle. The man took the bar from Bill, stuck it through the pin handle, pried on the framework, and popped the pin loose. The winch head turned toward the tree and the cable began winding back on.

  The big man with the bar turned and looked at him. “Where’d you come from?”

  Bill pointed at the deck. “Right here.”

  “Jeysus, Mary, and Joseph, but you like to of killed us all.”

  “I was just trying to help.”

  “And just what do you think we be usin’ a bar like this for, laddie? It’s not strong enough or long enough to be wedging the boat up the river, now is it?”

  The man was at least six feet four inches and his stomach was as flat as the river.

  “Well, now, never mind. We’re alive and well and none of us has a steel bar stickin’ between his ribs.”

  He clapped Bill on the shoulder, and it felt like he’d been cuffed by a bear. A gong sounded, and Bill spun around. Someone was shouting at him from the doorway.

  “Chow.” The man’s head disappeared.

  Bill’s stomach was growling as he made his way to the doorway. The warm strong smells of meat and potatoes and boiling coffee met him when he walked through. Every head at the long table looked up at him.

  “Sure and we saved you a seat, laddie,” the big man who had taken the iron bar from him said. “Move over, you lunk,” he said to the fellow next to him.

  Bill sat between them, his eyes level with the tops of their shoulders. He’d never seen such large men, nor had he ever seen so much food on a table. There was a constant grabbing and shoveling of food from platters onto plates and the clatter of knives, forks, and spoons clanking on the plates, plus coughing, slurping, banging, and the shuffling of feet under the bench.

  The plates of the men on both sides of him were half empty already, and nobody passed him anything. He reached for the potatoes and spooned several small onto his plate. He couldn’t reach the hamburger or the gravy, and he noticed that anyone who wanted anything either stood up and reached for it or called out for it. He half-stood in his place and reached for the meat, but he was at least a foot short.

  “What d’ya want, lad?” the big man asked.

  “Meat, please”

  “Just holler it out, we don’t have all day to get you fed and your diapers changed.”

  The men laughed and the big man handed him the meat. Then he gathered all the food dishes and assembled them around Bill’s plate. “Eat up, lad, let’s go.”

  Several men had finished and left the table when Bill finally got everything on his plate and started eating. The next time he looked up, everyone was gone except the big man and the fellow on the other side of him, both of whom had finished eating and were watching him eat.

  “Jeysus, Mary, and Joseph,” the big man said, “the company will be only payin’ you for half time. The other half you’ll be eatin’.”

  The cook mopped the table with one hand while the other grabbed any plate, cup, or flatware, and cleared the table, leaving nothing but what Bill was using. When the cook grabbed his empty cup, Bill set his fork down and leaned back. Quick as a cat snatching a mouse, the cook reached over his shoulder and took the plate with his left hand, the flatware with his right, and the table was empty.

  Bill could make it to the next meal, and he could find some water to wash down the three bites he’d swallowed. A grin started across his face as he looked at the big man and then he laughed.

  “Mighty short meal,” he said.

  The big man’s laughter filled the room as he pulled out his pocket watch.

  “Short?” he said. “Why, I could’ve recited the entire catechism while you were makin’ a stab at eatin’.” He clapped Bill on the shoulder. “Let’s be getting about it,” he said as he rose from his seat.

  Bill followed him out and they sat on a coil of rope on the front deck.

  “What’s yer name lad?”

  “Bill Williams.”

  “Where ya from?”

  “Arctic Village. It’s north of Fairbanks.”

  “Oh me god—must be a cold one up there. And what made a lad like you get on a river boat?”

  “Money. I need to make some money.” Bill watched fascinated as Mike braided three strands of rope with his hands while never taking his eyes off the river. “Where’re you from?”

  “Originally from Ireland but I’ve been on the river so long I think I’m from here now. Me mother named me Mike O’Leary and sent me out into the world to make a name for myself and here I am, working on riverboats since 1935, single as a priest and saving my money for a small farm in Minnesota.”

  Bill smiled. “Why do you want a farm?”

  “Come now, a man’s gotta have a piece of land, you know. A place to call home. A cow, some ducks and geese, a few sheep. It’s my plan to find a woman who’ll put up with me and get married before I’m too old to father a child or two.” He swung his arm to take in the whole boat, “Nary a man on this tug ain’t got the same dream, lad. And you?”

  Bills thoughts were of Ilene. He pictured the cabin he would build, the view it would offer and exactly where the wood pile would be.

  “I bargained to cut the wood for my passage to Whitehorse so I can get a job on the highway.”

  “You ever cut wood?”

  “Cut firewood since I was just a kid.”

  “This is cord wood. Different sort than firewood. You gotta cut and stack it and it has to be a certain length and weight so’s a man can pick it up and throw it in the firebox. Four feet long and not more than fifty to seventy pounds. How many cord did the captain ask ye for?”

  “Ten to fifteen.”

  Mike threw the braided rope on the deck. “Jeysus, Mary, and Joseph—and you just a pup.” He shook his head. “Well, no doubt about it, you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

  “How hard can it be?”

  “Hard? It’s not only hard, it’s dirty and it’s sweaty, and you’re all alone there with your own cookin’ and campin’ to do. You’ll be pullin’ a cross-cut saw in your dreams every night, and there won’t be any pretty girls or good food or whiskey.” Mike looked him up and down. “Well, you look stout enough to get it done, lad.”

  Over the next two days as the Echo worked her way through the sandbars around Saloon Island and through the braided channel near Halfway Whirlpool, Mike went through the process with Bill of working with a cross-cut saw, setting up a rubber man, and stacking wood with the least amount of effort.

  When the Echo reached Fourtymile Creek it nosed into the bank and tied up.

  Mike and Bill jumped off and walked to the cutters camp. Mike handed him the saw, “Try your hand on this log,” he said.

  Bill made a dozen strokes then the saw warped up in the cut.

  “No, no, no, laddie. You’re putting too much muscle into it. Let it glide smoothly, like makin’ love to a woman. You’ve made love to a woman, haven’t you?”

  Bill shook his head.

  “Jeysus, Mary and Joseph, surely there will be a place in heaven for the likes of me who have to work with virgins on the wood pile.”

  “Why don’t you cut wood?” Bill said. “You know all about it.”

  “I was smart enough to leave Ireland and smart enough to get off the wood pile. You gotta be half Injun to do that work.”

  Bill looked at Mike and smiled. “I am.”

  “You kiddin’ me?”

 
Bill shook his head.

  “Half Indian and half what?”

  “Half white.”

  “Yeah, but which white? Irish, German, Pollack?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “I’ll be damned. Well, you can do the work. You find any Irishmen on the wood pile, you’ll be knowin’ they just got over here and ain’t fit for nothin’ else.”

  It was in the middle of the second day before Bill felt he was working the rubber man just about right. He named it “Stub,” short for “Stubby.” And he learned he had to put some oil on the saw blade to break it loose from the pitch that drained into the cuts; that the weight of the saw and gravity would make Stub cut through the downed logs if he didn’t push it back too hard and saved his strength for the pull.

  From then on he talked to Stub like he would to Carl or Charlie. He wasn’t sure when he’d started talking to himself, but it was probably on the walk to Venetie. Stub found out a lot about Ilene and Carl and how things were in Arctic Village.

  The woodpile grew and he was working on the second stack when he lifted up the last piece of cordwood and got a good whiff of himself. He quit early that afternoon and walked over to the eastern side of the island with a bar of soap.

  That night he had corned beef hash and bread and a cup of tea brewed with Yukon River water. He heard footsteps, then saw a girl at the edge of the firelight. She was holding a dried salmon carcass.

  “Hello,” she said.

  Bill stood up. “Hello yourself.”

  “I thought you might like a salmon.” She handed it to him across the fire. The oily fragrance was pungent.

  “You smoke it?” he said.

  “I smoke some and sell it to the boat crews.”

  “I don’t have any money.”

  “I brought it to you as a present.”

  Bill nodded. “Thank you. Here—let me get you a seat.” He pulled up a chunk of log. “I’m Bill Williams.”

  “I’m Sarah White. My daddy’s Bradford White, do you know him?”

  Bill shook his head. “I’m a stranger here.”

  Sarah smiled. “You don’t look strange.”

  He smiled back at her. “Could I taste it now?”

  “Sure. It’s yours.”

  “Would you like some?”

  “I’d take a pinch. You got anything to drink?”

  “Tea. I’ve got tea.”

  “That’d be good.”

  Bill washed out the cups and filled them. When he handed the cup to Sarah he couldn’t get his finger out of the handle and pass her the cup at the same time. She put one of her hands on the bottom of the cup and with the other took hold of Bill’s hand. A shiver went through his arm.

  He found a tin plate and cut a piece of the salmon onto it.

  “I can’t see you very well across this fire,” she said.

  Bill set his tea and fish down and moved his stool around to the side. He could feel the heat in his face.

  “How’s this?” he said.

  “I can see you now.” Her smile and the firelight reflected in her eyes made him think of saying things he didn’t know how to say.

  “How long are you here for?” she said.

  “Until the boat comes back.”

  “What do you do down here by yourself besides work?”

  “I think. I talk a lot to Stub.” He pointed to the rubber man.

  “You call him Stub? Does he ever talk back?”

  “Hasn’t so far.”

  She drew her legs up and put her arms over her knees. “What do you and Stub talk about?”

  “You sure ask a lot of questions.”

  “Well, you don’t say anything, so I have to ask.”

  He smiled. “You’re right. Let’s see—what do we talk about?” He cleared his throat. “Well, we talk about how we learn things, for instance. And feelings about stuff.”

  “What kind of feelings?”

  His pulse rate had increased and he wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

  “Feelings about a family, for instance. Things that happen in a family.”

  “Like what?”

  He looked in the fire and took a deep breath.

  “My mother died when I was born and my dad killed himself and I don’t know how anybody in my family really feels about that. Nobody talks about it in our village.” He let out the rest of his breath.

  “What do they talk about if they don’t talk about things like that?”

  “Oh—about hunting, or like when Irem got drunk at the last dance and fell over the watermelon on the schoolhouse floor, or the plane crash at the end of the runway.”

  “How do you feel about it?”

  “About what?”

  “Your mother and father dying.”

  The flush had reached his neck and he unbuttoned his jacket. He couldn’t look at her, but he could answer her question. “Well—I can’t seem to work up any feeling about it. Sometimes I try. I stand on a hill at night and think about them, but maybe it’s been too long or something, because I leave the hill feeling exactly the same as when I went out there.”

  When he looked up her eyes were on his, the firelight dancing in them. She reached out a hand and laid it on top of his.

  “You’re working too hard at it. Just think about how you feel—or don’t feel—and say it. Have you ever said it to Stub?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “I just never have, that’s all.”

  She looked up at the stars, her body still, her face tilted up, and her hand on his.

  “Don’t you keep some stuff like that inside you?” he asked.

  “I tell everything to the stars. My daddy’s a minister, he travels a lot up and down the river. You talk to Stub and I talk to the stars.”

  “What do you tell them?”

  “All sorts of things. About school, the village, boyfriends…”

  Bill looked up at the stars. “You have a boyfriend?”

  “Sometimes. Right now I don’t.”

  He smiled.

  She took back her hand. “I have to go. Thanks for the tea and conversation.”

  Bill stood up. “Want me to walk you home?”

  “I’d rather no one saw me coming back from here.”

  In three steps she was out of sight and the night had enveloped her so completely he wondered for a few seconds if she had really been there.

  The Northland Echo blew its whistle before it came into view, and to Bill the sound was wonderful. He did a quick check to see how many cords of wood he had stacked up, then ran down to the bank to watch the boat come in. Mike O’Leary called out a big “Hallo, laddie” from the deck and threw a rope to him. The paddle wheel stopped, then reversed and slowed the boat until the bow nosed into the bank.

  Bill had just tied the rope to a tree when Mike said, “Well, laddie, how many cords do you have for us now?”

  “Twelve.”

  Mike gripped his biceps and squeezed. “Put on a bit of muscle?”

  Bill smiled. “Thanks for the soap.”

  “Figured you’d be needin’ it.”

  “You were right.”

  About a hundred yards down the river a man was leading a horse and wagon their way.

  “How did old rubber man work?” Mike asked.

  “Pretty good, once I taught him how to.”

  “Oh, you taught him how to work, did ya? Well, twelve cord is a fair jag. But we be needin’ all there is to get the Echo home.”

  When the man got there Bill could see the horse was harnessed to a skid. The horse walked up just past the first stack of logs and stopped. Two men started loading the firewood on the skid while the man with the horse stood holding the lead rope, fanning mosquitoes and flies away from his horse’s head. Then he saw Bill and beckoned him over.

  Bill walked up to him. The firewood was nearly all loaded.

  He had a most prominent Adams apple with gray and black hairs running all directions out of it and
wore a battered felt hat with white sweat marks encircling the crown. He was tall and leaned forward from his hips. “You stay away from my son’s girl,” the man said in a rasping voice.

  “Do I know her?” Bill said.

  “Just stay away from her or you’ll be sorry.” His eyes glowed.

  “I talked to someone last night, I didn’t know she was anybody’s girl. It’s a free country.”

  “Now you know,” he hissed. “Stay away from her.”

  Bill looked at Mike, who shook his head. “Is that what you meant by no pretty girls?” he said when he was back on the Echo.

  “The very thing.” Mike smiled. “She’s a nice one, isn’t she?”

  “You know her?”

  “Not a man on the river doesn’t know Sarah White. Not a man who wouldn’t take her for his own—if she was willin’.”

  “And?”

  “Well, she’s pledged to the Lord, in a way.”

  “What way?”

  “Let’s just say in a way that doesn’t admit the likes of you and me.”

  The loading process was repeated until the twelve cords were loaded. Bill went aboard to see the captain.

  “You did okay, Bill. Earned your way to Whitehorse.” The captain handed him a small stack of silver dollars with a smile.

  Bill hefted them up and down, the weight of them a grand feeling, then put them in his pocket.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  The captain nodded. “You’ll do okay on the highway. Keep warm this winter.”

  The Northland Echo nosed into the dock at Whitehorse, Yukon Territory.

  Mike was on shore as Bill stepped off the gangplank.

  “Now look here, laddie. You’ll be goin’ out amongst the tough ones. Don’t be afraid to ask for what you want and don’t be ashamed if you don’t get it. And if anyone asks, you just tell ’em Mike O’Leary from the Northland Echo backs you. It’s been good knowin’ you, Bill Williams. Wish I was goin with you.” He stuck out his hand.

  Bill took it. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  “The boat’s my life and I love her like my dear mother. I couldn’t let her go up and down that river without me to take care of her. Go on with ya now. Go make yer fortune.”

  He let go of Bill’s hand.