Snowblind

Boxes, maybe thirty or forty, were piled along the walls and the majority were still sealed. They’d been there twelve years, left as emergency rations for anyone marooned in this wasteland. Staying low to avoid banging his head, Simon hauled one crate to the shaft of light coming from the doorway. The rest of the interior remained in deep shadow and even the air had the closed, lifeless feel common to all long-deserted buildings. Breathing it, Simon’s lungs still hungered for more oxygen, as if this dead air could no longer support life.

He tried to shake off his gloom by opening the carton. Sixteen large jars of instant coffee confronted him. One was only half full. Wally and Jeff? Or the IBP scientists? He kicked the box back to its former position and, with his eyes now adjusting to the gloom, read the labels on the others. Beside the coffee was a case of instant hot chocolate and under that a box labelled potatoes. Jeff and Wally could have managed for quite a while provided they could keep themselves warm. The next rifled crate Simon examined contained fuel canisters and a tiny stove. Not the Hilton, Simon decided, but the hut would have seemed very welcoming indeed to men trapped in a blizzard.

Curious to see how twelve-year-old potatoes looked, he bent over their box and ran his finger under the flap. The top of the carton gave way easily. Glue must be rotten, Simon thought … potatoes likely are too. But inside, instead of vegetables, he found a lump of dirty green canvas. He began to re-close the carton but curiosity stopped him. He grabbed an edge of the cloth and pulled, but it was jammed in tightly and wouldn’t yield. Simon wedged the carton between his feet and yanked, almost toppling backward as the canvas came free. He turned the bundle over in his hands and saw the pockets and leather straps of a backpack—a well-used one from the look of it. It felt heavy. He untangled the straps and set the pack upright on top of the coffee carton. When he smoothed out the creases Simon noticed the initials P.L. written in faded magic marker on the flap.

‘P.L.,’ Simon murmured. ‘Phillip Loew?’ He worked open the cord knotted around the mouth of the bag and peered in. He recognized the outline of a small soil corer and a rock chisel. He lifted the tools out and dug deeper to find a field notebook, plastic sample bags, blank tags and a crushed chocolate bar. Even before he found Phillip’s name scribbled on the flyleaf of the notebook he felt sure he’d found the pack of the missing man.

Simon sat back on his heels, a frown corrugating his forehead. What was Phillip’s pack doing crammed inside a potato carton at the IBP station? No wonder the RCMP hadn’t found it—or Phillip either for that matter. According to Jeff, they’d concentrated their search in the Pass itself.

Simon twisted around, peering deeper into the gloom. Was Phillip’s body here too? He sprang up and walked towards the rear of the quonset hut, every nerve at attention. He methodically searched the few areas hidden by the boxes. Nothing. He headed for the rectangle of light framed by the doorway, then crossed the few yards of open ground to the other building and stepped inside. The hut was as empty as he’d thought.

Chewing his lip, Simon returned to where he’d left Phillip’s pack. He repacked the bag, knotted it shut and slung it over his shoulder. As he surveyed the hut one last time he saw the notebook lying on the ground. He scooped it up and shoved it in his pocket. From the doorway he looked back. How much longer would the food stored here stay edible? When would the next traveller take shelter in this bleak sanctuary? How much longer would the quonset hut itself stand? Everything was completely still, totally quiet, and Simon felt as if he were the only living thing left on the earth. He stepped from the gloom back into the world of sunlight, birdsongs, and life. As he pulled the door shut the dissonant protest of the hinges signalled his return from an alien landscape.

As he crested a hill Simon spotted Eric and Viola not far away. Eric was gripping her arm and she seemed to be protesting. ‘Hello! Eric!’ Simon shouted.

They turned and stared at him. Viola waved weakly. By the time Simon reached them she’d pulled away from Eric.

‘Something wrong, Vi?’ Simon asked.

‘Nothing. Nothing at all,’ she replied hurriedly. ‘You look excited, though. What’s up?’

Simon held out the backpack he’d discovered. ‘Recognize this?’ He looked from one stunned expression to the other.

‘It’s Phillip’s,’ Viola whispered. ‘Isn’t it, Eric?’

Eric cleared his throat as Simon silently pointed out the initials. ‘Yes, it’s Phillip’s.’ He reached out to take it from Simon. ‘Where’d you find it?’

‘At the IBP station.’

‘The IBP station?’ Viola’s voice rose in disbelief as she shook her head. ‘Impossible.’

‘That’s where I found it,’ Simon assured her. ‘In a carton marked potatoes.’

‘In a carton? What on earth would it be doing in a carton?’

‘Good question, Eric. I didn’t see any sign of Phillip himself.’

‘Of course not,’ Viola said. ‘Jeff and Wally would’ve found him if he’d been there. They spent two days at the station during the storm, remember.’

‘And they would’ve mentioned the pack if they’d seen it,’ Simon murmured. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Meanwhile, Simon, I’d like to keep Phillip’s pack,’ Eric said. ‘His mother may want to see it … a last reminder …’

‘Sure,’ Simon agreed. ‘It belongs to you more than anyone else.’

As the group sat around that evening, waiting for their foil pouches to heat, Jeff groaned and stretched out his legs. ‘God, I’m tired! This terrain really takes it out of you. And then lugging rocks too … Think I’ll spend tomorrow cataloguing my samples.’

Joan smirked. ‘Can’t stay the pace, Jeff? Getting a little soft? Too old for field work?’ She rose and moved lithely around behind him. ‘Shall I get you a hot-water bottle?’ She bent to put her mouth close to his ear. ‘Your knitting?’

‘Put a sock in it, Joan. I’m in better shape than you are.’ He brushed her away and turned to Simon. ‘Did I hear you found Phillip’s pack at the IBP station?’

‘Yeah. Packed in a cardboard box.’

Joan, half way back to her seat, stopped and stared. ‘How’d it get there?’

Simon scanned the circle of faces. ‘You tell me. I understood he had it with him when he disappeared.’

Anne winced. ‘You don’t suppose Phillip himself’s there too …’

‘I looked. No Phillip.’ Simon stirred the simmering water with a stick. The silver packages bobbed around, a skin of bubbles clinging to their sides like tiny jewels. ‘The funny thing is,’ he continued thoughtfully, ‘the pack was stuffed into the carton … squashed down so the top flaps could be closed. And the top was re-glued.’ Simon tried lifting a packet, balanced on his makeshift spatula, out of the water but it fell back in with a plop. ‘It looked to me like it had been hidden.’

Eric’s goatee vibrated as he frowned. Simon could hear the words before Eric spoke them. ‘Nonsense. You must be mistaken.’

‘You explain it, then,’ Simon invited.

‘I can’t form an hypothesis without all the facts. It’s unscientific.’

‘I can,’ Joan interrupted. ‘I bet Phillip put it there himself.’

‘Why?’ Jeff and Viola chorused.

‘Remember Phillip complaining his tent had been searched? And his stuff rifled?’

Viola and Jeff nodded. Tony and Anne glanced at each other.

‘Well, maybe Phillip hid it to keep it safe,’ Joan proposed.

‘But there wasn’t anything interesting in it,’ Simon objected. ‘Just field notes and tools.’ He turned to Eric. ‘You have the bag now. Did I miss something?’

‘No. It held just ordinary field supplies. Phillip wouldn’t need to hide it.’ Eric glared at Joan, who shrugged and locked her fingers behind her head.

‘Just an idea, Eric. Don’t lose your cool.’ She looked around. ‘Anyone got a better explanation?’

Simon’s eyes widened when Wally spoke up. ‘Phillip hid it so he could accuse one of us of stealing it.’ He wiped his thin mouth with the back of his hand. ‘It’s something he’d do … Phillip liked to make trouble.’

‘I refuse to sit here and listen to this!’ Eric stood up and stalked to the stove. ‘Give me my dinner. I’ll eat in my tent where the company’s better.’

The members of the research team settled into a routine. They rose early and had breakfast, making no attempt to socialize. Instead, each scientist was intent on getting started as quickly as possible on the day’s tasks. The crate of inedible breakfasts had remained untouched since the first morning. Now everyone ate lunches in the morning since these were more appetizing, and most of the cookies and chocolate bars were secreted in parka pockets for snacks during the long day away from camp.

On this particular morning Simon had agreed to help Anne. As he lifted the huge pack to his back he recalled the snatch of conversation he’d heard the night before.

‘… So if you could help, Tony, just for the morning …’

‘I’m too busy. Everyone else manages alone, Anne. Don’t be a baby.’

‘You know it’s heavy work to put in the barriers. I’m not strong enough.’

‘Get your loverboy, Simon, to help. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you cosying up to him. It’s sickening.’

‘That’s not true, Tony, and you know it!’ Anne had replied hotly. ‘But if you won’t help I bet he will!’

Yes, Simon thought decisively, count on it.

‘How far away are these ponds, anyway, Anne?’ Simon panted under his load.

‘Not that far. They’re the closest suitable ones I could find.’

‘And just how picky are you?’

‘All I want is small size, constant depth and symmetrical shape.’

‘That’s reassuring,’ Simon returned sarcastically as he splashed through a pond which, although it had been rejected for the study, seemed to fit the bill as far as he could see.

‘I need a rest,’ he announced a little later, dropping his armload of poles to the frozen ground with a clang. A knapsack full of clamps and nets clattered after it. ‘This better be worth it,’ Simon gasped as he stretched out, unzipping his parka as he did so.

‘It will be. I’ll give you an acknowledgement in my paper.’

‘That’ll look good on my résumé, I’m sure … really help me in my career.’

Anne smiled. ‘Except for the fact you’re a policeman, I don’t know anything about you.’ She eased out of her pack and sat down crosslegged. She tilted her head to one side and stared at him. ‘Tell me about yourself.’

‘Not much to tell … I’m just a boring, middle-aged, slightly overweight male.’

‘Come on—not one of those things is true.’ She wiggled around, searching for a smooth spot on the rough ground. ‘Are you married?’

‘Nope.’

Anne noticed the slight hesitation in his voice. ‘You don’t sound very sure. Are you divorced?’

Simon shook his head. ‘Never married. I almost was, though.’ He saw the question in Anne’s eyes. ‘Two years ago I was engaged … my fiancée broke it off three weeks before the wedding.’

‘Oh …’

Simon smiled, his eyes crinkling in amusement. ‘Don’t look so worried—she did the right thing. Smart girl, Annette.’

‘I bet it hurt,’ Anne said softly, touching his arm.

‘Yeah, mostly my pride, though. I had my doubts about the whole thing but I didn’t have the guts to tell her.’

Anne propped her pack up behind her, leaned back and stretched out her legs. ‘Why did you get engaged?’

Simon shrugged. ‘We’d been dating a long time … seemed like the thing to do.’

Anne reflected on her own engagement. It had been such a glorious time. She’d had no doubts and neither had Tony. Or had he?

‘Why did your fiancée change her mind?’

‘The old story. A cop’s life is too hectic, too unpredictable. I don’t know how many dates I broke with her because of my job … I guess she decided she wasn’t cut out to be a policeman’s wife.’ Simon could remember Annette’s exact words when she told him her decision. ‘I need order, Simon, and dependability. Every time we make plans I end up having to change them. Our friends can’t count on us … I’m running out of excuses. I’m tired of going alone to parties where everyone else is in couples.’ She’d pushed her long auburn hair out of her eyes in her characteristic gesture. ‘And your father—if you’re serious about having him live with us …’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘No. It just won’t work. I’m sorry.’

Simon returned to the present. Anne was speaking to him. ‘What was that?’ he asked.

‘I just wondered if you have another girlfriend now.’

‘No one special,’ he replied. No one period, he added to himself, and unless his life made a dramatic turn for the better, there never would be. He jumped to his feet and struggled into his pack. ‘I’m getting cold sitting here. Come on—let’s get this over with.’ He jogged off at a terrific pace and Anne had to run to keep up.

When he had finally worked off his frustration he was sweating. ‘Guess I got carried away,’ he apologized. Then he laughed. ‘Here I am, leading the way, and I don’t even know where I’m going!’

‘You haven’t done badly,’ Anne reassured him. ‘See that pond over to the right?’ She pointed. ‘That’s it. Let’s have a drink and a snack and then we’ll get started.’

They sat in silence for several minutes while they recuperated. As he lay, taking in great gulps of the cleanest air he had ever enjoyed, Simon put his personal problems behind him. His thoughts turned once again to the missing man of Polar Bear Pass. He was fighting the urge to treat this tragedy like a murder investigation, but his sixth sense told him something was not quite right. And both he and his partner, Bill Harkness, had a healthy respect for his hunches. ‘Out here in the wilds with all these men,’ Simon stammered, ‘do you have trouble fending any of them off?’

Anne chuckled and turned an amused gaze on him. ‘Getting the lie of the land, Simon? I’m a married woman.’ A shadow crossed her face.

He laughed. ‘That’s not what I meant. I was thinking about Phillip, actually. Even you don’t seem to have liked him much … I wondered if perhaps he’d been bothering you.’

‘Hardly. If he’d been “bothering” anyone, as you put it, it was likely Jeff or Tony.’

‘Oh.’ Simon rubbed his chin. ‘Then what did you have against him?’

Anne shifted around trying to get comfortable on the unyielding earth, a frown creasing her brow. ‘That’s hard to say. I can’t think of one particular reason.’ She took off her toque and ran her fingers through her short curls as she tried to crystallize the reasons for her dislike. ‘He had many of Eric’s characteristics but few of his redeeming features. Phillip was—how can I put it?—autocratic, opinionated. But most scientists can forgive those failings. Those adjectives describe us all to some extent!’ She laughed self-consciously.

‘Not all of you,’ Simon protested gallantly. Anne blushed.

‘Probably what bugged us the most was his pursuit of money above science. Even if some of the rest of us are after the almighty dollar instead of “knowledge”, the illusive Holy Grail of science, we keep it to ourselves. Phillip was always after money from contracts, industry, foundations, the government …’

‘I thought all scientists were looking for research money.’

‘That’s true, but Phillip wanted money for himself as well. Oh, he collected it under the guise of research, usually from oil and other resource-based companies, but he always factored in a hefty salary for himself. That is not common.’

‘And everyone knew this?’

‘Of course. He boasted about how he inflated his costs to cover it. Besides, if he was willing to give the answers the companies wanted, particularly about things like environmental impact, they were happy to pay him.’

‘That would make him really popular with Joan,’ Simon commented.

‘You’re not kidding. Joan is a rabid environmentalist, very unrealistic at times, and a pain in the neck, but I prefer her extreme stand to Phillip’s mercenary soul.’ She gasped guiltily. ‘Why am I saying these things? The man is dead.’

‘Probably,’ Simon agreed calmly, ‘but that doesn’t change what he was in life.’

But Anne, upset with herself, scrambled to her feet. ‘Let’s get to work.’

Joan was not easily defeated, but she had met her match in Wally Gingras. No amount of coaxing, reasoning or threatening would get him to help her. ‘Wally, why? I won’t hurt anything. I could get my samples after all your measurements have been taken. All you’d need to do is give me a photocopy of your rough notes for that particular patch of shit.’

‘I work alone. I do not collaborate, I already told you that yesterday.’

‘Wally …’

‘No! That’s final. Go away.’ Wally turned on his heel and stalked off, leaving Joan to fume helplessly.

She kicked at a clump of reindeer moss. Bastard. How the hell was she to get her research finished this year if Wally wouldn’t cooperate? If she’d just stuck to the narrow academic road she would’ve been finished long ago. But with most of her time spent working for Greenpeace and Environment Now her doctorate was taking longer than the usual four or five years. And all she got for thanks was a police record for a failed attempt to set fire to a fur warehouse.

Joan held a pointed finger in the air towards Wally’s disappearing back. ‘You won’t stop me, you old fart,’ she muttered under her breath.

‘That’s not very nice.’

Joan started in surprise and then twisted to face Viola.

‘So? Neither is he,’ Joan sneered.

‘He has his reasons,’ Viola replied.

‘He’s not the only one who’s had a bad break in life … The rest of us manage to remain civilized.’ Joan stalked away.

‘Not so as you’d notice,’ Viola murmured as she headed out of camp.

Using a heavy mallet, Simon attempted to drive a metal pole into the ground at the edge of a small pond. Sweat flowed freely even in the chill air and progress was slow as he fought his way inch by inch through the permafrost. Gingerly he tested the pole. A gentle shove failed to dislodge it but Simon had no doubt an energetic lemming could tip the post with moderate effort. Wiping the perspiration from his forehead, he cast around for some rocks to anchor the pole. This was only their second pond and already it was four in the afternoon.

Anne was busy stringing a fine mesh between the other pair of poles but, judging by the exclamations erupting from her vicinity, her task wasn’t much easier.

‘Are you sure all this is required?’ Simon asked with a grunt as he heaved a large rock out of the water.

Anne rushed over to peer into the water with a worried frown. ‘Don’t do that. You mustn’t disturb the pond any more than is absolutely necessary.’

‘All I did was remove a rock! You’ve been walking through it!’ Simon protested indignantly.

‘Yes, you’re right, but I had to. Aren’t there any rocks on shore?’

‘They’re not very handy,’ Simon replied shortly.

‘I’m sorry,’ Anne cried, immediately contrite. ‘I don’t mean to criticize, I really appreciate your help. Let me find you some rocks.’

‘It’s OK, I’ll do this. You just finish with that net so we can get out of here.’

‘Thanks.’ Anne smiled her breathtaking smile. It almost made the labour worth while, Simon decided.

They finished their tasks and then stood back to admire their handiwork.

‘Now what happens?’ Simon asked.

‘Well, for this particular pond I’m going to remove all the zooplankton from one side and see if the population of phytoplankton increases when the grazing pressure is diminished.’

‘In English?’

Anne laughed. ‘Too technical? OK. Let’s see … With a sampling net I’m going to remove as many of the microscopic animals as possible from one side of the pond. The mesh we’ve just installed will keep the animals from the other side from moving in. Then in six weeks I’ll sample both sides of the pond to see how many microscopic plants are present. The theory is that the side with no plant-eaters will have a higher population of plants. Clear?’

‘Yes, except we’ve sectioned this pond into three areas, not two.’

‘Good point. Into the third area I’m going to add the animals I’ve removed from the first section. This should lower the plant population below that in the control area.’

‘Let me know how it turns out,’ Simon commented.

‘You won’t be here then, will you?’

‘No. I’m leaving after just four weeks in this vacationer’s paradise. Some other poor sucker is taking my place.’

Anne came over to stand by Simon and they both stared at the scene in front of them: the grey-purple tundra, the endless blue of the sky and the utter transparency of the pond in which the entire world was repeated, upside down, in perfect detail.

‘You don’t like it here?’ Anne laid a small hand tentatively on his forearm. Simon imagined he could feel the tingle of each fingertip even through his down jacket.

‘Of course I like it. I love it, if you must know,’ Simon said. ‘In just a few days Polar Bear Pass has got into my blood. It’s beautiful … awesome … quiet, pure.’ The last words hung in the crystal air. Again Simon’s thoughts were pulled inexorably towards the missing man. If you had to die, it was a wonderful place to spend eternity.

‘Yes, it’s all of that,’ Anne breathed, sharing his emotion. ‘I’ve come to the arctic every year since I started my master’s degree and I’m still awestruck each time. My only regret is that I have to travel with such a motley assortment of people—they intrude on this perfection.’

‘Well, excuse me!’ Simon exclaimed in mock indignation.

‘You know I don’t mean you. I’m talking about Joan, or Wally, or even Eric.’

‘I can understand your objections to the first two, but Eric Karnot? I thought he was the quintessential scientist and nature-lover.’

‘In more ways than you might expect,’ Anne retorted with feeling. ‘Remember the behaviour you were suspecting Phillip of? His stepfather was the problem, still is the problem, as far as I’m concerned. Around the university he has a reputation as a real lecher. He can’t keep his hands off women.’ She sighed. ‘Poor Lynda—the wife is always the last to know.’

Simon gave a low whistle. ‘Well, well. So the noble-looking Eric isn’t quite so noble as he appears.’

‘No way, and he’s very persistent—almost a pain.’

‘And a married man, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘You’re not mistaken. Three years ago when I first came up north with Eric and the crew from Bellwood College, he was recently divorced, without a good word to say for his ex-wife, and hot on my trail. The next summer he came, a newly-wed, but still on my case. Guess who he’d just married?’

‘Phillip Loew’s mother, I gather.’

‘Yes, but whom do you suppose he had divorced just the year before?’

Simon shook his head.

‘Phillip’s mother.’

‘Are you saying he remarried the same woman?’

‘Precisely. And Phillip was furious, especially when he caught Eric prowling around me.’

‘I’m not surprised. You’d think with the son right at his elbow, Eric could’ve controlled himself.’

‘Well, he didn’t, and his wife never heard anything about it since Phillip didn’t live to tell the tale.’

‘It’s sad the baggage of civilization has to come up here with us,’ Simon mused.

As she picked up the gear to move on to the next pond, Anne agreed wholeheartedly.

Wearily Tony plunked his corer down on the frozen terrain. These northern trips used to be the highlight of his year but this time it was torture. But then life itself was torture of late. He groaned aloud, longing for what he considered the innocence of his post-doctoral days.

His mind’s eye saw Anne as he had first seen her, one brilliant autumn day at Hemlow College. A colleague had pointed her out where she sat, eating her lunch under a golden beech in the arboretum. Her simple white dress had been spread out around her, making a base for her graceful upper body and accentuating her pale skin and gleaming blonde hair. It had taken him a year’s allotment of nerve to go up and introduce himself, but he needn’t have worried; she was the friendliest, least critical person he’d ever met. He thought she was beautiful.