I was sitting having a cigarette with my second cup of coffee, wondering whether I shouldn’t have gone along to Tom’s cabin to check that he was awake, and idly watching the trickle of people in the coffee queue, a mixture that I don’t think you would see anywhere but in this change-over port between Alaska and British Columbia, when my eyes became fixed on the back of a big, heavily-built man in an olive-khaki shirt and trousers. It was the fact that he was standing with his tray at the cash desk with a little Eskimo woman in front of him and what looked like a Japanese couple behind, though they may have been Filipinos or even from somewhere further south in Asia. He looked so huge by comparison, and something about the way he held his head, the set of his shoulders … Then he turned and I called to him.
It was Jim Edmundson. He came over, his tray gripped in his large hands, a brown briefcase under his arm. ‘Well, well — how was the mine, eh?’ I forgot about Tom then, so glad was I to have somebody to talk to, even if I couldn’t tell him the whole story.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Most interesting.’ And then, as he put his tray down, and the briefcase, and lowered himself into the chair opposite me, I asked him what he was doing, here on a ferry that only went as far as Port Hardy at the northern rip of Vancouver Island. ‘You weren’t on the American boat.’
‘No, I drove down.’ He looked so relaxed, so normal, as he tucked hungrily into his breakfast, and in my mind I was comparing him with Tom and the South Americans, the whole background of unreality I had lived with these past few days. Road conditions not bad, nor weather, considering the time of year.’ His mouth was already full, his jaws working, and he held his fork fisted in his right hand. ‘Dumped the car in the parking lot here. From Bella Bella I was expecting to get one of the floatplanes, but now — ‘
‘Where are you going?’ I was thinking that perhaps I could hitch a ride if he was headed up the long fjord arms that run into the Rockies in that part of BC. ‘Funny thing,’ he went on, ‘meeting you here. I bin borrowed by the forestry people.’ He gulped some coffee, fisted more food into his mouth, the plateful of sausages, eggs and fried potatoes disappearing at a rate of knots. They’ve done it before … ‘count of the book, I s’pose. I told you, didn’t!?…! was trained in forestry.’
‘Jean said you’d worked for the Forestry Service.’
That’s right.’ He nodded, swallowing hard. ‘Well, the guy who should investigate anything in that region… he’s had si;-m
an accident… went in with a helicopter fighting a fire over beyond that copper mine inshore of Hardy… What’s odd, meeting you, is that it’s the Halliday property. Didn’t you tell me something about his son doing a Greenpeace act before the cameras on a bargeful of logs going down to Seattle?’
I nodded. ‘And that’s why you’re here? You mean you’re actually going to the Halliday Arm to investigate timber felling in the Cascades?’
He was nodding his head all the time I was putting the question. ‘That’s what’s odd, meeting you here.’
Odd it certainly was, the country so vast. And yet I suppose it wasn’t so odd really. BC, the Yukon, Alaska — it was only vast when you were travelling the country. When you wanted something done, though communications were fast and efficient, the people to do the job were desperately thin on the ground; one regional forestry officer injured and who was there close at hand to take over from him?
‘They want a full report. Something the media will accept. Just because I had a book published…’ He shrugged. ‘Christ!’ he said, ‘that was ten years ago. But my bosses agreed…. So!’ He laughed, and I remembered how the sound of his laughter had boomed in that wet, snowy drive from Whitehorse across to Haines Junction, how his teeth had shown white against the black of the forest streaming by. ‘Jean’s hopping mad. I’d be nursemaid to the children if she had her way, and she don’t like sleeping alone.’ He grinned, and at that moment Tom came in looking vague, his eyes flicking quickly over the tables. Then he saw me and his face lit up, as though he’d been scared he’d lost me.
He went over to the service counter then and I watched as he got a tray and joined the queue. When he came over to the table all he had on the tray was a glass of orange juice and coffee. I half stood up, uncertain what to do. This is Jim Edmundson,’ I said. ‘You remember I told you how helpful he was after I got to Whitehorse, and then his wife driving me…’
Tom Halliday.’ He had set his tray down and was holding out his hand to Edmundson. It surprised me, the first indication that he might now be willing to talk to the Canadian authorities.
Tom — Halliday?’ Jim Edmundson was lumbering awkwardly to his feet, his mouth fallen half open with surprise. The Halliday that owns Ice Cold, right?’ He gripped Tom’s hand as though he were a long-lost friend he’d known all his life. There’s some people thought you were dead.’
‘Well, there’s times I’m not sure that wouldn’t be a good idea.’ Tom managed some sort of a smile and the two of them sat down, Jim Edmundson explaining again why he was on the boat, and Tom staring at him as though fascinated by the way he was being carried along.
‘You mean tomorrow y-you’ll be f-flying into the Halliday Arm.’ The stutter was suddenly quite marked. ‘An official visit, as f-forestry adviser — to inspect, then write a report. An of-ficial report?’
‘That’s right.’ Tom leaned back, his eyes closed. He might have been praying, but I thought it more likely he was on the verge of passing out. It must have come as a shock. And then, suddenly, his eyes flicked open. ‘I’m going there myself. Philip and I are going there, and Brian — my son — is meeting us at Bella Bella. Can you give us a lift in your plane? No, of course — three is too many probably. But me. I must get there. It’s my wife, you see…’ And then his voice stuttered into incomprehensibility as he saw the other shake his head.
‘I won’t be flying in,’ Edmundson said. ‘Not unless the cutter’s gone off on a search and rescue.’ And he added by way of explanation, They’re having a Coastguard cutter meet me at Bella Bella.’
‘A ship — well, that’s better …’
But again the big Canadian was shaking his head. ‘They don’t take passengers, not normally. I guess they’re a bit like a navy ship. You’ll need to charter one of the floatplanes.’
The engines started up under our feet, a sudden murmur that had the deck, the whole ship, our coffee cups vibrating. Everywhere in the cafeteria people were draining their glasses or their cups, gathering up their things and moving towards the stairs or the glassed-in front of the big saloon to watch our departure. It was one minute to nine and the thump of the first warp coming on board was followed by an increase in the revs and the swish of swirling water as the thrusters came into operation.
‘Sometime in the course of the voyage I’d like to put a few questions to you, Mr Halliday, if I may.’ Jim Edmundson’s voice sounded suddenly remote and impersonal, his formal mode of address very different from the easy sliding into Christian names that was his customary approach to other men. ‘Could we have a drink before the midday meal, say about noon. Okay?’
Tom nodded, his eyes flickering uneasily from Jim to me and back to Jim Edmundson. ‘What do you want to know?’
Edmundson laughed. ‘Don’t know yet, do I? Heard so much about you, I’m only just recovering from the surprise of running into you like this. Small world.’ He nodded to himself as though he had said something profound. ‘Very small world. But that’s Canada, eh? Korea. Were you in Korea?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Last time I was on the Inside Passage run there was a fellow on board — came from a little place up the coast from Ketchikan. An American — Alaskan rather. They like to be called Alaskan. His name was Moses Jallopi. Odd name; odd little guy, too. But there he was and I hadn’t seen him since we shared a muddy little slit trench that was more of a shell crater than anything else. We were there two nights, one whole day, not another of our buddies anywhere in sight and the North Koreans, or the Chinese, I never knew which, not fifty metres away, guns banging and shells landing.’ He smiled and shrugged. ‘Seems like another world now. It’s like I say, a small world once you start using our transportation system.’ He smiled again, gathering up his briefcase, and at that moment the PA system broke in, loud and metallic. It was a call for passenger James Robert Edmundson to go to the Purser’s office and he got to his feet. ‘See you in the bar then, around noon.’