“I’m so sorry about Karen. She was a terrific person.”
Was it you, Deborah? Was it your brother? Who was it?
“You don’t look so good yourself,” I slurred.
“Oh, Joe! I bonded with her right away. What she was, she was kind, Joe. A rare quality to find in someone so accomplished. This all must be awful for you. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Anything Dave and I can do, just say it. Um, do you mind if I ask a question?”
“Deb, whenever someone asks if you mind a question, it means you won’t like it. Just ask.”
“Theoretically, I’m curious, I mean, if someone slept with a person who has rabies, and got vaccinated after, how much time has to pass before that person knows the vaccine works? You know, that they’re safe?”
“Who did you sleep with, Deborah?”
She spoke in a low, embarrassed voice, hard to hear over people crowded into the hut, party central usually, wake central tonight. The chair was new, overstuffed, Haitian cotton. The window looked out on my hut, where lights glowed, as the soldiers had come back.
“Joe, I told you, theoretical question.”
“Are you afraid you gave it to someone? Or afraid someone gave it to you?”
“I shouldn’t have brought it up. Forget it. I know you loved her a lot. She was so happy with you.”
I shrugged. I drank. I slumped down further and said, “Now I’ll ask you one. Karen and I wondered, how much would Longhorn lose if your pipeline doesn’t go through next year, if drilling gets blocked?”
“Don’t even think that.”
“How much? And what would happen to you and Dave?”
“We’d have to close the Anchorage office.” She moved off. Dave was back to refill my glass. He seemed, despite his protests, to keep me supplied. I gagged, rose, and lurched to the bathroom, making sure to lock the door. There I groaned loudly, patted vodka onto my face, like aftershave, washed out my mouth with it, and spilled some on a sleeve. The rest went down the sink. I urinated into the toilet but made sure to drip a bit, stain the crotch of my pants.
I refilled the tumbler with cold water, made sure to keep the ice and the fresh lime. I swayed slightly on the way back to the chair, my grieving man’s throne. Don’t overdo it.
“Joe, you okay?”
Calvin DeRochers, the diamond hunter, stood there now. He’d discarded his usual jeans and U Arkansas sweatshirt for something more formal, for the impromptu wake. White button-up shirt, collar crisply jutting from his homemade knit sweater. Creased beige cords and newer Columbia boots. For here, he was dressed up.
I mimicked him. “Am I okay? I’m great. I’m the greatest I’ve ever been. You guys,” I said, morosely, switching mood, sweeping my free hand to encompass alclass="underline" the three McDougals, Eddie, Merlin and his wife, and Deputy Oz, Bruce, a few members of the Barrow Iñupiat Dancers, “are the greatest pals a guy could want. I love you all. Karen loved you, too.”
“Joe, maybe you shouldn’t go back to your hut tonight… where you… well, you know, memories. Why not sleep in my hut? I’ve got an extra bed in my room. Soldiers in the rest, but it’s comfortable. Eddie can come, too. Both of you. Better to be with friends instead of strangers.”
“Yeah, thanks, Calvin. Friends!”
“And maybe a little cutting down on the booze.”
“Hey! What booze? This isn’t booze.” I grinned. “It’s water.” I broke up laughing.
“I’m serious. Vodka won’t help. Talking helps. You want to talk about anything, I’m here. Calvin,” he said, speaking of himself in the third person, as usual, “is here for you.”
“Thank him if you see him. Hey, Calvin! I’m the one who’s sorry for you. Another summer over. No diamonds.”
I watched his face. I saw no guile or regret, no guilt or anger or even disappointment. I saw patience. But that meant nothing if he was a pro. He shrugged. “Calvin will be back next year. The diamonds are here. Waiting. They’re here!”
Jens Erik Holte, chopper pilot, wandered over next. It was like they all waited and took turns with me. When there was an open spot, somebody filled it.
“Karen promised to take me dogsledding, Joe.”
“Yeah! Sledding! Those dogs are big!”
“How do you get them to turn?”
“Make the right noises, man, and they do it! But they wouldn’t listen to me. Hey, Jens, you flew the Harmons from site to site, right?”
“They hired me after their first pilot got his leg busted in that car accident. They were good customers. They always paid in advance. Not everyone does that, you know.”
“You ever think the accidents weren’t accidents?”
His eyes widened. “You mean, someone tried to stop them?”
I scratched my head. I squeezed my temples, as if I had a headache. I let him wait. I said, “That diary. Thing is, I’m reading back in Kelley’s diary, the print files. There’s something in it that I read, I can’t figure out what it is, but there’s something she said that’s the answer. I know it! And, wait! You’re Norwegian, right? Ever hear of a city called Tromso?”
“It’s our Arctic capital,” he said with some pride.
“Ever been there?”
“Me? I’m from Oslo. I served in the Air Force in Bodo, but never went to Tromso, no.”
“Now you’re a citizen here, right?”
“Yes.”
“You had to take the test? Who’s the first president? What’s the capital of Minnesota? How many states in the U.S.?”
Jens Erik was down on one knee, the way we’d been told Iñupiats speak with children, the elderly, or, in my case, a grieving drunk. He held a sweating can of Foster’s. His silver hair was brushed back, and his eyes were the blue of ice shining up in a glacier, or rather, if color could look sad, it would look like Jens’s eyes.
“Jens, what’s the capital of Minnesota, anyway?”
“Who the hell remembers?”
“That proves you’re American,” I said. “You can’t answer basic questions about our country.”
Jens Erik laughed and took a drink. I said, “You must have a brand-new social security number. I bet those numbers are so high now, you immigrants must need a card the size of a movie poster to get all the digits on it, that or the digits are so small you can’t see them anymore. Got your card, Jens? Lemme see it. I wanna see your card!”
He smiled. “Who are you, an immigration agent?”
I fumbled for my wallet. “My card, see? Nine digits.”
“I don’t carry mine around,” said the pilot. “The guy at the agency told us, don’t keep it in your wallet. You might get mugged. Keep your card in a safe place.”
I said, “Where’s your safe place, Jens?”
He laughed. “You a thief?” he said.
Alan McDougal offered me the spare bedroom in his hut but I said I’d already accepted Calvin’s invitation. Deirdre McDougal came over and said nothing but held my hand. I felt badly for pretending with her that I was drunk. Eddie tried to take my glass away, but I loudly told him to buzz off. I finished the water, lumbered to the liquor table, poured in more Tito, and did the bathroom spill-it-out routine again.
I heard people talking outside the bathroom.
— He asked my social security number!
— He was asking about the pipeline!
— He said there’s clues in Kelley’s diary.