Refuge Cove (3 page)

But she was already pulling on the rope that tied us to the lifeboat. She was about to get back in with her parents. Her old man would cut the rope and they'd take their chances without me.

“Tamara,” I shouted to her, pulling her back. I realized that, this time, the logical thing to do might not be the right thing to do. “Stay put. Tell your father we're going in. They'll never find us in there.”

Tamara gave me a puzzled look but ducked beneath the sail and sat back down. “You said you can't get in there.”

I checked the wind. Light onshore. I tried to get a good look at what was beyond the narrow channel, but I couldn't see a thing from this angle.

Tamara's father now was shouting something at me. He was pointing his finger
towards the narrow passage.

“Okay, okay,” I said. I shoved hard on the tiller and lined us up perfectly. The wind was directly behind me now and it would be a fast downwind run straight in. The rope towing the lifeboat pulled taut. The weight of the other boat acted as an anchor brake at first, but then, as the sail filled out, we started to pick up speed. I lay down low to see under the sail.

Then walls of dark rock swallowed us up. The aluminum boom banged hard against a rock and sent off an eerie sound like a Sunday morning church bell. I jammed the tiller hard left to avoid a submerged rock and then back to get us on course. On course to where? I kept wondering.

And as suddenly as we had entered the gully, we were beyond it and back in the sunshine. We were in a small protected harbor. Up ahead was a tiny beach of stones. High, barren hills surrounded us on all sides, and a long thin waterfall splashed down right into the seawater.

I aimed straight for the beach of black pebbles, raised the centerboard and drove us right up onto dry land. I hopped out and pulled the lifeboat in behind me.

Tamara and her parents looked around in wonder.

“Welcome to Newfoundland,” I said.

Tamara's mother jumped onto the beach and fell to her knees. She bowed her head. Maybe she was praying. Tamara went over to her. I guess the woman thought she was never going to set foot on solid ground again. Meanwhile, Tamara's father was gathering a couple of sacks from the boat. He seemed anxious to get out of here. The knife was still in his hand as he lifted his wife up off
Lesley Choyce the stones and began to bully her towards a small trail that led inland.

I ran to Tamara as they started to hurry off. “Where are you going? You can't just go wandering off into the wilderness. You don't know anything about this place. You could die out there.”

Tamara didn't look at me. “We could have died out on the sea, but we didn't. Now we have safely arrived and we are free. I thank you. Now you must leave us alone and tell no one we are here.”

I didn't know what to do. I stood there trying to figure these people out. What could I do? Just let them wander off, maybe to starve or fall off a cliff or something? Or what if I went home and phoned the police to come find them? Then what? Tamara's father would go at them with a knife and he would get thrown in jail. They might all get sent back. There were no happy endings.

I heard my father's voice.
Just be reasonable. Think through all the options
. As far as I figured I had just one option: trust.

“Tamara,” I shouted. She turned around. “You have to trust me. If you don't come with me, your whole family will be in big trouble. I'll take you to my house. It will be warm. There will be food. We'll take care of you.”

But it wasn't enough. They were having a hard time scrambling up the steep path, but these were stubborn, desperate people. They'd make it out of here, but where would they be then?

“You can hide at my house,” I said finally. “My mom and I will hide you and tell no one until you have a safe place to go to. Trust me.”

They stopped. Tamara was speaking to her father and mother. They were arguing. I didn't take a step towards them. Her father was glaring at me with mistrust. I rubbed my arm. Silently, I let go a little prayer of my own. All my life I had been doing everything for me. The sailing, the competitions, the glory. But nothing ever felt quite like this. These people needed me. I could help them and no one else could. And I guess I needed them too.

The parents were still arguing. As far as I could tell, the mother wanted to trust me but the father didn't trust anyone anywhere. He would get his way, I was certain. He was the boss. Tamara was talking too, but they were ignoring her. She was getting mad.

Then Tamara stopped arguing. She looked back at me. I hadn't moved.
Trust me
, I said silently over and over in my head.
Please let me help
.

Tamara walked away from her parents and back down the slope towards me. Her eyes were fixed on mine. Her father started to yell something at her, but she didn't turn around. She walked straight up to me and took my hand, then turned around and looked at her parents.

It was pretty rough going to get back to Deep Cove. We hiked over some of the wildest country I had ever seen. I managed to keep my bearings as long as I knew where the sea
was. Tamara and I talked the whole way. I didn't let go of her hand, not even once. Her parents remained silent and followed closely behind us.

I took the back way through the berry fields to get to my house. That way we could walk pretty well right up to the door without anyone seeing us. It was near dark when we got there. Boy, was I hungry, but Tamara and her family must have been much worse off.

When I got to the door, I was pretty nervous. How was I going to explain this to my mom? I decided to knock.

She opened the door and blinked.

“I invited some people over for supper,” I said matter-of-factly. “They're new in town.”

“Hello. Pleased to meet you,” Tamara said.

My mother saw the blood on my sleeve. It looked worse than it actually was. “What happened to you?”

“I cut it on a sharp rock. It's nothing. Can we come in?”

My mother said nothing but stepped aside. We entered in a silent parade. Before we all settled down in the living room, Tamara's father whispered something to her. In a low voice she said to me, “Do not tell her who we are. Just say we are friends.”

Do you know how hard it is to keep secrets from my mother
? I wanted to say. Besides, they didn't look like anyone from Newfoundland.

Dinner was haddock and potatoes and a huge salad. After the food was set on the table, my mother grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into the kitchen. She was furious with me for not explaining what was going on.

“Who are these people?” she demanded. “I don't trust that man. I don't like any of this. What are they, drug smugglers?”

“Just relax, Mom. I had to promise them I wouldn't tell you who they are.”

My mom folded her arms. “That's a promise you're going to have to break, buster. Those people are sitting at our table. They're
eating our food. I want to know who they are.”

I tried to think what my father would do. I didn't think he'd ever been in a situation like this.

“They're refugees. They won't say where they're from. They want to live in Canada. They want to live
here
. I found them drifting around off the coast in a boat. We need to help them, but Tamara's father doesn't trust anybody.”

“Who is Tamara?” my mother demanded.

“Tamara's the girl,” I said. “She's really something. I like her a lot.”

My mother looked at the way I was smiling. Then she threw up her hands and talked to the ceiling. “My son has a crush on a girl he just found in a lifeboat. What next?”

“Quiet,” I whispered. “They might hear. Besides, I just met her. I don't have a crush on her.”

“We need to sort this out rationally,” my mother said, talking like my father now. “We need to call the immigration people in St. John's right away. They'll know what we should do.” She picked up the phone and dialed 411 for information.

“No, we can't!” I told her in a loud whisper. I took the phone from her and hung it up.

“Why?” my mom wanted to know. She didn't like the way I was acting.

“Because Tamara's father is afraid of cops, of anybody in authority. I promised we wouldn't turn them in.”

“Promised? Are you crazy? If we don't turn them over, we'll be breaking the law.”

I shrugged. “They need our help. Now let's eat supper like everything is normal.”

“Normal?” she repeated, as if she'd never heard the word before. But before we could return to the dining room, we heard the front door open.

My mom looked at me. “Oh, no. There's more of them.”

“No, I don't think so.”

We rushed out of the kitchen. It was Harold.

“Oh, boy,” I gasped. Tamara's father had jumped up and pulled out his knife. He had Harold pinned up against the wall with the knife poised near the old guy's stomach.

Harold's eyes were bugging out of his head and he had his hands thrown back. Mom screamed. Tamara's mother was jumping up and down.

“Just everybody relax,” I said, sucking in my breath. “Tamara, tell your father this man is my friend. He's not from the police. He's just a friend.”

She translated.

Tamara's father was slow to be convinced.

“His name is Harold,” I told her father. “He's a nice guy. Don't kill him.”

Although the tension didn't drain from his face, Tamara's father lowered the knife.

Harold spoke gently to the man who had been about to slice his belly. “That looks like a good knife. Had one like it once that I used to gut mackerel with. Lost it in a squall. Always liked that knife.”

“That does it,” my mother said, regaining her courage. “I want all these people out of my house,” she told me. “No ifs, ands or buts.”

Tamara's family understood without translation. My mother was pointing toward the door. Tamara's father looked a little hurt. Her mother just hung her head low and sobbed. They were picking up their few bags when Harold cleared his throat. He understood perfectly who these folks were.

“Now wait a minute,” he said to my mom. “I think we just had a little misunderstanding. Like you kept trying to tell me, I should knock before I come in. Hard to teach an old dog new tricks. It was my mistake. He probably thought
I was some kind of prowler.”

“He thought you were a cop,” I corrected.

Harold laughed. “I assure you, I'm no cop. In fact, the Mounties still haven't forgiven me for smuggling a little rum way back when.”

“Out!” My mother repeated. “You too, Harold. Get out!”

Harold scratched his head.

I walked over to Tamara. “Mom, you can't ask them to leave. I promised they could stay here. For the night at least.”

“I don't trust him,” my mother said, pointing to Tamara's father. “I don't trust him and that knife.”

I let go of Tamara's hand and walked over to her old man. I held out my hand and pointed to the blade. Tamara said something to him. Suddenly he pulled the knife out of the sheath again.

My lungs stopped working and my heart went on strike. But then he placed the knife gently in my hand. “Sorry,” he said in English. “Sorry.”

And so we all sat down to dinner, Harold included. We were all nervous and uncomfortable. Harold said it was just about the best fish he'd ever seen a mainlander cook.

My mother looked at me. “Greg, I wish your father was still around for this.”

“Me too,” I said.

People who live in Newfoundland outports have a curious ability to ignore the rest of the world. On top of that, nothing seems to come as a shock to them. Nobody seemed to think it unusual that a refugee family from Southeast Asia had found its way by boat to Deep Cove and that they were living with a mother and son from Toronto.

“We've seen all kinds of trouble here,
Greg,” Harold explained to me. “We don't give anyone a hard time who wants to be here. Just like you and your mom couldn't kick out these lost souls.”

All kinds of clothing and food started pouring into the house from the thirty or so families around the cove. After a few days, it felt like we were all part of some big happy family.

Tamara's father seemed less uptight. I showed him how to split wood for the wood stove. And Tamara's mother liked to help out with the washing and cooking.

After breakfast one morning, Mom took me for a walk out back to the stream. “This is crazy, you know. These people can't just stay here.”

“Why not?” I asked. I had spent some time walking in the hills with Tamara. I had even taken her for a sail in the cove, after retrieving my Laser from down the shore. I felt I was just getting to know her.

“They can't live with us forever.”

“There are a few abandoned houses in Deep Cove. They could settle into one.”

“They don't have any money, though.”

“That doesn't seem to be a big deal here,” I said. “There are gardens and there's fish and berries and extra clothes and wood to heat with and everybody around here seems plenty generous—”

“No,” my mom interrupted. “That's not it. They are here illegally. We don't know the whole story. Immigration will find out sooner or later. Things could get very messy.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But we can't just turn them over. They could get shipped back. I couldn't let that happen. Besides, they're a lot like us.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean they've lost something big in their lives, something important. They're in a new place and cut off from the past. We're refugees too, Mom. We're a lot like they are.”

She didn't say anything. The back door opened and Tamara's father came out with an
axe. We both watched as he set a chunk of wood on the cutting block and smashed it in half with a crack of the axe blade.