The Eclipse of Moonbeam Dawson (8 page)

He worried about her all the way to the island. Any fears he might have had about what lay ahead for him were lost in his worries about her. He'd been looking out for her for as long as he could remember, and he realized that just because he wasn't going to live with her, the worry couldn't be turned off so easily. Like turning off water in a faucet.

As they got farther from Tofino his worries began to get specific. What if there were some rotten, drug-crazed people on Palmer's Land there among the kindred spirits and they would hit her over the head and steal the truck to buy dope? And that Harvey guy, what if he had women all over the place, women everywhere stashed on these little islands he visited for his research project and his mother was just one of hundreds, just waiting for him to dump on her. What if the truck broke down again and this time a deranged cougar with rabies came and mauled her? Or what if a dead tree fell on her cabin and she was pinned under it and there was no one for miles around to help her?

By the time they reached the island, Moonbeam was almost ready to tell Jim Goltz that he had changed his mind.
There's just been a little mistake here, and we have to turn the boat around so I can save my mother from the drug-crazed people and the deranged cougar with rabies. Sorry about this. Nice knowing you. Good luck with the lodge.

“Moonbeam, grab the line on the cleat, will you?”

“Sure, and it's Dawson. Not Moonbeam, okay?” Moonbeam jumped to the dock and held the stern as Jim brought the bow in close to the dock.

“Right, Dawson it is.” Jim threw him the line from the bow and then began unloading Moonbeam's gear. “We're putting you in apartment three, on the ground floor, closest to the kitchen. The top ones are all taken; I guess folks prefer not to have people over them. But it's still pretty quiet.”

“Fine by me.” Moonbeam hoisted his gear on his back and followed Jim down the dock.

The morning's drizzle had finally let up, but the mist still clung to the island, blurring the horizon and north tip of Stere as the sea and the sky fused together in a mass of gray. Moonbeam looked back in the direction of Tofino, but the mist had rolled in over the dock, obscuring most of the marina. The island seemed even more cut off from everything; a separate, isolated world floating in the fog.

“We still have those few empty units.” Jim pointed toward the south end of the employee building. “But I expect they'll be filled in a few weeks when we've got everybody on board.” Jim stopped at the last door and took a key out of his pocket. “Nobody locks up much, but when we're at the height of the season it's probably a good idea.” He unlocked the door, then handed the key to Moonbeam. “Guess I mentioned the other day that it's furnished. Even the bedding is supplied, and there's laundry facilities at the end of the building.”

“This is nice.” Moonbeam set his gear down in the tiny living room.

“It's not luxury, but the bed's good and the units are spanking clean. Like everything here, it's brand new.”

“It's luxury to me.” Moonbeam glanced at the bathroom.

“There's a small store at the end of the marina where you can get supplies, but all your meals are provided.”

“Great. What time do you want me to come to work?”

“The kitchen staff reports at three o'clock for the dinner shift.”

“Okay.”

“If you want some lunch, you can come over earlier. The staff eats at two. But that's up to you. Like I said, there's the marina store if you want to fix food for yourself.” He opened the door, then held out his hand to Moonbeam. “Glad to have you part of our team, Moo—uh, Dawson.”

“Thanks, thanks a lot.” Moonbeam shook his hand. “Mr. Goltz?”

“Jim.”

“Jim, I was wondering how long that other job might stay open. The one you thought my mum could do?”

“We hope to get it filled by the end of the week.”

“Oh.” Moonbeam looked past him through the trees in the direction of the dock, but the fog was thicker and he couldn't even see the water. “That's in just a few days.”

“Right. Holler if you need anything, son.”

“Thanks.” Moonbeam watched Jim Goltz walk toward the lodge.
Son, well I guess I've been called worse things. At least he's not calling me Moonbeam.

Moonbeam looked around the tiny apartment, which to him seemed immense. All this for only one person. In the bedroom, he unzipped his duffel bag and dumped out his stuff on the bed and started putting his clothes away. Underpants, socks, T-shirts, shorts, jeans, sweatshirts; everything he owned could fit in the top two drawers, with two left over. Sure was different than stuffing everything in the orange crates they had at Heather Mountain. He hadn't had a real dresser in over five years. And a closet. Amazing. He hung up his parka, put his Walkman, tapes, basketball, and soccer ball on the top shelf and then carefully lined up his hiking boots and gumboots on the floor. “Now I've been happy lately … thinking about the good things to come.” He began to hum as he checked out the bathroom. Everything was so shiny and new. A sign on the wall next to the shower read:
PLEASE CONSERVE.
Over the toilet another one said:
SEPTIC SYSTEM. TOILET PAPER ONLY.
“Oh, peace train … take this country…” The kitchen cupboards held a set of blue plastic dishes, and a microwave was built in under the cupboard next to an electric stove top.

The thing about having stuff, Moonbeam thought as he went back to the bedroom and flopped on the bed, was that a person had to make decisions. Like do you want to cook on the stove top or in the microwave. Or should you put your jeans in the bottom drawer or in the middle. At Heather Mountain their clothes went in the crate and they cooked on the wood stove. “Someday it's going to come…'cause out of the edge of darkness … there rides a peace train.” He jumped up and went over to the closet, grabbing his Walkman from the top shelf and a stack of tapes. On the bed, he sorted through his tapes. Gotta get that stupid song out of my head. Wonder what I should do about lunch? Wonder what she's having? Moonbeam was putting his Walkman on when he thought he heard a knock on the door. Maybe she changed her mind.
Moonbeam, Palmer's Land is filled with deranged dope fiends and a rabid cougar. I want to work here after all; it'll be just like the Empress. But don't worry, I'll have the apartment at the other end and you can still have this whole thing for yourself.

“Hi.” Gloria smiled as Moonbeam opened the door.

“Oh, hi—” Moonbeam stood in the doorway, scratching his head.

“Catch you at a bad time?”

“No, not really.”

“I'm the welcoming committee.” She looked past him into the apartment. “I'm Gloria, remember?”

“Oh, sure, I remember.”
I must seem like a real jerk, she thinks I don't remember meeting her.

“And I forgot your first name.”

“Call me Dawson.”

“Dawson?”

“Yeah, just Dawson.”

“Okay, well, are you going to invite me in?”

“Oh, sure. Sorry.”

Gloria closed the door behind her. “This is identical to mine except backwards.” She laughed. “I mean every other unit has the kitchen and bathroom reversed since the plumbing has to line up to be back-to-back.”

“Oh yeah.”

Gloria sat in the chair next to the window. The sun had burned through the fog, and it streamed in through the window, giving her skin a coppery glow.

Moonbeam went to the couch. “Did you know that the water in drains in the northern hemisphere goes clockwise,” he blurted, sitting down across from her.

“Drains?” Her dark hair shone in the sunlight. Moonbeam thought it was the shiniest hair he had ever seen.

“Plumbing. You mentioned plumbing.”
Oh man, I don't believe it. Here's this good-looking girl, finally one who's my age, right here in my very own apartment, and what do I say? Stuff about drains.

“Actually, it's the same way with fish.”

“What is?”

“They swim clockwise in the northern hemisphere.” Gloria smiled, and her dark eyes sparkled. “They never teach you stuff like that in school, though.”

“I guess not.”

“Where did you last go to school, Just?”

“Just?”

“Isn't that your name?”

“What name?”

“Just Dawson, I thought it was your nickname. Just for Justin.” Gloria looked confused. “Isn't your name Justin Dawson?”

Moonbeam laughed.

“What's so funny? I didn't get your name right?”

“No, I mean yes, that's what I said, ‘just Dawson.'”

What a jerk. I'm not making any sense at all.
Moonbeam looked down at the floor trying to figure out what to say, then he looked up at Gloria. Her eyes were steady and warm, and they seemed to smile.

“See my mum calls me this stupid nickname, and, well, I hate my real name, too. Dawson is my last name and it's okay, but I didn't want anyone here to use my first name until I picked a new one.”

“What's your real name?” Gloria asked.

“I never tell anyone.”

“Oh. So what name do you want to be called here?”

“I'm not sure yet. I was thinking maybe Wayne, for Wayne Gretsky, or Gordy, for Gordy Howe.”

“You play hockey?”

“Not really. A little floor hockey when we lived in Victoria, that's all. But that was a long time ago.”

“Jim told me you were part Haida, right?”

“I guess so. Why?”

“You don't know for sure?”

“Mum says my dad was Haida. I didn't know him.”

“Well, I was just thinking it might be nice to tie that in somehow.” Gloria gathered her hair and twisted it in a thick braid. She seemed to be giving serious consideration to his new name.

“You're Native, right? Or part?” They were having such a personal conversation, it seemed like he might as well ask her.

“No. My dad's white and my mum's Japanese, but from here. Japanese-Canadian. But most people think I'm Native or part Native, especially at the lodge since they want to hire first nation people. Also because of my last name. There's a well-known Native artist in Tofino whose last name is the same as mine, Burgess.”

“The guy with that cool gallery?”

“That's Roy Henry Vickers. The Eagle Aerie Gallery. Ralph Burgess is Tsimshian; he carves jewelry. His stuff is at the other gallery that's native-owned, the House of Himwitsa.”

“I've gone in there; it's nice.”

Gloria stood up and looked at her watch. “It's almost two. I'm going to go eat with the staff, want to come?”

Moonbeam jumped at the invitation. Now he wouldn't have to decide whether or not to eat with the staff or go down to the marina store and get something. Although he knew he probably would have gone to the marina store. Walking into a group of people who all know each other can be pretty weird. But now he could go with Gloria.

Once again, he couldn't believe his good luck. She had actually come over to meet him, and now here he was going with her to the main building. He was walking next to this very pretty girl, someone his own age. And even more than that, someone that was easy to talk to. Amazing.

Rain dripped from the canopy of cedar boughs that sheltered the path, and the wet branches glittered as the sun filtered through them. Moonbeam could hear voices echoing from the marina down below, but other than that, and the sound of small birds and chipmunks rustling in the brush, it was quiet where they walked.

Halfway to the lodge, Gloria suddenly stopped. “Shh … look!” She put her hand on his arm and pointed to the highest branch of a tree slightly to the west of them. “See?”

There was no mistaking the pure white head, the massive brown breast of the eagle. “It's an omen, I think,” Moonbeam whispered.

“There are a lot of eagles around, but I've never seen one this close to the lodge. Maybe he's welcoming you.”

Moonbeam stared up at the magnificent bird. The sun was behind the eagle, its rays spiking through the branches like shards of golden glass as if the bird were the center of a sunburst.

“My dad was from the Eagle clan,” Moonbeam whispered.

“I thought you didn't know much about him?”

“I don't really, but my mum told me once about the Eagle clan and I just remembered it, I guess.”

“I've got an idea,” Gloria whispered. “Have you been in the gift shop?”

“Jim pointed it out when I was here the other day, but we didn't go in.”

“Come on. I want to show you something.”

*   *   *

In the gift shop, Moonbeam followed Gloria to a rack of postcards next to the far wall. They looked like the usual tourist stuff to him. Orca whales, sandy beaches, a colony of sea lions on some rocks, snow-capped mountains framing the deep green of the old growth forest, a bear and her cubs, someone holding a 30-pound Chinook salmon, and
WELCOME TO CANADA
with a big red maple leaf. Moonbeam spun the rack. “You want me to look at one of these?”

“No, here.” Gloria pointed to a shelf of books behind the postcard rack and pulled out a large book with a beautiful cover, the kind people put on a coffee table in their living room. “This is what I wanted you to see.”

“Indians of the Northwest Coast.”
Moonbeam stood next to her and read the title. “Cool mask.” He pointed to the cover photo of a vivid mask and its bold red, gold, black, and white colors. “What about it?”

“Just wait.” Gloria looked in the index, then flipped through the pages to one with a photograph of a sculpture. “This.” She pointed to the photo.

“I've seen that before somewhere.”

“It's in the museum in Vancouver. At U.B.C.”

“Mum took me there when we lived in Victoria.”