War of the Eagles (5 page)

“Tired does not cover it, Mrs. Blackburn. As a soldier I always thought the lead I needed to fear was from a bullet and not from the canned food I was forced to eat.”

“I heard you and your supply officer talking about how much it costs to get food up here and I got to thinking that maybe we could get better food, cheaper, from right around here. Not enough for everybody, all the time, but maybe at least something different every now and again.”

“I've had the same idea but we've had no success,” he said shaking his head. “My men have only been able to catch a cold. All these men with guns and the closest they come to shooting anything is your son.”

“I'm not talking about the soldiers, Major, I'm talk–ing about my son.”

“Your son!”

“Yep. Best little hunter around here. Nobody can hunt like a Tsimshian and he's half Tsimshian.”

I hardly ever thought of myself as Native.

She continued. “Pay him the same price per pound you pay for the canned food for any game he brings in.

If he doesn't get anything you don't have to pay him anything.”

“Sounds reasonable,” the major replied.

“Plus all the ammunition he uses, a soldier's jacket so he isn't mistaken for a mountain lion again, he gets to keep the skins, and,” she paused, “ twenty-five cents per hour to help me around the kitchen. I need some help around here.”

“I don't think that I can …”

My mother leaped to her feet and pulled the rabbit stew out from underneath his nose.

“In that case, if you have no hunter, you have no special meals, no sample snack tonight and maybe no cook tomorrow.”

The major fixed her with a steely gaze. She stared right back. They were locked together for a few seconds and then he looked down.

“As I was saying. I do not think I can have him accept less. Now, if you and your son leave so that you can prepare my meal, we shall sit down later and finalize things.”

My mother smiled. “You will have yourself both a good meal, and a good deal.”

She took me by the arm, a smile still on her face, and pulled me to my feet. I felt her nails dig into my skin right through my jacket. Her arm slipped around my waist and we walked out the door and along the walkway, now crowded with men.

“It's my son,” she said a couple of times in explana–tion.She led me off the boardwalk and around the side of the mess to her small quarters, behind the kitchen.

She wasn't talking but I could see, out of the corner of my eye, that she still wore a smile. She pulled open the screen door and gestured for me to enter. Quietly, and with calm deliberation, she let the screen door close and then pushed closed the inner, solid door. She walked directly up to me and put her hands on both sides of my face. She squeezed. Hard.

“What do you think you're doing?” she said with quiet menace.

“I wath …” I stopped. With her hands tightly gripping my face there was no way I could answer.

“You almost got shot! You shouldn't have come up here!” She released my face and her arms slipped around my shoulders. I hugged her back.

“How did you know about the food from Naani?”

“Have you got a head cold? I could smell it as soon as I picked up the knapsack.”

“Am I really going to be paid to hunt?”

“Of course. I'd been thinking about it for the past few days. The other cook quit because of all the complaints about the food. Can't turn canned crap into good food,” she added, shaking her head in resignation. “Your Naani wouldn't believe how they eat.”

“So you just put things together to come up with that story? I never knew you were such a good liar.”

She gently cuffed me on the side of the head. “Don't talk to your mother that way. Besides, now I'm more than your mother, I'm your boss. Now, where is that letter?”

I pulled it from my pocket once again.

“Wonderful!”

She took the envelope and ripped open the back, and pulled the letter from within.

“What does it say?” I asked urgently. “What does it say?”

“Come over here beside me, and we'll read it togeth–er,” she replied. She sat down in a comfortable chair.

I came over and perched on the arm of the chair.

Dear Naomi and Jed,

I hope this letter finds you both well. I'm sure that
between your work at the camp and Jed's at school
you're both very busy. Hopefully, so busy that you
don't miss me as much as I miss both of you.

Most of the time here I'm very bored. We sit around
and play cards and shoot a little pool. The food isn't
very good, but I guess you know that no army cook
is any good (ha-ha). I get in my plane for a couple
of hours every day or so. Mostly the same thing every
time. Nothing too exciting or dangerous Almost every
single time I flew my bush plane there was more dan
–
ger, so don't worry about me.

Say hello to Naani for me as well as everybody else.

I'm fine here so don't worry.

Love,
Dad

My mother folded the paper in two and looked up at me.

“Your father is a much better flyer than he is a liar.”

“I know.”

“He just doesn't want us to worry, is all.”

“Easier said than done,” I answered. “No matter what he says I'm going to worry.”

“Me too,” she said quietly, “me too.”

.4.

The very best spot in the entire camp was right around the side of the mess hall, by the door to the kitchen. In the morning when there was a chill in the air — and that was every day now that October was more than half over — the sunlight bounced off the building and formed a big, bright puddle to warm my bones. Sitting right there, I hardly needed to even turn my head to see the parade grounds right in front of me, the road into town, the motor pool, the major's office, showers, officers' club, three of the barracks, and of course the mess itself. There wasn't much happening around here that didn't happen right in front of my face.

I'd been up here often since I'd been given the job two weeks before. My mother was still the only cook. They hadn't been able to find anybody else to do the job, which wasn't surprising. Everybody who wanted a job could get one at the cannery, or dry dock or the rail yards. There were lots of jobs going begging, jobs that paid more than an army cook. Mother said that as long as I was around she'd keep working, so I was here a few nights after school and most of the weekends. When I wasn't working, I was free to just wander around the base and check things out. There was always something to check out.

The base was coming along. The latest additions were the showers. They'd picked up an old boiler off a ship that had been scrapped at the Prince Rupert dry dock. They'd brought it up on the back of a flatbed truck, and then taken a bulldozer and dragged it into position. It held hundreds of gallons of water. They heated water for the showers by burning all the bush they'd taken down. If all the men were careful and took short showers, there was enough water for everybody. This was one of the only luxuries in the camp. After working all day in the mud and rain, covered with sap and sweat and sawdust, the men happily hit the showers. I'd seen tempers flare up a couple of times when people took too long in the shower and used up somebody else's water.

“Are you going to peel that thing or make a pet of it?” my mother asked.

I was lost in thought and her voice startled me. I dropped the potato.

“That's no way to treat a pet,” she chided me.

I bent over and picked it up. “How long have you been standing there?”

“For a couple of potatoes. You were doing fine until you came to that last one.”

From the door behind my mother one of the men, Smitty, came strolling out, munching on an apple.

“Hi, Mrs. Blackburn. Hi, Jed. Anything you need in town, ma'am?”

“No, I think we're okay, but thanks for asking.”

Smitty's real name was John Smith and he was a ser–geant who ran the motor pool. He was the only soldier my mother would let come into the kitchen or use the back door. He could wander through, help himself to things in the fridge, get a fresh coffee or even sit down at the small table and eat back there with us. Often he waited until everybody else had finished eating and then he, my mom and me would eat together.

Smitty was in his late twenties but looked younger. He had a mop of brown hair that seemed out of control despite the short military haircut. He said when it was going to rain his hair got frizzy. Since there was hardly a day in Rupert when it didn't rain, his hair was perma–nently frizzed. He was tall, and skinny, well over six feet, with large feet and hands. My mother joked she only let him in the kitchen because she was trying to fatten him up. I knew while she was kidding around, this was at least part way true. Despite the fact you hardly ever saw him without food in his mouth, he was as skinny as a rail.

Smitty had told me he'd joined the army when he was sixteen. He didn't have much family, and the family he had didn't think much of him. I found that was the big reason he hung around the kitchen. Although my mother really wasn't much older than Smitty, she was kind of a mother to him.

My mother was always careful about me being around the soldiers too much. She figured they might teach me things she didn't want me to know, or at least didn't want me to know quite yet. She trusted Smitty though and he'd taken me out on details.

“I wonder what's going on over there?” Smitty asked.

My mother and I spun around to see a crowd of men moving across the parade grounds.

“Looks like a circus,” my mother answered.

“Better check it out. Jed, you want to come along? I mean if it's okay with your mom.”

“Go ahead, you'll have plenty of time to peel potatoes before supper.”

Smitty bounded down the stairs and towards the action.

Smitty never walked when he could run. He was like a clock with its mainspring wound just a little too tight.

Already a good-sized crowd had gathered. We reached men at the back of the crowd. People were craning their necks and squirming to try to get a better view. There was also a group of men standing against the rail on an adjoining part of the elevated walkway, trying to see the goings on.

“I can't see a thing,” I said.

Smitty tapped one of the men on the back. “What's happening? What's the story?”

“They got themselves a bird, a big bird. They're go–ing to tie it up to the pole,” he answered.

“A bird? What sort of bird would attract an audience like this?” I wondered.

“What are we talking about here, a big chicken or a turkey?” Smitty asked with a deadpan expression. Smitty hardly ever said anything seriously but always kept a straight face. Even though I knew what to expect, he still surprised me sometimes.

“Naw, don't be silly,” the soldier responded, “it's one of those big eagles. A couple of the guys found it and brought it back.”

“I want a closer look at this,” Smitty answered.

“Don't get yourself too close, though,” the soldier cautioned. “One of the guys who found the bird is getting stitched up now. Bird took a good swipe out of his side.”

“Thanks for the advice. What time is it, Jed?”

I looked at my watch. “About ten minutes to one.”

“Good,” said Smitty. “As soon as the whistle sounds at one o'clock, most of these guys have to go back to their work details. You and I can get a real up close look then. Let's grab a bite while we're waiting.”

I didn't want to leave, but looking at the wall of men standing between us and the eagle, I nodded in agreement. We circled around to the side of the mess and went in through the back door. My mother had just come back through the swinging doors carrying a tray filled with dirty dishes.

“You were right, Mrs. Blackburn,” Smitty nodded. “It is a circus and they've started collecting animals. They got themselves an eagle.”

“It's always a circus around here,” she answered. “I was talking to a couple of men who saw the bird being brought in. They told me a couple of the sentries found it on the edge of the camp, hiding in some underbrush.”

Smitty took the tray from her hands, set it down and started scraping plates into the garbage can sitting by the sink. After clearing each plate he set it down in the soapy water.

“I wonder what happened to it?” I asked.

“Been shot probably,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Just like dozens of them have been shot. Give a bunch of men guns and ammunition, and sure as night follows day they're going to start shooting at things.”

She started washing the dishes and I picked up a cloth to dry them.

“Is it badly hurt?” Smitty asked.

“Not sure. Heard them talking. They said it looks like one of the wings is broken, and that it's pretty weak.

Probably hasn't eaten for a while.”

“At least it's still alive,” I offered.

“For now,” she said quietly. “Probably be better off if it were dead.”

Just as I was going to ask her what she meant, I heard the whistle go off to signal the end of the lunch break.

“I can't believe all the fuss. Grown men crowding around that poor bird like it's one of the wonders of the world. Some of them didn't even finish eating, didn't want to miss any of the excitement.”

Smitty and I both stopped working and looked at each other. We wanted to go right now and check out the eagle. My mother stopped working as well and looked first at me and then at Smitty. It was always a little spooky how she could figure out what was going on in my head.

Smitty had noticed that before, and said I should con–sider myself lucky, because his parents never knew what he was thinking about, even when he told them.