The 53rd Parallel Read online

  “We sleep now. We leave with the first sun,” Albert said to the hunters from Wiishkoonsing.

  The next morning, the forest's early winter chill not yet chased by the sun, Albert showed the hunters bear sign where a fallen tree trunk had been shredded so the bear could eat the beetle larvae burrowing throughout its soft decay. Ahead of them was a thick cluster of birch saplings, and Albert knew that behind those trees the bear was slowly making his way up the ridgeline as yet unaware of their presence. Albert was nearly certain it was a male.

  He signaled quiet, crouched, and trotted noiselessly into the birches, then waved the hunters from Wiishkoonsign to follow. This Man was there, studying bear scat, obviously fresh.

  Simon and Mathew paddled the freight canoe north down a broad River channel as it gradually opened up to another of its chain of lakes. For such a long trip the hunters from Wiishkoonsign wanted to camp with comfort so the cots and sleeping bags and blankets and tents loaded their canoe.

  Simon turned back to look at Mathew paddling at the stern. “When we arrive at the campsite that will be the farthest North I have been on the River.”

  “It is the same River.”

  “It is the same River, but it is changing.”

  “I like the stories about the giant moose that live where we will make the hunters camp. Grandfather says the antlers are the biggest in that place because the earth there has special powers.”

  “This place is where the white man dug in the mountainside for gold when Grandfather was a boy.”

  “We are looking for a clearing on top of a north point. Three stones are stacked and Old George says we will laugh when we see them. There is a large clearing for a camp. We will find it just before the sun sets.”

  Albert Loon stopped and studied the forest ahead. The large boulders turned this ridge into a slope of small, shallow caves and hidden places. Just past another rocky point he saw the head of a black bear, bobbing in and out of view, nearly fifty yards away. Albert retreated behind some trees to his right for an unobstructed view of the big bear eating nuts at the edge of a small grove of hickory trees.

  The bear's size was convincing: it was a male.

  Albert waved one of the hunters from Wiishkoonsing forward, the same hunter who missed the big bull moose, and if it had seemed Joe Loon was shaking his head no as he approached to shoot the moose last year, Albert seemed to be nodding yes today. The hunter studied the bear for a moment, requested and received Albert's permission to proceed, said a prayer that his aim was true, levered a bullet into the chamber of his 30-30 Winchester as he raised it to his shoulder, released a deep breath and sighted for the lung shot, the biggest target for a one-shot kill. The left lung was most available and he aimed and gently squeezed the trigger. The gun barked, the bear jerked, and then began running down the ridge towards them, at great speed at first, apparently unhurt, but then stumbling at twenty yards before he collapsed, and tumbled once, and didn't get up.

  They approached cautiously with Albert leading the way.

  Albert crouched over the bear, removed a small buckskin bag from around his neck, and placed it on the bear's chest. He began to softly sing to the bear's spirit as he stroked the bear's head.

  This Man stood over them.

  Two hunters from Wiishkoonsing watched, appreciating the peace.

  “My brother…” Albert put a pinch of the bag's contents on the bear's brow, his chest, and tossed a bit to the spirits in the wind. “Please forgive me, my brother. You have given your life so my people will eat. These hunters from Wiishkoonsing will tell many stories about your spirit. My brother, I will be happy when I see you have returned to these forests. I will rejoice to see you young again.”

  The boys raised the tents and set up the cots, they collected firewood for three nights, and should have then prepared their meal. Instead, in the last light they scrambled up the face of the rock bluff above the clearing, a bluff that didn't just beg to be climbed but to be raced to the top. When the boys reached the top they found ruins of a small mining camp.

  Simon asked, “This is where the white man took gold from the earth?”

  “There was gold in some of these holes. In some holes there was nothing.”

  One shack had fallen in on top of itself and another was absorbed by young forest growth. Behind them, solid timbers framed a mineshaft opening into the side of the mountain face. The boys peered inside, took tentative steps, and found two small wooden barrels stacked just inside the shaft. Simon tapped one and then rolled it out of the cave when he found it contained a liquid.

  “What would this be?”

  “There is no smell of the gasoline.”

  Mathew removed the plug and smelled it.

  “Yaway, Little Brother. Smell this.”

  “I know this smell. This is the whiskey.”

  “This is filled with the whiskey. We must hide this until Grandfather can destroy it. This would make too much trouble for the men who like the whiskey.”

  “Let us take it down to the River and pour it out. Grandfather would be proud of that.”

  “And then we will keep these barrels. The white man makes good barrels.”

  Simon and Mathew sat in front of the fire at the outpost camp.

  “Big Brother.”

  “I am listening.”

  “In some holes there was nothing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Before we discovered the whiskey, you said in some holes there was nothing.”

  “Yes.”

  “Holes are empty. In all holes there is nothing.”

  Mathew and Simon looked at each other, their eyes smiling, then they both laughed.

  “Ah, that is right. In all holes there is nothing… But if I fall into a hole, it is still a hole. And in that hole there is something.” And they laughed again. “We should have saved more of the whiskey, Little Brother. It fills up the holes.”

  “That is why my idea was a good one. First we pour it out. Then we keep a small amount to drink to know what the whiskey is.”

  “I would like to drink more whiskey and fill up all the holes with the stories my Little Brother tells me by this fire.”

  Chapter 7

  A Dublin Spring, 1940

  Maureen and Kevin found the small apartment on Pearse Street where they were to meet with senior IRA leaders. Kevin introduced Maureen to two men, and as everyone settled the older of the two asked Kevin how much Maureen had been told about this mission.

  “What you told me to tell her and nothing more. That it's secret, a deep secret, that Russell himself is behind it, and that by meeting with you she has committed herself to say yes to whatever is proposed.”

  The older man got up from his chair and sat next to Maureen on the couch. “It's the last moment you can retreat, young lady. But once you've heard our plan, understand you have to take on the role we have for you.”

  “I understand.”

  “Understand that how Russell's putting it is we are looking at a mission could change Irish history an'—”

  Kevin interrupted as he spoke to Maureen.

  “When I think about it, and how it could change history across the Continent, around the world, I want you to know it's not just another bombing raid.”

  It appeared that only the older leader would talk as the man sitting across the room lit a cigarette and sat back staring at the smoke. “Kevin has some concerns. But the die is cast. We are going forward with this mission.”

  He took Maureen's hand. “Your countrymen offer condolences for what the Brits have done to you an' your family. Your da was a true Fenian an' a fine man, an' we won't stop until we can identify which Black 'n Tan it was who murdered him. He'd be proud of your work in London.”

  Maureen was clear. “I'll never forget the face of the man with the gun. When you find him, I ask you to allow me to confirm it and to complete the execution.”

  “If operational circumstances allow it, it will be handed to you to be done.”


  “Da never leaves my thoughts as I do my duty, thank you. An' in return I am ready to do whatever you ask of me. I pledge my oath here and now.”

  “An' when a duty kills someone's grandfather?”

  “I regret that occurred an' I've prayed for forgiveness every night since.” She stood from the couch and found the place in the room where she could speak to all the men. “But I am a soldier fightin' in a just war. The Church says that even in a just war innocent civilians get killed.”

  “You're ready to provide us another service.”

  “I've said yes, an' I'm here to find what it is I've said yes to.”

  “Russell arrived in Germany three weeks ago. His plan was to meet men in Berlin—military leaders and their biggest industrialists, to convince them that Ireland can be of great service to Germany right now.”

  Maureen looked at Kevin when she spoke.

  “But we are to be neutral. I heard de Valera declare that again on the wireless just last week.”

  “And Russell has decided otherwise an' so he's workin' the German military for a coordinated attack in the Six Counties. At the same time, he's workin' their industrialists for money so we can buy guns and ordinance, so we can step up with a new series of skirmishes an' keep the Brits busy on every front.”

  “You keep sayin' Germany, but what the people in the cottages will be hearin' you say is that IRA has thrown in on the side of the Nazis.”

  “A nasty bunch, there's no doubt, and none of us is happy about it, but it's what the Brits have driven us to. The play we're after is that the Brits will be smart enough to realize they'll be needing all resources to defeat the Germans so they can't be fightin' us at the same time. We'll finally have the top hand an' the bargainin' power on our side of the table, and all the Brits have to do is leave our island and we'll leave them alone.”

  “But we've thousands of our boys enlistin' in British regiments and already fightin' the Nazis.”

  Kevin answered, “Irish lads have always fought for British pay. That's never affected IRA policy before.”

  The older man decided Maureen was ready.

  “Maureen, hear this clearly. Because your concerns are legitimate, it is and will remain just the four of us in this room and Russell who knows about this, and that's how we intend to keep it. But we have to move now if this is going to happen at all. We have a berth on a freighter to Copenhagen tomorrow. Russell will have someone meetin' you there, quay side. Your contact will be looking for this yellow scarf an' when you're asked if you're from Connemara, you'll answer 'Yes, it's the Wild West'. He'll take you on to Berlin to meet with Russell. If Russell has raised any money, well, his problem is they'll be looking for him at customs.”

  Kevin added, “But they won't be looking for you.”

  “He'll have a plan for you to bring the money home along with any word about attack plans.”

  “What time do I board?”

  Two months had passed after baby Patrick's hard birth and Deirdre was too weak to get out of bed. If on some days she was better than others, most days she wasn't. Tommy, ten now, had come home from seminary school to see his brother born and when the Brothers learned the news of the hard labor and poor condition of the mother they allowed Tommy to remain at home to assist with her care. Tommy read to Deirdre from The Lives of the Saints and any tabloid Brian brought home, and he helped care for five year-old Katie. Patrick lived in his mother's arms, or wrapped tightly at her side.

  Women from the village looked in on the family once or twice a day to check on them and, Brian knew, to make sure he was caring for his poor invalid wife. At first they approved when they found him home and attentive since Deirdre's faint, for he was working as a ghillie or taking other odd jobs to maintain their larder then dashing home without even a pint on the way. But then one woman wondered and soon others grew worried about the deepening depth to his despair as he stood at the door to their bedroom and watched his wife grow weaker and weaker, fading midst her children.

  As was becoming their habit, Eamon and his wife stopped by with a stew pot. She went inside and left the two cousins outside Brian's cottage.

  “Ah, Eamon, she's gettin' worse an' worse every day, an' ol' Doc's no help as far as I can see.”

  “Them children are tirin' her out, Cos.”

  “Sure they are. Or maybe not, I ain't seein' much clearly these days. But it makes no difference for you can't get 'em away from her. I tried.”

  “They're all livin' right on top of her, all in that bed all day.”

  “An' she won't have it any other way is what I'm sayin', goddamn it. She knows she's leavin' us an' it's how she wants to go, yeah, so you don't do me any good goin' on about it… She tells me every night about what it's like to be slowly dyin' an' she wants 'em all she can. When they aren't 'round to hear she's taken to callin' it her last wish.”

  “Well, I told you when you weren't, so I should tell you when you are—you're doin' all you can now, Cos, an more than most would.”

  “Don't know if you can ever catch-up when you start out so late in the game.”

  They were quietly loading their pipes with some last bit of tobacco Brian had when Eamon's wife joined them.

  “She's askin' for you, Brian.”

  Brian nodded his thanks for their help and entered the cottage to attend to Deirdre.

  Eamon's wife placed her hand on her husband's arm.

  “Go fetch Doc. An' I'm thinkin' Father should be alerted.”

  Brian knelt down next to the bed at Deidre's shoulder and stroked her hair. Tommy stood next to him, Katie sat on the bed next to her mother, and baby Patrick was in Deidre's arms.

  She was pale, worn. Her face was damp. She smiled, her lips cracked.

  “Tommy, take Katie into the other room for me and stay there until I call ya back.”

  Katie hopped off the bed and Tommy led her out of the room, and as soon as the door closed Brian spoke.

  “This is my doin'.”

  “This isn't your doin'.”

  “I saw how hard you hit the floor the night I threw you down.”

  “You didn't throw me down. You were defendin' yourself from me slappin' at ya and I tripped and fell, and in any case we don't know that has any play in any of this… I was sickly weak after I lost the last.”

  “An' you got better, an' you'll get better now, an' I'll be makin' up for my mistakes every day, for you, from now on, every day, for you.”

  Deidre patted Patrick's head as he began to fuss.

  “And if I don't get better—”

  “You will.”

  “And if I don't, you'll promise to take care of these…” She began to cry, and Brian sat next to her and held her close.

  When Brian heard the doctor's bleak diagnosis he didn't leave the cottage for a week. But they were desperately short of money, the village had no surplus to share, and there were few jobs to be had, so he regretfully accepted a guiding job when Eamon told him of one.

  He was out on the River showing his fisherman a best hole for browns the afternoon Deirdre died.

  Eamon was looking in on his cousin's family and found Tommy lying asleep at the foot of the bed, Katie sleeping next to her mother's body, and Patrick asleep in his dead mother's arms. He sent a boy to find Brian, but more than two hours passed before Brian was alerted, and by then the whole village knew. As Brian trotted down the road to his cottage he felt condemned in their looks. The next night, at the wake, it occurred to him as if he had just arrived to find his cottage filled with the judgment of mourners.

  He and his cousin stood outside. It was a soft rain that fell.

  “You can't tell me they're not all thinkin' it, whisperin' it. I can see it in their shiftin' eyes as I draw near.”

  “No, Cos, you're seein' sadness for her an' for you an' the little ones. It's sadness for your loss. Everyone saw how well you tended to her at the end.”

  “Yes, that's right, you've said it again. You can't help but say as suc
h, it's true, so you say it the same way, every time.”

  “What's that?”

  “That I tended to her at the end, yeah. That I tended to her death. That's what you're sayin'. But before that—what was it you were always tellin' me? That I was drivin' her to an early grave. How many times did you say that to me, Cos? Those exact words. An' that's what I see in everyone's eyes. That it's my fault.”

  “It won't do anyone good for you to be thinkin' like you are, so.”

  “So then that's the pity, isn't it?”

  “Deirdre dyin' is a pity.”

  “Deirdre dyin' was a pity.”

  “A deep sadness for us all.”

  “And the pity that remains is how none can look at me an' not think about the role I played in drivin' her to an early grave. An' that you predicted it, that you talked about it, together. There's the lastin' pity of it.” Brian's tears mixed with the rain on his face as he demanded, “Didn't it come true as you said it would… that I would drive her to an early grave?”

  “Was as much her weakness from childbirth.”

  “An' so I am now understandin' this, that it's with your pity that I will live amongst you from now on. That is as it should be, my crime is deservin'.”

  “Even if it is pity you're seein', it's up to you to turn it into somethin' else.”

  “You want me to turn a village's pity into somethin' else.”

  “Into somethin' better.”

  A few days later, Maureen sat alone in a lobby of dark paneling and large portraits of serious men with great mustaches or mutton-chop sideburns, some in military uniforms, others in suits, all of their wardrobes mostly grey or black. One of the large double doors opened and a man appeared, bowed precisely, then beckoned her to follow.

  In the board room over a dozen men stood in small clusters of conversation, some in Nazi uniforms, some in business suits. Maureen had never met Russell but had seen a photo of him; when the closest group turned at her approach she did not find him there. She looked past to the others as an elderly man took her hand.