Pickering College - Voyageur Yearbook (Newmarket, Ontario Canada)

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There's the mail, he said. Forster remained where he was. There was no sense in rushing out in this heat and besides, the chances of him getting a letter were damned few any- way. He slipped the report into an envelope and, addressing it, handed it to the black boy who had entered carrying a stack of letters and a small parcel. Plenty hot, hey? he said to the boy. Yassin It sho' is, old rad boiled fo' times on de way up heahf' The b0y's teeth shone in his sweaty face as Al pounced on him, seizing the letters. Mistah Al, yo' sho' do get a lot ob letters. How 'bout lettin' me in on some ob does gals? He laughed a high cackling falsetto. Al paid no attention so the boy turned and went out. James watched refiectively. The women sure go for him, he thought. I wonder what it is, he 's certainly not too smart or, for that matter, good looking. Jim wished he was like Al and had a dozen girls on the string. Jim had no girls and the only letters he got were from his father once a month. Al glanced up to see Jim eyeing the letters. Sell you one he said in a tone half banter and half contemptuous. He pitied this poor white worm. 'Sure, how much? replied Jim in his usual serious voice. Oh, bout five bucks Al said in the same tone as before. It's a deal replied -lim holding out his hand. Ah, don 't he stupid, I was only joking. NVell, I wasn't said Jim, are you backing out? Jim's tone annoyed Al. Ah for Hawd 's sake don 't ya know a joke when ya hear it? he shouted. Now Jim was annoyed. He had been only fooling at first too. but now he was serious. He pulled some crumbled hills from the pocket of his filthy shorts and held them out, his hand shaking. I'm calling your bluff, take it or leave it he said. Al's eyes grew hard and he stared at the other's flushed face. Okay, fat boy he said, take your pick. He held the letters out fanwise and Jim picked one. Al took the money and crammed it into his shirt pocket as Jim turned and walked out ot the shack. He walked across the hot clearing to the meagre shade of the pine tree. He noted the big silent swamp about a mile away steaming in the sun. God it was hot, he thought. Twenty-one

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heat TERRENCE SUMNER . HE SUN FLAMED MERICILESSLY in a metallic blue sky. The rays beat down on the sandy clearing with a pulsating intensity. The world was very still, the scrub pines were scorched and brown, their limbs drooping earthwards seek- ing moisture l-ong since evaporated. A cabin stood on the edge of the pines, its character was that of the land, dried out, wood bleached white and falling apart at the joints. It looked quite relaxed as if all desire to stand straight and whole had parted long ago. There was brown moss, once quite green and thick, splotching the roof, blotting out the contours of the hand hewn shingles. Lichen grew near the empty rainbarrel sunk in the ground at one sagging corner. Silence hung thick and viscous over the whole desolate scene. Two men sweltered inside the cabin. In appearance and character they were a study in contrast. One, seated at the table, shirtless, dressed only in filthy shorts and sneakers was not an impressive sight. His face was round and soft with multiple chins cascading into an almost non-existent neck. His body was obese-not pleasant to look at. His skin was white, like the belly of a catfish and hung in folds over his upper body. His eyes were the only attrac- tive feature about him. They were large. brown and luminous. The man was near-sighted and wore thick spectacles which lent him a rather serious mien. His name was James Forster, .and he was struggling hard to get ahead in a company where promotions were few. The heat bothered him horribly. The other man lay on the floor where it was cooler and read a lurid looking novel. He was almost the exact opp-osite of the former. He was lean and athletic with a dark handsome face that didn 't refiect an overabundance of in- telligence but was, nonetheless, quite attractive. His name was Allan Nichols but he preferred to be called Al because it sounded hard and masculine. Al wasn't much interested in getting ahead, he was only in the Company because of an influential uncle. He wished he was out of it now, this place was hotter than hell and, besides, there were no women and no bars around. The men had been living in the cabin for two months now. Forster had seen a chance for promotion and had volunteered for the job. Al had been sent there because his superior despaired of trusting him elsewhere. Their job was to make a survey of different types of fruit-bearing trees in the area with the hope of determining which survived the climate best and so could be planted in an African colony where conditions were quite similar. It was as simple as that, but actually the work was dreadfully monotonous because all there was to do was observe and take a few notes. Forster was engaged in making out a monthly report now. He hoped his superiors would be pleased with his concise and extensive observations, it might mean a promotion. Al c-ontinued to read his novel, laughing occasionally to him- self. The silence was broken by a grinding of car gears in the sandy clearing out- side. Al jumped to his feet, dropped the book. Twenty

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Forster squatted under scrub pine and opened his letter. It had better be good after paying five bucks for it. As he thought about it now it was a pretty foolish move, but he had been carried away by the moment. A sudden pang of loneliness had gripped him and he had felt that he simply must have a letter or something, so that he could feel a. sense of communion and friendship with someone. It felt horrible to Forster to think that nobody particularly cared about him, not even a cheap slut. He cursed, the letter was not even from a woman, he cursed steadily until a few lines at the bottom caught his eye 'Maria wishes you to have this favour so I will leave it in the hollow tree just off the swamp road - -- - following were exact instructi-ons on how to find the tree. The letter was signed simply Juan ' '. Forester knew who Juan was, he was the son of the Mexican woman with whom Al had stayed before moving into the shack. Maria was his sister, a beautiful girl whom Forster had gazed hungrily at whenever she was near, flushing miserably, when she caught him at it. Forster wondered what the favour was, a trinket perhaps? a handkerchief? a lock of hair? He thought it would be nice to get the object and flaunt it in front of Al. It would infuriatehim he knew. But would it be fair?-well, why not, dammit? The letter was his, he bought it, he could do anything he wanted with it, and by God he would do just that! He rose and walked quickly to the cabin, ignoring the heat, humming to himself. V Al glanced up as he entered but said nothing. Forster still humming to himself because he knew it would anger Al went about preparing the evening meal. At last Al spoke, NVell what was in it ? as Why ? asked Forster. Well because I have a right to know, the letter was written to me. So what Listen you fat slob, . . llissen yourself pal, I bought that letter and it 's none of your damn business what in it, see? s t Damn you, I'll . . lie made a move toward Forster who reached behind him and picked up a stick of firewood. His pudgy white hands were shaking and his large eyes were unusually bright. lt was the first time that he had physically opposed anyone. Al glared at him for a moment, cursed, then laughed and stalked out ofthe shack. Twcnly-l wo