Shawnigan Lake School - Yearbook (Shawnigan Lake, British Columbia Canada)

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and the boat came to a smooth halt. Shutting off the engine, he stepped out on the float, seized the lines, and made fast. He looked around, listened to the lap of the waves against the pilings, and climbed the ramp to the wharf above. He walked to a street corner, and standing in the glare of a street lamp, he pondered whether to go home or to Lew Khow ' s. He chose the Chinese store on the excuse that he could tell him that the fishing was better. Crossing the street, he walked briskly the length of the block and stopped in front of a small shop. It bore the name Lew Khow — Grocer in faded gold letters which reflected dimly the light from across the street. All the available woodwork was cluttered up with tin placards, which were chipped and dented by time and weather. The window held an assortment of vegetables and last year ' s Hallowe ' en fireworks. A loose sheet of newspaper rattled about Jan ' s feet; he kicked it aside and walked in. An old Chinaman sat behind the counter, idly drumming his fingers on the change mat. He peered up, his gold-rimmed spectacles bouncing the light emitted by a single light bulb in the ceiling. He said nothing but stared into Jan ' s eyes, his smooth face turned upwards in an expression of expectation. Jan fiddled with his cap, shifted from one foot to the other and said, with a suddenness whi ch startled himself, I caught seven fish tonight. His eyes avoided the Oriental ' s and hovered over the shelves, falling on the basket of eggs at the Chinaman ' s elbow. Lew Khow studied his visitor and then a trace of a smile appeared on his features. He replied with a long drawn out, Yes ? The sound of his voice made Jan look up. The coarseness of his own face was reflected in the smooth Oriental one. Jan was aware of it and it added to his discomfort. He faltered and then said, They were all fresh run, too. He added, as if to clear himself in the Chinaman ' s eyes, The run can ' t be very far off. I heard from Maurice that they were getting them in the Gulf. Lew Khow considered this, took off his glasses, polished them, and said, Yes, that is true, yes, maybe. His voice had a wistful sound, a sighing quality which gave him the air of a Confucius. He went on and the tone of his voice lost its ethereal quality and became hard. You owe me money. Why you not pay me ? Jan made a little gesture of weariness but the watchful eyes of Lew Khow held him and he continued, You need a tank of gas. I know. I know you not pay me long time. Why ? The Chinese leaped to his feet and stood quivering over the counter. Jan stood still, his eyes downcast. Lew Khow, I didn ' t come here to tell you about the fishing, I came to ask if I could have a little bread and bacon to keep me going. I ' ll pay you when the fishing is better. Lew Khow sank back into his chair, a faint smile playing across his lips. Presently he rose, brought the articles and placed them on the counter, tossing a packet of tobacco and a chocolate bar beside them. Jan murmured, Thanks, Lew Khow. But the old Chinaman had again seated himse:f and was absorbed in his thoughts. He did not look up when the bell tinkled softly, marking Jan ' s departure. The next day was cloudless with a southwest wind rippling the river, sending little pulsating flashes of light from each wavelet. The light was harsh, and the cottonwoods along the bank appeared almost grey instead of silvery green. Jan sat on the wharf, beside his boat, carefully inspecting his net, which he had spread out on the racks. His fingers worked nimbly as he mended the rips and the tears. As the tide was still flooding there was no point in fishing until it turned. An engine coughed, caught hold, a clutch wined in reverse and a gill netter swung into the channel. Jan recognized the man at the wheel as Hungry Peter, a Portuguese, who was an eager, if unsuccessful, fisherman. It rankled Jan when he thought about Hungry Pete. He remembered the day Hungry Pete had set his net across Jan ' s bow and prevented him from towing his net free of the snag above the ferry slip. It had nearly cost Jan his net. Having arrived at the fishing grounds, Jan leaned out over the side of the boat and dropped the raft into the water. He paid out a few yards of net by hand to ensure that all ran freely, and then climbed into the pilot-house and kicked in the clutch. The boat swim? away from the -bank, the net paying out over the stern. Jan ran straight for the opposite bank and then, when he was two hundred yards off shore, turned and ran downstream until his net was in a huge curve. Then he shut off his engine and climbed out on deck. If he had timed his drift accurately he would be pulling his net just as that freighter, which was coming down river, was parallel with the ferry slip. That would give him plenty of time. He checked to make sure his judging was correct and seated himself on the deck. He did not see Hungry Pete pull away from the ferry slip, where Page Twenty-Nine

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rope trick. But in this part of the world fakirs seem to be in the minority. The problem is still unsolved unless, of course, you are extremely wealthy and a helicopter can be obtained. Another problem is the draught through the walls and the floor. This is apt to raise the heating bill and give the inhabitants cold feet. But let us stop here. I hope that by this time I have dissuaded you from even thinking of building a castle in the air. Frankly it is a waste of time. Building castles in the air is quite impossible in actual fact. It is possible, however, in the imagination and this is why the expression has meaning. Indeed, if all my castles had been built I should now be better off than a fakir or a Rockefeller. —J. MADDEN. ft ft ft THE RIVER AND THE RUINED A faint breeze rippled the water, sending the rushes and reeds bowing back and forth. Jan stood on the river bank staring out across the stream at the spot where Hungry Pete had died. The soft evening light bathed his face, accentuating the lines and hollows. His hands shook as he filled his pipe and lit it. The bite of the tobacco, instead of being an anaesthetic, provoked his thoughts, and he found himself thinking about the day ' s happenings. What was the cause of the tragedy? The snag? But he had allowed for that when he judged his drift. Hungry Pete ? Certainly Hungry Pete was at fault, but even so, if he had had more time he could have untangled his net. The freighter ? damn those profiteering murderers. No matter who was at fault, Jan had lost his net, his means of livelihood. His mind probed further into the past. He remembered the peace and quiet of the evening before. A duck quacked, and rose, wingtips splashing the water ahead of the boat. Jan looked up. His eyes ran along the row of floats that marked his gill net, to the little raft at the end, whose lantern winked in the gathering dusk. He noted his boat ' s rate of drift against the shore, glanced up and down channel, and then let his eyes rest on the worn grey planking of his gill netter. Jan was not interested in the scenery about him. For forty years the river had been his home and his provider during the annual salmon run. Bu t forty years had changed the river as well as Jan. Where once the river ran fast and smooth, supporting the traffic of men and material, it now basked (full of silt and snags) languidly in the last rays of the setting sun. Jan was like this quiet slough; his days of rushing were over, and the marks of the years stood, like the silt and snags of the river, on his weatherbeaten face. Jan was not a thinker of great thoughts, yet in his mind he had summarized the character of the river. It was to him a spiteful woman that could not make up its mind where to go or what to do next; seemingly innocent, yet possessed of the power to destroy. This evening Jan had been worried. Not a pressing life or death worry, but a gentle ache. It was to do with Lew Khow the grocer, a man who often advanced credit at his store to needy fishermen. Such had been Jan ' s fate, and now Lew Khow was clamouring politely for the money owed him. Of course he would be paid when the annual salmon run arrived and the fishing became better. Lew Khow was a good fellow, but a trifle impatient. Jan puffed harder on his pipe when he thought about this. The ferry whistled, and Jan decided to pull his net. He ducked into the tiny pilot- house, and soon the unhurried chug of his engine rang out across the water. He came out of the pilot-house, clambered into the stern cockpit, reached for a lever, and the net drum began slowly to revolve. Each float whacked the stern roller as it came over the side. Jan could see the mesh as it trailed away into the turbid water, and, as he watched, the strands tightened and a fish appeared, entangled in the wily meshes of the net. Jan unravelled it and stood gazing at it for a moment before he let it fall to his feet. It was a fresh-run sockeye salmon, with the deep-sea silver still resplendent on its sleek sides. Jan took six more such fish from the net, tossed them into the hatch and whirled a bucket of water over the deck. He stood for a while, gazing out across the river and marsh. The reeds made a dark line against the silver of the stream. The cottonwoods and poplars, silhouetted against the sky, looked like a row of giants bending over the river. Their branches waved, and the wind brought a smell of wood smoke and rotting vegetation to his nostrils. From the farm across the river came the sound of a cow lowing, and somewhere beyond the marsh a dog barked. Jan shivered and the motion awoke him from his reverie, and realizing that his engine had died, he went into the pilot-house to start it. The engine running once more, he swung the helm over and headed the boat down-river to Ladner. A row of piles rose out of the gloom. Jan cut his engine speed, and the boat glided into a little float at the base of the piles. He touched the reverse, there was a brief whine Page Twenty-Eight

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ne had awaited the turn of the tide. Before Jan had noticed, the Portuguese had made a similar set about one hundred yards upstream. Jan cursed the other boat under his breath, partly out of annoyance, partly out of spite. This was just like Hungry Pete, always afraid that he would miss some good fishing. Jan muttered on, unaware that his net was slowly being stretched taut. Something in the motion of the boat made Jan glance up. He jumped to his feet. He was snagged. His first thought was to start the engine, and as he ran into the pilot- house he saw Hungry Pete ' s boat drifting down on his, looking like an idiotic duck as it bobbed in the waves. Jan shouted. No answer. It was then that he saw the freighter bearing down on them. Even as he looked, four puffs of steam belched out of the whistle and a moment later the sound burst forth. The unmistakable warning of Clear channel. Jan knew that the ship was unable to stop in the narrow channel, nor could it manoeuvre. The engine chose to be balky, and by the time Jan had it started Hungry Pete was close alongside. Jan raced for the deck, and stepping out, a smashing jar threw him on to sharp coaming. Hungry Pete was on deck, gesticulating and swearing in Portuguese. Jan ignored him. He rushed aft and threw the net drum into motion. The drum reeled in a few yards of net, pulling the boats backwards. A fold of Hungry Pete ' s net caught in Jan ' s and the machinery ground to a halt. Jan threw out the clutch and looked up. The freighter was no more than seventy-five yards away and bearing down fast. An officer was on the bow, yelling and waving in a frenzy. Jan screamed at the Portuguese to cut his net and run. His only answer was more cursing. Jan drew his knife and slashed at the net. It parted at last and the end slipped over the stern. He flew into the pilot-house, kicked in the clutch, and the boat moved into safety. Jan looked over his shoulder, expecting to see Hungry Pete alongside. Instead, he was standing on the deck of his boat, still shouting, directly in the path of the ship. Jan gasped with horror as the sharp bow of the freighter sliced into the boat, crushing it and rolling it over. Even worse was the scream of terror uttered by Hungry Pete as he was flung into the foaming bow wave, to disappear in the current. The freighter swept relentlessly along, men rushed along the deck towards the stern, as if trying to stop the thrashing propeller, for in that turmoil nothing could survive. As soon as the ship had passed, Jan swung his boat around, heedless of the wash, and raced for the scene of the collision. Bits of wreckage floated about and to one of these clung Hungry Pete. Jan dragged him aboard. As he laid him on the deck he recoiled in horror. The man ' s legs were gone. The few last feeble spurts of his life stream reddened the deck and Jan was still gazing when the man shuddered and died. A flood of tears burst forth from Jan. He wondered why he was crying, the ma n had never been his friend. But he could not stop himself. He was still sobbing when he turned the boat and headed for Ladner. It was not until he had reached Ladner and had carried the mangled form of Hungry Pete to where an ambulance was waiting that Jan realized that his net had gone under the freighter, too. It, as well as the life of Hungry Pete, was gone forever. A faint breeze rippled the water, sending the rushes and reeds bowing back and forth. Jan stood on the bank of the Fraser, staring across the muddy stream. He tried to dismiss the thoughts from his mind but it was as if his intellect was owned by someone else. You are broke now, he thought. Who broke you ? The question snapped something in the back of his mind. He realized the spirit at fault. It was not the snag, Hungry Pete, nor the freighter. It was the river, the placid stream, hiding in its deceptive currents the snag which caught his net. It was the river which brought Hungry Pete on to Jan ' s boat, it was the river that killed Hungry Pete. It was the river that ruined him, he, Jan of the forty years. He gazed in revulsion at the brown water. In the ripples he saw a myriad of sneering, hateful faces. Jan turned and walked away, he would go to Lew Khow ' s. Lew Khow would understand. Behind him he heard the water lapping at the shore. The river was laughing. — F. M. BOYCE. •= 30 Page Thirty