The Maestro (24 page)

Finally, Japheth slipped his pipe into his jacket pocket. It was a strange jacket, plaid, with big square lapels and tog-
gle buttons and a belt at the waist. It looked very old fashioned. Japheth combed at his beard with his fingers.

“You got on at Mile 29, son.”

Burl nodded. Japheth looked interested. “I was a bit surprised when Gabe told me. He phoned, see, when he got up to Chapleau. That's where I'm stabled for the time being.” Japheth's hand would not sit still. It picked at loose threads. “'party coming out of Mile 29 today, Japheth,' says Gabe. Thought I might like to know about it.”

Burl stared at Japheth. The man's tongue was hunting down some stray bit of tobacco. He located it, passed it to his lips and spit it out the side of his mouth.

“I got a little land up Mile 29 way,” he said.

Burl moved, and the pain in his body seemed to flame up. He grimaced. He looked down the aisle.

Japheth's brow furrowed. “You're probably wondering about the fellah they hauled on board with ya?”

“Yeah,” said Burl.

“He's up in freight. They're looking after him.”

Burl relaxed a bit. It was as if someone had taken a heavy bundle out of his hands.

“We haven't been formally introduced,” said Japheth. “The name is Starlight, Japheth Starlight. I own a claim, the north end of Ghost Lake. Perhaps you know the place.”

Burl tried to swallow, couldn't. His right hand was buried in blankets. His fingers appeared from between the folds of swaddling clothes. Weakly he shook the prospector's hand.

“Burl,” he said.

“It's deeded in my name, Burl. See, that's why Gabe was concerned about any comings and goings up there. Mind you, I guess we don't rightly own any part of the earth.”

“There was a cabin there—”

“Up on the rise?”

“No, right on the bay.”

Japheth smiled brightly. “So he got it built, did he, that piano-player fellah?”

“He got it built, yes …”

“And?”

Burl didn't want to go on.

Japheth's white eyebrows came together in a frown. “The fellah in freight,” he said. “That looked like more than a campfire incident.”

“The cabin burned down.”

Japheth nodded. He seemed to have expected as much.

“I didn't know we were trespassing or anything,” said Burl. “I mean, he was living there. The Maestro—Mr. Gow, I mean. I just thought…”

Japheth was shaking his head. “He'll be upset.”

“Who will?”

“Your—what'd you call him—Maestro. Mr. Gow. I do believe that was his name.”

Burl pulled the blankets close around him. “He's dead.”

Japheth looked up with surprise. “In the fire?”

“No, no,” said Burl hurriedly. “In Toronto. The beginning of the month. You didn't know?”

Japheth shook his head. “Hardly knew the man. My, my.” He scratched his head. “He seemed a nice enough soul.”

Gabe came swaying up the car towards them. Burl fixed his eyes on the approaching conductor. Purgatory—that's what this was. Granny Robichaud had told him all about purgatory. It was a suburb of hell. A place where you are reminded minute by minute of every bad thing you've ever done.

Gabe crouched down, spoke quietly to Burl.

“We radioed ahead to Presqueville. They got a clinic there, but I suspect they'll be air-lifting your friend direct to
Sudbury General.”

“That bad, eh?” said Japheth.

The conductor nodded. Then he cracked a bit of a smile. “He's ranting a fair bit. Seems to think he carried his boy out of the bush. Wants to know if he's okay.”

Burl's face went stony still. He closed his eyes tight. This was purgatory, all right. Nothing good you ever did mattered. What was the use of trying? He opened his eyes at the sound of Japheth chuckling.

“That's a good one,” said the old man. He looked at Burl, inviting him to join in the little joke. Then when Burl seemed not to understand, the old man reached forward and gently pulled back the blanket from Burl's shoulders. He was naked from the waist up. Japheth gently lifted his arm so that Burl could see the raw welts and bruises caused by the ladder rails.

Japheth winked at him. “Hard work being carried out, eh?”

Gabe pulled the blankets up around the boy's shoulders again. “Harder still carrying a kid out of the bush when you got no feet to speak of.” He straightened up. “How far you bring him?”

Japheth piped up. “From Ghost Lake, Gabe. The boy dragged him out from the bay. Remember it?”

Gabe remembered. “What is it? A good mile and a half?” He looked impressed. “You done one helluva job.”

“His name's Burl.”

“Burl. One helluva job.” Then he got business-like again. Wanted to know who the authorities should contact. Burl told them about Tanya, how the only way you could reach her was through the diner in Pharaoh. She'd look after Cal, he told them. Then Gabe went off. For a few moments there was silence, just the rolling rhythm of the train and the sound of quiet talk, a little laughter, a friendly card game.

“I guess the authorities means the police,” said Burl.

Japheth considered this. “I suppose. Injuries like that. There'll probably be some questions.” His hands were clasped on his lap. He was not at all godly in stature. His feet hardly reached the floor. “If you went in there to make mischief, then as far as I'm concerned the cops should throw the book at you.”

“It was an accident.”

“Sounds good enough to me. Mind you, there may be insurance claims. I don't know what kind of thing Gow worked out. I just gave him the go-ahead. We didn't sign any papers or anything. He wanted some kinda tenant contract. If he was going to build this cabin, he wanted guarantees that he could stay there. I just had to laugh at that. ‘What guarantee have any of us got,' I told him. I think he liked that.”

Japheth smiled at the memory. “Still, he'd have been happier if we'd done business in a more business-like manner. But I turned him down flat. He had my word that he was welcome there. Welcome to build himself a shelter. Come whenever he pleased. But nothing on paper. And I'm not sure if a company would insure a building when there was no signed agreement. That's just a guess, mind you.”

Burl considered this matter as best he could. He tried to imagine a criminal investigation, going to jail. If he had to, he would tell the authorities what had happened. But Japheth Starlight, now that he knew about the fire, seemed almost nonchalant about the whole thing.

“How did you and Gow meet?” said Burl.

Japheth dug out his pipe again. From the same pocket he produced a metal tool with which he reamed out the bowl, emptying the spent tobacco into the ashtray built into the arm of the seat. “I met him on a train,” he said. “The Northland to Moosonee a few years back. He'd never
been above the tree line. He was like a kid; he could hardly contain his glee. We had us some fine conversations.”

Japheth, lost in memories, was tamping down a new wad of tobacco in his pipe. “I had a feeling he'd like it at Ghost Lake. I said to him, ‘There, if anywhere, is a place a man could get his bearings.' You see, when I met him on the Northland, I thought, this is a man who needs to find his bearings. I told ‘im that, too. Yessir.”

“Well, he sure found it nice,” said Burl.

“He did, did he?” Japheth was lighting his pipe now. He seemed to glow with pride.

“He loved it there,” said Burl. “Being alone.”

“Yes, he talked about that. Solitude. He talked about it the way a man who doesn't have much of it might talk. Me, I got solitude comin' out my ears.”

Burl had to smile. Japheth seemed glad to see this. “Out my ears,” he repeated. He started scratching at the straggly hair on his neck. There was something else on his mind.

“This fire. How bad was it?”

Burl took a deep breath. “The whole cabin. To the ground.”

Japheth nodded as if maybe he'd seen a camp burn down in his day. “But it was just the cabin?”

“Yes,” said Burl.

“No forest fire?”

“No, sir.”

Japheth seemed relieved. “I have a modest little camp of my own,” he said.

“Up on the rise,” said Burl. “I saw it.” “How was it?”

“It was in apple-pie order,” said Burl, happy to have something good to report.

“Apple-pie order.” Japheth liked the sound of that. “Son, I've scratched and picked at just about every square acre of
rock in this whole beloved province, and there ain't a nicer spot than that little piece of heaven. Not one. Not nowhere.”

The train was blowing its horn like mad. Burl looked out the window to see where they were, but they were still speeding through nowhere. He had no idea how long it would be before they arrived in Presqueville.

Japheth cleared his throat. He was leaning forward, pipe in one hand, a box of matches in the other. He cocked an eyebrow at Burl.

“Let me tell you, Burl,” said Japheth. “I find places you can dig up and pluck out a peck of gold or a truckload of copper or any of a number of valuable things like that old Mother Earth parked here and there in her great big bountiful body. But, you see, I also needed a place
not
to dig up, if you get my meaning. A place where nothing happened. So when I met your Mr. Gow on that Northland and saw the pickle he was in and the happiness he was capable of, I told him—go ahead, be my guest. Build yourself a tidy little place. Write yourself a symphony, paint a picture. Whatever. See, Burl, I wanted some artist there who'd mine some of that beauty, if you know what I mean.”

Burl looked out the window at the bush draped in white, lit by a fattening moon. What Japheth said had made him happy and then suddenly glum. “It looks pretty bad,” he said.

Japheth had got his pipe going. He dropped his matches back in his pocket. “Well, that is too bad about the camp.” He made it sound as if Burl had said they broke a window or two, scorched the counter.

“It's burnt to a crisp,” said Burl, louder and more clearly.

Japheth nodded vigorously. He understood, but he seemed only marginally concerned. He frowned a bit as he worked through something.

The train thundered over a level crossing. The first they had come to. The highway up to Timmins. Outside the warning bells clanged, and the lights on the gates flashed, though there were no cars on this stretch of highway. It would not be long to Pharaoh. And then, another few minutes and they would be in Presqueville.

Japheth Starlight gazed out the window. Burl caught his eye in the reflection on the glass. He looked hard back at Burl's reflection, as though he were not a boy but a hunk of granite that might contain some valuable metal, and he was judging whether it was worth the effort to dig. Whether there was enough inside. “You're having some trouble with this, aren't ya?”

Now Burl felt sure he was going to cry again, like when he'd picked up the burnt title page of the Revelation. If he started, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop.

“That place was the only time I was ever happy,” he said. “Now it's wrecked.”

“Nonsense,” said Japheth. “This fire of yours mutilated a man's leg, and that's no joke. But he looks like a tough bugger. He'll pull through. And this fire of yours destroyed Mr. Gow's property, right? But he's dead.”

Burl nodded disconsolately.

“So let me get this straight. The bush didn't catch on fire. And the lake didn't get burned up. Am I right?”

Burl frowned, as if he was being made fun of.

“Great,” said Japheth, looking pleased. He was counting off on his fingers the things that had not happened. “And this fire of yours didn't burn a great big open pit, did it? No. So what was lost was something that had been taken in there. Nothing of the place itself was destroyed. Is that what you're telling me?”

“I guess so,” said Burl.

“Well, then,” said Japheth, leaning back in his chair.

“What're you so upset about?”

Burl closed his eyes, too tired to argue.

“Oh, horseballs, kid. I'm not a fool. But let me rest your mind easy on something. Whatever the authorities have to say, Japheth Starlight isn't gonna grouse about it. I'm not much on material possessions. I like to know where my next meal is coming from. And I like a clean set of sheets to slide between once in a while after I've been out in the bush a long bit. I like a pipe and a beer with a friend and a tot of rye to warm up my innards when the north wind is having one of its bad days and wants everyone to know about it. I'm going to head on down to Sudbury tonight and have me a fine little holiday for a few days. Visit some friends.

“I think it's sad to see people crying over things. Now maybe you've lost something I don't know about. But I wouldn't cry about a camp. The place is still there.”

It was then that Burl broke down. There had never been time. There had always been the next day to consider. There had been no room for grief in his life, though grief always seemed to be circling around just outside his door. He seemed to spend most of his energy keeping it at bay. He couldn't do that now.

He cried for Laura gone so long. He cried for the Maestro. He cried for his father. He cried for his mother.

There was just too much of it all of a sudden. His barricades caved in. Grief kicked a hole in his carefully laid dam and there was a lake's worth of tears ready to spill out.

At some point a handkerchief was thrust into his hand. He felt his blankets rearranged on his shoulders and a hand rubbing his back. He struggled to gain possession of himself.

The circle of faces was there again. The prospector. The soup man. Gabe, the conductor. Burl sniffed and wiped his nose, his eyes.

“A lot of people get like that when they talk to japheth too long,” said Gabe. The trio laughed a bit.