homeward bound 2

        "Seems like yesterday." The retired major inhaled the channel air as if it were fine Dutch tobacco.
        "What does?" Hank tried to decifer the man.
        "The day we first stood together against the bloody bastards. You may not recall me. But I was there too. What a magnificent day!"
         After a fresh study Hank recalled a similar man, younger then, and rugged as rail timber, with a wilderness of auburn hair tamed only by razor and clippers. A Royal Canadian, his cunt cap rakishly shelved beneath an epaulet. He stood resolutely, daring any piss-eyed logger or hired goon to confront him. Army sleeves rolled up, corded forearms and stone knuckles, ready to brawl.
        "Yes," Hank replied. "You stood beside me by that damned bulldozer. Tell me, were you disciplined for being in uniform?"
        "I was. Everything has its price."
        Hank kicked himself. Obviously the man never was to rise above major in the ranks.
        "Spot of java?" Hank asked, piloting Naismith Bowdoin toward the salon.


                                                                                   *


        Bowdoin suggested they vacation together for a week. Camping in the old-growth forest at Port Clements in the Queen Charlotte Islands. To Naismith's surprise Hank confessed he had never visited the famous golden spruce. The K'lid K'iyass. Old Tree.
        "We'll pitch a tidy camp on the bank of the Yakoun River and visit the tree," Naismith grinned, toothy as a beaver. "This Sitka spruce lacks eighty percent of a normal allotment of chlorophyll. Instead of green, it's golden yellow. I guarantee it will take your breath away."


                                                                                     *


        A couple of hours after Hank left for Vancouver, Bernice began feeling as golden as the Old Tree. And as if the here-to-fore quiet part of her soul suddenly had something to say, it said: "Be at peace. I will be with you always."
        How odd, she thought. This inner voice doesn't come from my intelligence. It is purely cognitive and new. Is the end of Me nigh?
        Mentally she began to sob.
        i don't want to die.
        i don't want to die.
        I DON'T WANT TO DIE.


                                                                                     *


         Hank arrived home late. He drove the Rover into the portico where leaves had blown upon the oil slick. With the engine off, he could hear music playingi inside the cabin. Something Gorecki by the Kronos Quartet. He found Bernice asleep in his sawed-off stumplegged rocking-chair. An aura of peace radiated from her face, and it almost seemed she wore a halo.