6 Táan

 

Hecate Strait. Jul 9 2033

54°00'19.6"N 131°41'06.5"W

 

Dot pressed herself against the boulders, trying to stay out of the breeze. Her damp clothing had sucked the remaining warmth from her limbs and she hugged the grungy life-jacket to her chest with shaking hands. The slim crescent of moon offered little illumination, but the stars were bright and plentiful. She watched their reflections glimmer on the waves and squinted her eyes, allowing the flickers to blur into an undulant light-show. A small movement brought her attention back to the injured man lying nearby. Dot looked over to where he rested, and as her eyes refocused, she detected his silhouette in the darkness. The raincoat had slipped off his torso while he slept. Reaching over the top of his briefcase, she pulled the jacket over his shoulders, tucking the sleeves underneath him to fix it in place. The flimsy coat wasn’t much for warmth, but it did help keep off the chilly air that blew across the strait. Huddling amid the rocks, Dot thought about her friend Táan. What had he been doing yesterday when she left? She remembered watching him tote crab pots down to his family’s boat as she readied her sails. He’d waved goodbye to her from shore as she coasted into the bay. Dot guessed he would’ve spent most of his day prepping gear. She hoped that he’d stayed on the beach through the afternoon—after all, Táan was the only person, other than herself, who understood Saka’s behavior. If Táan wasn’t near the bay when Saka arrived, then her plan would have failed.

She considered her situation; if no one showed up to rescue them, she would have to leave the injured man alone and go back for help—and she doubted that he would be alive when she returned. If she chose to remain with him until a passing boat came along then she would surely run out of water and food. What if we’re spotted by a Mossie before any help arrives? Dot shook off her fears, Saka would come through; she was certain of it. And Táan would show up… he was always there for her—ever since she’d arrived ten years ago as a scared, lonely girl. Why should this time be any different? She pulled the life-jacket tighter to her chest and burrowed her head into the foam. Get some rest and forget about what might come… after all, tomorrow always takes care of itself. She closed her eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.

 

Startled awake by the sound of scraping rocks, Dot stumbled to her feet. A brilliant light flashed across her face and from somewhere in the darkness she heard a familiar voice. “Kijii—is that you?” Táan’s face appeared over the ridge of boulders. The glare from his torch cast wraith-like shadows across the angles of his cheekbones, his dark eyes sparkled beneath thick brows. Upon hearing the word “Kijii”—a nickname that only Táan would use—she ran toward him, throwing her arms around his neck. Táan’s hair hung in damp strands and his jacket was covered in dew. “Whoa—Careful there!” He steadied himself and grasped Dot’s upper arms. “What happened? Did you run aground—are you hurt?” Dot shook her head and pointed towards the man lying on the rocks. She stepped back, giving Táan enough room to see the wounded man. Táan shook his head and gave a low whistle, “Whoa, this guy doesn’t look so good.” He squatted beside the unconscious man and lifted the raincoat. “Who is he?” Looking up, he asked, “Has he moved at all?” Again, Dot shook her head no. She knelt to pick up the leather case, holding it under the torch light so that Táan could read the name.

At that moment, Monk returned, landing on the boulder with a solid thud. Táan chuckled, “Well, well, you old trickster, I should’ve guessed you’d be involved in this mess somehow.” Monk turned to preen his feathers, clucking softly to himself. Táan rose and flashed the torch back toward the beach. Dot’s eyes followed the beam of light, to where his boat bobbed near the shore. She made several gestures with her hands—a flat motion, then fists cupped as if to carry something. Pointing to his boat, she gave Táan a questioning look. He bit his lower lip in thought and replied, “Yeah, we could probably use one of the hatch covers to carry him down there. It’ll be tricky with just the two of us though.” He paused for a moment and then said, “Look, I’m going to check out what I’ve got onboard… Straps, maybe some line. Can you try and wake him up, Kijii? I’d feel a lot better about moving this guy if he could let us know if we’re hurting him.” Dot nodded yes. She bent down and gently tapped the wounded man’s shoulder. The man muttered softly, but didn’t open his eyes. Dot shook his shoulder as strongly as she dared, the man groaned in pain.

The sky gradually changed from black to indigo. As Dot scanned the strait, she listened for the sound of engines. No trackers—for now at least. She bundled her supplies into the rain jacket and laid them next to the unconscious man. Táan returned, carrying a long plywood panel and several coils of webbing. “OK, here’s what I’ve got—it ought to work. We’ll find out soon enough, I guess.” Táan lifted the man’s torso as Dot slid the panel under his back. The man cried out several times but tolerated the movement. They secured the straps around his chest and knees and then lifted him over the rocks. Táan backed down the rocky embankment and Dot followed, carrying the head of the board. By the time they reached the shoreline, daybreak was upon them. Dot steadied the board as Táan climbed into the boat. They leveraged the foot-end onto the bulwarks and slid the entire panel inboard, then Táan balanced it as Dot climbed over the rails. “That’s good, Kij’. I can get some tie-down straps around him to keep the thing from sliding all over the place on our trip back.” Now that the hard part was over, Dot shivered as perspiration compounded her damp clothes. Táan noticed her shaking and said, “Hey—you’ve gotta be frozen solid. Go get my sweater from the wheelhouse before you pass out from hypothermia or something.”

Dot found his sweater and grabbed a fleece blanket off the floor where Táan’s dog, Archer usually slept. The fleece was covered in white fur, but she figured the injured man wouldn’t object to a few dog hairs at this point. Once everything was lashed down, Táan looked over at the sailboat. “I’m betting that you’re in no shape to sail that thing right now, are ya?” She shook her head and motioned to the bowline. “Yeah, we’ll tow her home. But I think we’d better leave plenty of space between us. It might get a little lumpy once we’re in Dixon.”

Dot jumped down and walked over to where she’d secured her line. Pushing her little vessel back into the water, she led it over to Táan’s boat. He took the line from her and made it fast on a cleat. As the engine warmed, Dot threw the jacket with her belongings on deck and climbed back aboard. “You ready to go home?” Táan called out. Nodding an emphatic yes, Dot sat down next to him in the wheelhouse. The engine’s low hum soon lulled Dot to sleep and her head fell against Táan’s knee. A short time later, she was startled awake by a tap on her arm. Blinking in the glare, Dot looked up at her friend. Táan had one hand on the wheel, his faded green trucker’s hat sat crookedly on his head. He’d pushed his black hair behind his ears and donned the sunglasses he only wore when on his boat. He smiled down at Dot and gestured toward starboard, saying, “Wake up Kijii, look who’s here—he must have wanted to make that sure that I found you.” Dot scrambled up, looked out the window and spotted Saka’s unmistakable dorsal fin. She opened the wing door and went on deck. Wind whipped her hair as she leaned over the railing. The whale surfaced with a gigantic spray and slapped his tail against the water before submerging. Dot rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of Táan’s sweater and smiled. Good job, Saka. Thank you.

 

The trek into town had been arduous. They had to pause every few minutes for Dot to rest and reposition her hands. Táan led the way, bearing the heaviest end and Dot tried her best to match his pace. Her fingers threatened to lose their grip on the thin plywood but she held on as tightly as she could. Regardless, the injured man’s body kept sliding toward her as they trudged along.

By early afternoon, they’d arrived in Old Massett. Several people came out of their homes and offered to help carry the litter. Soon enough, there were a dozen able-bodied hands transporting the man to Doc Gravin’s place. Dot surrendered her job and walked behind the procession—her reserves depleted. Curious on-lookers called out; wondering who the stranger was and how he’d been injured. Táan simply shrugged and yelled back, “No clue.”

By late afternoon, a considerable crowd had gathered in the back yard of Doc’s house. Neighbors chatted in small groups about the newcomer, each offering their own theory about where he’d come from. Dot sat on the back porch and dozed as Táan fielded questions. Ol’ Pa walked up to Doc’s fence and called out, “What’s all this excitement about? Where’s my granddaughter?” At the sound of Chanáa’s raspy voice, Dot sprang off the porch steps and sprinted across the lawn, hugging him as he reached the gate. “Glad to see you back home safely, Dottie,” he said. “I knew you’d be alright, resourceful girl that you are. Now, you get on back to the house—Marta’s warming you up a meal. I need to talk with Táan for a few minutes and then I’ll be right behind you. Go on now—get.” Ol’ Pa gave her a hard squeeze before pushing her out the gate.

Marta, dressed in the clothes she wore the previous day, waited for Dot at the doorway. She held a plate of cabbage, biscuits and leftover rabbit stew in her hands. Dot bounded up the steps and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Finally, I was so worried about you!” Marta exclaimed, handing Dot the plate. “Sit yourself down for goodness sake and eat something.” Dot accepted the food and plunked down on the front steps. Marta leaned against the post and watched her devour the food, noting how sunburned the girl’s nose and cheeks had become and wishing that she’d made her wear a hat. Poor Dot was the only fair-skinned person in their community and sunscreen was not a commodity anyone else ever thought about. Marta asked, “Do you want me to get some vinegar for your face?” Dot wrinkled her nose and shook her head. Marta’s vinegar remedy was a smelly solution to sun exposure and Dot despised it. She couldn’t bear to smell like pickled kelp—she knew her friends could smell it on her skin and it made her feel different—separated from them. She knew it was just Marta’s way of mothering her, but she couldn’t wait until the day when her all of freckles would blend together and her complexion would be the same butterscotch brown as everyone else’s.

Marta stepped to the far end of the porch, looked toward Doc’s house and said, “I hear that the man you found over by Tow Hill was Asian—is this true?” Dot nodded as she placed a forkful of rabbit in her mouth. Marta was silent for some time. She crossed her arms and said, “Someone in Skidegate said that the fetchers were looking for an overdue boat. I’m pretty sure they said it was one of the snakehead’s shipments.” Setting her plate aside, Dot looked up at Marta with concern. Everyone knew the snakehead boats were notorious for their callous handling of immigrants. The presence of a snakehead boat in the islands always seemed to attract the Mossies—like bears to honey, as Ol’ Pa would say. Suddenly, everything about the shipwrecked man made sense to Dot and she felt lucky that there had been no trackers patrolling the east side of the island yesterday. “Do you think this man will survive?” Marta moved to sit down beside her adopted daughter and made a concerted effort to sound off-handed as she continued. “Because… If he lives, that is, we’ll probably have to hide him somewhere until we can remove his chip. No need to bring any trackers this way.”

Ol’ Pa walked up the pathway, bringing Táan with him. “Hey Marta, you got any more of that rabbit in the kitchen? I brought home another hungry sailor,” he said.

“There’s a bite or two left maybe.” She pulled herself up and went toward the door. “Have a seat, I’ll bring you out a plate.”

Táan smiled and thanked Marta. Following Ol’ Pa onto the porch, he tugged at Dot’s curls and winked as he passed her. “Hey Kij’, the doc says you found that guy in the nick of time—he probably wouldn’t have made it another day out there.” Táan unbuttoned his flannel shirt and wiped his hands on the white tee he wore underneath. “I guess that makes you some sort of hero now.”

Marta reappeared, passed a plate over to Táan and handed Dot a cup of salal tea. Pulling another chair over to the little table, she gestured for the young man to sit. Dot relished the look of pride on Marta’s face as Táan described Saka’s antics in the bay that led him to go search for them, explaining how they’d transported the injured man back to town. Marta and Ol’ Pa discussed when the man might be moved and where he should be kept until then. Ol’ Pa informed them about the meeting that had been convened for that evening. Eventually, Táan’s mother and his little brothers came over from across the street and asked to hear the story retold. Dot leaned against the railing and dozed, listening to the voices around her.

 

Later that day, as the rest of the town gathered at the longhouse, Dot excused herself and went for a walk. She hiked for several miles toward the wide beaches of Haida’s northern shore. The sun began to sink behind the horizon as she climbed the last dune. Reaching the summit, Dot saw the skeletal framework of a hull near the shoreline. A decade of exposure to the elements left only its weathered frames and rusted keel resting atop some boulders. Dot sat down on the crest of the dune. She wrapped her arms around her knees and watched the coral skies blend to amethyst behind the wreck of the Dottie Rose.