DURING THE SECOND SUMMER after Duane’s arrival in the Very, Very Far North, he came across a ragged gray tent on the far side of the river. It was pitched upon a cliff that looked over the Cold, Cold Ocean. There were sturdy wooden boxes near the tent; there was a small rickety table and a chair; there was a lamp. But much more interesting, there was a man, as well.
He was tall and thin, this man, with a dollop of coarse white hair atop his head. He wore tweed pants with suspenders. He wore a long shirt with sleeves rolled up just below his elbows. Hanging from his mouth was a smoking pipe that curved off his bottom lip like the back of a snow goose. This man did not acknowledge Duane’s arrival because he was facing the water, squinting in the sunlight.
Duane was curious. Why was he was looking at the Cold, Cold Ocean with such intensity? Duane turned to look at the ocean too, but all he saw was what he always saw: namely, the ocean. Duane tried looking harder. The results were no different. Duane was confused. You see, he didn’t understand that the man was not just looking at the Cold, Cold Ocean but studying it, in all its rawness, unobstructed. Duane also didn’t know that the contraption standing beside the man was an easel, and the square of white sitting upon it was an empty canvas. The man, you may have guessed, was a painter.
“Will you look at that,” the man suddenly said.
Duane froze, uncertain whether the man was addressing him because he was still staring out at the water.
“I see midnight blue, persian blue, cornflower, powder, and sapphire. And whites? There’s porcelain, daisy, and pearl.” The man took a puff of his pipe before turning toward Duane. “What do you see?”
“What do I see?” asked Duane quietly, realizing now that he was indeed being included in the conversation.
“Yes,” said the man, with a sly smile. “What do you see out there, or over here, or anywhere around us? How does a polar bear such as yourself see this world?”
A polar bear such as myself, thought Duane, amused. He liked that expression. He began pointing in different directions as he spoke. “A polar bear such as myself sees tasty, juicy berries over there and delicious muffins over there.”
“Muffins?” asked the man.
“Yes. That’s where Twitch lives, and she is an excellent baker of muffins and other sweet goods. A polar bear such as myself likes eating tasty delicious things as often as I can.”
“Is that it?” asked the man, frowning. “Are your eyes only in your stomach?”
Eyes in my stomach, considered Duane. How odd an idea. But he could see the man’s point. If the world was nothing more than a map directing Duane to his next meal, then “eyes in his stomach” was an apt description. Duane considered the question further. What was the world to him? The world was big and mysterious. Duane, it seemed, learned one or two new things about the world every single day. Yet, the world also felt familiar, or if not familiar, then it felt right, as it should be. Even the surprises seemed as they should be. It was settled. Duane had an opinion. “A polar bear such as myself sees where he belongs.”
“Go on,” said the man, taking a puff from his pipe.
“I could, but it would be easier to explain during the winter,” said Duane.
“Why the winter?”
“Because with the winter comes the snow and ice. I am much more in my element then, as C.C. would say. Will you be here in the winter?”
“I dare say no,” said the man. “In winter, I would be very much out of my element here.”
“That’s a pity,” Duane added with sincere sadness. “You will miss the best time of the year.”
The man’s attention was suddenly drawn back to the ocean. He rushed behind his easel. “Look at that light. If I don’t get at it, I will miss the best time of the day as well.”
Duane was intrigued. “What is it that you are going to do?”
“Capture that ocean and put it right here on this canvas,” the man replied boldly, holding up the empty square of white.
Duane let out a laugh. It was not an impolite laugh because he genuinely thought the man was making a joke. “How silly!” said Duane, amused. “Imagine fitting the great big ocean into a little square.”
The man was not offended by the laughter. In fact, he smiled at Duane and gave him a wink. “Yes, just imagine.” Then he turned to his easel.
Duane watched him pick up a small, thin piece of wood and apply splotches of different colored goo along the border. Then he took a stick with bristles at one end and combined the colored goo together in the middle, creating new colors. Duane, led by his curiosity, stepped closer without even realizing it. He was mesmerized by what the man did next, which was to apply the colored goo onto the flat surface of the canvas. The man did it in long strokes and in dabs. He did it with thick lines and thin lines, lines fat with goo and lines that were mere shadows.
How curious, thought Duane, peering over the man’s shoulder. Shapes were emerging now, and not only shapes, but movement. There were waves cutting in one direction and waves pushing over them. Waves, right there, where there was nothing before! Duane had never seen a painting before. He had never seen one being created. He looked at the ocean and then he looked at the canvas. Then he studied the ocean and he studied the canvas. Duane’s jaw fell open. It was true. The man was capturing the ocean on the canvas. Duane looked out at the ocean for a third time, but now slightly to the left, and that was when Duane became very worried. Because in the direction he was now looking was the Shipwreck, and on the Shipwreck was C.C. If the man was capturing the ocean, then wouldn’t it stand to reason that he would capture everything in the ocean too, including C.C.?
“How long does it usually take you to do your capturing?” Duane asked.
“I would guess a few hours, if I hurry.”
Duane took little steps backward while he spoke. “Well, um, it was very nice to have met you, um, but I just remembered that I have to, um, what I mean is . . . bye.” He quickly turned and ran in the direction of the Fabulous Beach. He had to warn C.C. to get off the Shipwreck as soon as possible before it was too late.
In order to get to the Fabulous Beach, Duane first had to swim across the river, but when he reached the riverbank, there was Major Puff practicing his summertime outdoor marching while Twitch was doing deep-knee hopping exercises to keep her circulation moving.
“Hello, Duane!” Twitch waved happily. “Come join us for some exercise followed by crumpets.”
“I can’t, Twitch,” said Duane. “I really can’t.”
The refusal of crumpets stopped Major Puff mid-march. Duane had never refused a crumpet since they’d met. This behavior was quite out of the ordinary. “Who are you?” Major Puff demanded, stepping in front of the polar bear. “And why are you disguised as Duane?”
“What? No, I am Duane!”
“A Duane who refuses crumpets?” asked Twitch. “Not likely. Not in a million years. Duane would never turn down one of my crumpets, or two, or five. Begs the question, doesn’t it?”
“What question?”
“That if you are Duane, then it’s possible that you’ve had a bout of amnesia and do not remember who you are or your true feelings about crumpets. Just saying.”
“I repeat,” growled Major Puff while peering suspiciously up at Duane, ready for beak-to-paw combat, “who are you?”
Duane glanced nervously in the direction of the Cold, Cold Ocean and saw something that made him grow frantic with fear. Coming in from the east was thick fog. It was shrouding everything in a mist as blank as the canvas that the man was painting on. It’s started, Duane thought, completely misunderstanding what was happening. The ocean is getting captured in the canvas and leaving nothing behind in return. Eventually it will reach the Shipwreck and swallow it up.
Feeling slightly guilty for the insult he was about to commit, Duane simply stepped over Major Puff and ran directly into the river. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stop to explain! C.C. is in danger and I must warn her!”
Duane splashed onto his belly and began paddling across the river as fast as he could, leaving Twitch and Major Puff to stare at each other in confusion. When he reached the other side, he shook himself off. As exhausted as he felt, Duane pushed onward, up and over the river ridge and down the hilly path toward the Fabulous Beach. Coming up in the other direction were Handsome and Magic, apparently having an argument.
“There is absolutely no point in discussing this,” Handsome was insisting impatiently. “It’s like comparing snowballs to seaweed.”
“Oh, come on!” Magic responded, while falling dramatically on her back in utter disbelief. “It’s so obvious! You’d have to have your head stuck in an unlit fox hole not to see the difference.”
“That would be the most unlikely place I should choose to place my head. But even if I did, my opinion would remain steadfast.”
At this point, Magic spotted Duane rushing down the hilly path toward them. “Just the polar bear we need right now!” she shouted happily, jumping back on her feet. “We have a question, Duane.”
“No time to talk! No time to talk!” replied Duane, not stopping or even slowing.
“It will just take a second. Musk ox fur or fox fur—which is softer?”
“I don’t know,” Duane gasped while trying to squeeze past the two of them.
“Oh, come on!” insisted Magic. “It’s a simple question. Just tell Handsome that my fur is way softer than his.”
“I don’t know! I don’t care!” yelled Duane, causing both Handsome and Magic to raise an eyebrow. “C.C. is in danger of getting captured and I must warn her!”
Handsome and Magic watched as Duane continued to run down the hilly path toward the Fabulous Beach. By the time he disappeared behind a corner, Handsome looked at Magic and sniffed. “Well, obviously he was agreeing with my position.”
Meanwhile, Duane rushed through the grassy meadows and around the berry bushes and onto the Fabulous Beach in time to see the ocean fog moving ever closer to the Shipwreck. Oh dear, he thought. The man is working very quickly. The Cold, Cold Ocean will be completely gone soon.
Without stopping to catch his breath, Duane leaped into what was left of the Cold, Cold Ocean and paddled toward the Shipwreck. As he neared C.C.’s home, so too did the fog, coming from the other direction. From Duane’s perspective, it was as if a giant hand was thrusting out of the sky and stealing bits of the world he knew and cherished. And it occurred to Duane that if his effort was in vain, if he reached C.C. but not in time to get her away, then he would also be captured in the canvas. It was a frightening thought. But at least C.C. won’t be alone. We will be captured together. We’ll share memories of the Very, Very Far North to pass the time.
Duane swam through the gash in the bow of the Shipwreck. “C.C.!” he cried. “C.C., where are you?”
Duane ran up the rickety stairway and down the long corridor. “C.C.! We must get away or risk being captured!”
Duane reached the end of the corridor and pushed open the door to C.C.’s room, where C.C. herself was perched on the table, staring at Duane with annoyance. “I thought we agreed on knocking first before entering, Duane the polar bear.”
“I remembered that, C.C.; I remembered about the knocking before entering, and I apologize for not doing so, but it is terribly urgent!” gasped Duane, placing a paw onto the table to steady himself as he caught his breath.
“That is what I gather. Please inform me of what is so urgent.”
Instead of explaining, Duane became eerily silent because directly behind C.C. was the wall of windows, and Duane could see the white fog moving in. Within seconds, it had covered up the entire view of the ocean. “It’s too late, C.C.,” Duane whispered. “I’m too late.” His heart filled with the deepest sadness he had ever known. “I’m so sorry. I tried, but I failed. You’ve been such a good friend, C.C., but I wasn’t a good friend back.” And then Duane lifted his paws to his eyes and cried as pitifully as any polar bear has ever cried. “Boo-hoo-hoo!”
C.C., for her part, had not a clue what was going on. It was enough for her to keep up with Duane’s different emotions, studying them, naming them, and thinking about the proper way to respond to them. But on top of all that, she was trying to figure out what on earth he was so upset about. “Duane the polar bear, did you say something about being captured?”
Duane kept his paws overs his eyes while he continued to cry. “Yes, boo-hoo-hoo!”
“Who is capturing us?”
“The man, boo-hoo-hoo!”
“Which man are you referring to?”
“The one with the blank square and the hairy stick and all the colored goo, boo-hoo-hoo!”
I think this is an opportune time to acknowledge just how smart C.C. the snowy owl is. Had someone come up to you, blubbering about being captured by a man with a blank square and hairy stick and “all the colored goo,” you—or I, for that matter—would back away as fast as possible. But C.C. did not flinch, other than to tilt her head slightly to the side as she worked through all those cryptic clues. “Are you talking about a painter?”
Duane stopped crying. “Huh?” he asked, paws still covering his eyes.
“Come and look at this,” said C.C., returning to her large, heavy book and flipping through the pages with her wing.
Duane lowered his paws just enough for his wet, red eyes to peer over them and see what C.C. was doing. He sniffed. Then, because he was a polar bear of a curious nature, he moved over to where the owl was, despite the great sadness he still felt.
“Aha,” said C.C. pointing to the page beneath her. “Is this what you were talking about?”
There on the page was a drawing of a person standing at an easel and painting. It was not the same person as the man that Duane encountered, but Duane made the connection nonetheless. C.C. went on to explain that a painter didn’t actually capture the things being painted. That man may have been depicting the ocean on his blank square, but that didn’t mean it would affect the real ocean. To Duane’s great relief, this fact was confirmed when he looked up and saw through the wall of windows that the fog had lifted and the Cold, Cold Ocean was once again where it should be.
“So these pictures in your books were not always there? They were drawn by someone too?” Duane asked.
“Yes.”
“And the real things didn’t disappear after they were drawn.”
“Without a doubt,” replied C.C.
Duane let out a big sigh. “Phew. There are a lot of pictures in your books, including one of a polar bear. It scares me to consider what might have gone missing.”
With a much lighter heart, Duane took leave of C.C., making sure to close the door behind him. He swam back to land and walked up the hilly path to his cave, doing both at a leisurely pace. Although he was ready to call it a day after so much excitement and emotion, it suddenly occurred to Duane that he never saw the finished painting. So he turned in the direction of the man’s camping spot and made his way.
Upon reaching the far side of the river, there was Twitch and Major Puff, as well as Handsome and Magic in deep discussion. Spotting Duane, they immediately came forward.
“Your behavior earlier was less than exemplary,” Handsome scolded. “We believe an explanation is in order.”
“That is, if you actually are Duane and not a great black-backed gull in disguise, as Major Puff believes,” Twitch added.
Duane apologized to his friends and then proceeded to explain about the painter and his painting and what Duane thought was happening and then what was actually happening and that C.C. was completely safe the whole time.
“Oh my goodness, Duane!” exclaimed Magic, rolling her eyes very dramatically. “I can’t believe you thought that the ocean was going to disappear. I mean—really! How could you be so naive?” Magic was feeling quite superior at that moment, but I will tell you now that in truth, while Duane was relaying his story, she took three or more worried glances toward the ocean, making sure it was still there.
“I’m going to go over and see the finished painting now,” said Duane. “You are all welcome to join me.”
Curious about this painting and this stranger who made it, his friends did join him. But when they arrived at the cliff’s edge, the painting had not been completed. “The fog suddenly came in out of nowhere and blocked my view,” the man explained.
Duane smiled at this news. “As it should be,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else.
“I’ll have to try again tomorrow. In the meantime, I can show you my other work, if you’d like.”
The man opened one of his wooden crates and pulled out a half dozen paintings. There was one showing the river in the late evening, with a few stars twinkling in the purple sky. There was one showing the hills where Duane’s cave was, with a morning light washing them in an all too familiar golden hue. As the man displayed the paintings, Twitch made small comments.
“Ooh, yes.” She nodded. “That’s a good likeness. Ooh, and look, there’s our burrow, Major Puff! Very romantic setting, don’t you think? Just saying.”
After the viewing, thank-yous and goodbyes were exchanged. And just before Duane took leave, the man asked him, “Do you think that a polar bear such as yourself, and your friends, would mind if I came up here each summer to paint?”
“I shouldn’t think it a problem,” Duane answered. But then he hesitated because, as confident as he was that he understood C.C.’s explanation and felt assured that nothing would disappear in the process of painting, he wondered if there were other outcomes he should be concerned about. So he added, “As long as you leave the Cold, Cold Ocean where it is, after you’ve painted it, and you don’t move any of the mountains around or reshuffle the hills so that I can’t find my cave anymore. A polar bear such as myself likes to know where his home is.”
The man agreed, promising to leave everything how he found it.
Several weeks later, while Duane was on a walkabout, he met Sun Girl and the Pack in a stretch of flat, empty land. They stopped in the middle of the flat, empty land to chat. In their conversation, Duane told them about the man and his paintings. He described each one to the best of his memory. As he was doing so, Duane realized that he wasn’t as impressed with them as he was at first. “Something was missing from the pictures,” he tried to explain.
Sun Girl nodded in understanding. “You were missing. And your friends. And me.”
“And us,” the Pack added.
Duane knew that Sun Girl was right. The paintings showed the Very, Very Far North but no one within it. “Do you think he forgot to put us in?”
Sun Girl shrugged. “In any case, he should come here in the winter to make his pictures. We’re much more in our element then.”
About that, too, Duane knew Sun Girl was right.