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Great Writing - Home > SF > Under a Mastic Tree — part two
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Science Fiction and Fantasy
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| Under a Mastic Tree — part two | |
| By andybyers | ||||||
| 19 March 2008 | ||||||
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This story is set in Brandon, Manitoba, about fifty or sixty years from now. This is the second part of three. There was a frost, and that was good; it always set a few mines off, all on their own. Sometimes at night, Cameron could hear them in the distance. They were like echoes from his grandfather’s time. In truth, that was exactly what they were. At dawn, he slipped from the apartment and headed east. East was where his family—if any of them were watching—would expect him to go to as the harvest finished up. Once he was out of sight, though, he headed north, where other crops, planted long before, waited. He was two years too young to be doing work like this. But the contract men weren’t really particular. If you said you were 18, and you could pass for 18, that was all they cared about. And so long as his family never learned the truth, that was all that mattered, too. Cameron gathered with the men and boys. They stood at the point to which they had cleared the day before. Waiting for his assignment, he looked the rows up and down. Desperate, hungry men, most of them. Drifters, placeless men looking to earn enough money to move on, or else to earn the mistake than would end their need for food, money, or anything else. Then there were the familiar faces, men and young men he knew from Brandon. Some of their names he knew, but it was an unstated rule that you didn’t go out of your way to cultivate friends among minesweepers. The foreman rubbed his hands in the cold dampness of morning. “Okay, newcomers, line up here,” he barked. Cameron paced passed him, having been through this some months before. He watched a handful of men and boys form a ragged, defeated line before the man. “Everything between the stakes,” he told them. “The parameter is a hundred meters across. What you’re working on, if you don’t know, is the TransCanada. This is a re-opening effort. We have a 25 kilometer stretch to sweep before mid-November. We don’t make that, you don’t make your bonuses. That’s how it works. You don’t make your stretch for the day, we yank you for someone on the fields tomorrow. Plenty of guys want to sweep this stretch if you don’t. So pay attention to what you’re doing and move along. Don’t dawdle. And don’t step on a mine because the detectors aren’t cheap.” That provoked a few nervous chuckles from the men that were quickly stifled when they saw the foreman was in earnest. Cameron took his place in the road. The men were arranged two meters apart, the second line five meters behind the first, and the third five meters back still. This was done such that no two men would be close enough together to be killed by the same mine if — when — someone set one off. One of the newcomers, a tall blond man of advancing middle age, stepped up on his left. The man looked Cameron over with disturbing directness; hardly appropriate in someone who had just arrived. “You seem a little young for this,” the man said, stunning Cameron. “What do you know about it?” Cameron snapped. The man shrugged. “I guess you have your reasons. I didn’t mean any offense.” Cameron grunted, attempting to project a disdain that he had only partially mastered in reality. One of the foreman’s assistants walked the line, tapping men. “One, two, three, one, two, three,” he said, assigning them to their line. Cameron’s guts knotted as he as assigned a one. “Do you want to trade places?” the new man murmured to him. Preceding Cameron, his number was three. Cameron turned to him. Nearly said yes. Instead, he growled, “I’m not scared.” The man nodded. “Ones, forward!” the foreman barked. Cameron turned on his detector. A drummer at the side of the road beat out the pace, slow and steady. Cameron concentrated on the clicks, moving the detector slowly back and forth in his sweaty palms, the flags digging into his side in his jacket. The foreman called the second line to action, and then the third. The morning dragged on with the sun passing in and out of the clouds, timed to the drum and the click of the peaceful earth before him, then below him. They had managed perhaps a hundred meters; already his stomach pestered him with the approach of the lunch break. And suddenly he was on his face, sprawled in the dirt. His head was ringing; he could taste and smell his own blood. Oh my God, he thought. There was no pain, or not what he’d expected. Was it like this for Dave? But his lips hurt, and his knees, and his hands. It took him a moment to realize he had not stepped on a mine. Someone else had. Gingerly, he turned over. Five yards behind him was a hole surrounded by debris that had once been a man. Cameron vomited with revulsion… and then fear. He turned, looking up the range. His detector was three or four meters ahead, tumbled into the unmarked zone. He looked back at the men behind him, gathered around the dead man. He shook with fear. The foreman was barking orders and commanding everyone to fall back and reform the line. Cameron could not move. The foreman howled, but Cameron lay on his elbows, petrified. The new man who had offered his spot stepped from the swarm of men, his detector in front of him. “Stay there,” he said. “I’ll make sure it’s safe.” The foreman ordered the man back, but was ignored. Grumblings from the other men around the corpse suggested to the foreman he would do well to be quiet. Cameron trembled, watching the man approach, making his way slowly forward. Cameron had swept his own way clear, but only two meters wide. A foot placed outside that narrow strip risked death, and they all knew it. It was confirmed when the man paused, crouched, and planted a flag in the path the dead man would have crossed only moments later. The man reached Cameron. “Okay, I’m here. We can get back. Come on.” He coaxed Cameron to his feet, telling him, “Hold onto my belt.” The foreman urged him to get Cameron’s detector while he was at it. The new man just glared at him as he led Cameron back to the safety of the third line. The others applauded, slapping the new man on the back. The foreman came to them, a bit castigated, but he warned them, “We have rules, we have procedures. You disobey another instruction and you’re both off the crew without pay. Do you understand me?” Cameron and the man indicated that they did. “Alright, lunch,” the foreman barked, turning away. It was an unusually long lunch, as it was bound to be in the wake of a man’s violent demise; dismemberment and thoughts of mortality providing few of the men with much in the way of an appetizer. In the meantime, a sandlot baseball game chose up sides, and Cameron sat with the new man like an empty vessel having its usual contents slowly poured back into it. “I didn’t thank you, did I?” Cameron said, finally. “It’s alright. You’ve been through a lot.” “It’s not the first time I’ve seen… that…” Cameron told him. “But…” “First time in back of you. Yeah, no one expects that. Do you have a name, son? Mine’s Rob.” “I’m Cameron,” he said, and they shook hands. “And thank you. Really.” “It’s alright,” Rob said. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” Rob nodded. “I’ve been sweeping for about… oh, four years now, I think. On and off.” “Wow. I started in the spring.” Rob nodded, watching the other men begin to toss the ball. “Do your folks know you’re sweeping?” Cameron resented Rob asking, treating him again like a boy. “My dad’s in a camp out west,” he said, simply. “Oh,” Rob said. “I’m sorry.” “Somebody’s got to get him out,” Cameron said, tossing a stone into the tall prairie grass. “Do you know how much they want?” Cameron sighed. “Five hundred.” Rob whistled. “Your dad must have been trying to po— To get oil work.” “You can say it,” Cameron said. “Poach. He didn’t have a permit and they weren’t going to give him one.” “How long’s he been away?” “Nearly a year. Around the end of the winter we got the notice. They picked him up in a truck with a dozen other guys inside Calgary East Mark. So that’s where he is… Detcamp CEM.” “Five hundred. Even sweeping, that’d take a while.” “I’ve got most of it,” Cameron said, letting his pride show through. “How much?” Cameron eyed Rob. “Most.” Rob nodded. He sighed. “You make me wonder what my sons are doing.” “Do you see them much?” Rob shook his head. “I send what I can to their mother. We all came to a mutual realization they were better off without me, though.” The scent of grilled meat wafted past them. Rob got to his feet. “Come on, we’d better grab something while the grabbing’s good.” “You go ahead, I don’t think I could.” Rob said. “Come on, Cameron. You aren’t going to last long swinging that thing all afternoon without something in you. I know it’s rough, but that’s the job. You gotta eat, son.” Rob offered his hand. “At least try.” Cameron took Rob’s hand and let Rob help him up. As it turned out, his appetite returned, sparked by the greasy chicken on offer. The afternoon dragged on, but finally the drumming stopped. Cameron found Rob heading for the camp for the itinerates. It was in his heart to ask the man home, at least for supper, but he knew deep down no one in his family would believe such a man, a stranger to town, would have arrived just to pull vegetables. The jig would be up. They spoke as they lined up to be paid. The comptroller said, “Foreman’s docking you each five for insubordination. You got anything to say about it, say it to him. But you can expect to stay home from now on if you do.” And that was that. Cameron sighed over his light pay. “Don’t let it get you down. It’s just one day,” Rob advised him. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Cameron said. “Yeah. See you bright and early, Cameron,” Rob nodded. In the fading light, Cameron made his way back along the safe trail along the TransCanada to 1st Street, and headed south. He stopped by the tree to deposit the cash, and then made his way home. Late for having lingered with Rob, Cameron found Dave was already home. There was a pensive air as he entered. “Hey, everyone… is anything wrong?” His mother said, “Cameron, didn’t you say you were working at Weiss’s?” “Yeah…” Dave said, “Cammy, I processed a document today that mentioned that Carl Weiss died last April.” For the second time that day, Cameron’s heart raced with fear. But after what he had gone through earlier, he was well and truly steeled. Without a hint of a tremor, he said, “Yeah, he did. Somebody else took it over.” “Who?” his mother asked. Hanging up his coat, Cameron shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t care. As long as they pay me, and they do. I never saw Mr. Weiss when he was alive, either.” “Well, alright,” his mother said, turning back to the stove. Dave and Granddad just exchanged looks, and Granddad nodded softly. Rob didn’t seem to mind sharing his lunch hours with Cameron. It even seemed to lend Cameron some credibility with the older men, sitting in and hearing their stories, laughing at their ribaldries, drinking up the zeitgeist of manhood in his times. Cameron began to look forward to the day’s work in a way he never had previously. Somehow, his mother had managed to get hold of lamb, and had prepared a lamb stew. In the cold, wet air of late autumn, it was ambrosia to Cameron. He wondered if it would be to Rob, too. “Mom,” he said, “I have a chance to help with work on some of the farm equipment this evening. Do you think I could get some of this in the thermos? I’m going to be a few hours.” “Of course, honey,” she told him. And with a wave, he set out into the chilly darkness. He found Rob at a card game. The inducements of a rare home-cooked meal were enough to separate Rob from the game, and another fellow quickly took Rob’s vacated seat. Cameron beamed with pride as Rob savoured his mother’s stew in the dubious comfort of the small, drafty tent that served him as home. He savoured it, making it last. “Honest to God, Cameron,” he said, “it’s the best thing I’ve tasted in… I really don’t know how long. Thank you.” He closed his eyes, concentrating the whole of his being on the rare indulgence. “You make me wish I could tell my mom just how much you’re enjoying it. You’d have her blushing.” “She deserves every second of that blush.” Rob chuckled. “I used to hate turnip, but if it’s not straight off Heaven’s table now, I don’t know what is.” “I guess it’s been a while,” Cameron said, softly. “Well, four years,” Rob reminded him. Cameron sighed. “I really wish I could bring you home, Rob. I just don’t think they’d buy that you were digging potatoes.” “This late in the year, are they still buying that about you?” “For now. I’ll tell them something else in a week or two.” “Well, maybe then, huh?” Rob laughed. “Nice of me to invite myself to dinner.” “You are invited. Just as soon as I can make them believe we work together.” Rob picked at the last few morsels. “You’re a good kid, Cameron. Brought up right.” “We have a good family. Well… we did.” Rob nodded. Cameron looked into the lamplight. “It’s not really Dave’s fault. He just wanted to make more money. Like I do. But then he stepped on that mine…” Rob was quiet. Cameron went on. “That’s really how it started. Dave’s money helped us move where we are. A nicer place. But then he had the accident.” He sighed. “My dad… he was working for the district. Industrial reclamation.” He met Rob’s eyes with pride, saying, “My dad is part of the reason farmers here can get their crops on the trains to Winnipeg now. He helped that happen. But when Dave got hurt… Dad had to make a deal with some people. It cost so much. That’s why he went to Alberta. The oil patch. And now he’s in that camp. They saved my brother… but with Dad gone, it’s going to take us years.” Rob shook his head slowly. He said, “There was a time… I guess still even when I was born… when a man didn’t need a permit to go work the oil fields. He just went. They belonged as much to someone here as to someone right on top of them, if only he got up off his ass. Now, though, everyone owns their own little square of dirt and no one wants to share. Unless they get paid for the privilege.” “It’s all China’s fault,” Cameron growled. “Chinks. I wish there was one here now… I’d roll him down the highway and use him to clear the mines.” Rob rubbed his chin. “Well… Cameron… I’ll tell you. I’ve done some reading and I know they had a rough time of it once. Back then the shoe was on the other foot. I guess we can’t really fault them for finally kicking back one day. Not really.” “You’re sticking up for them?” “I’m just saying… most of them were just people. Kids, not much older than you. I guess a few were fanatics; there’s always some who are in any crowd. But I think most of them were just doing what they were told. I don’t think most of them wanted to be here. Not really. Fighting and dying on a lot of flat, frozen tundra, ten thousand miles away from everyone and everything they ever gave a shit about…” “But they came here. And we didn’t want them here.” “Do you think your dad wanted to leave, Cameron? Do you think those oil folks wanted him there?” “That’s different,” Cameron snarled. “Maybe. Maybe. But to me, it kind of looks like having to do something you don’t want against the wishes of other people because you feel like you don’t have a choice. I think you can stand up for what’s yours but still feel sorry for the other fellow.” Rob just gave a soft nod and was quiet for a moment, taking a gulp of his coffee. He said, “Your father is a brave man, Cameron. I can see why you love him so much.” Cameron looked up. “Just like you, I guess... Looking after your family out here.” Rob looked down. “You miss them,” Cameron said. “I deserve to.” Rob picked at the stew, not eating for the moment. He said, “I used to drink, Cameron. A lot. Every day. It just seemed to make life brighter. I didn’t see that I had all the light a man really needs in the faces all around me. Or that I was taking away their light.” “But you stopped, right?” “I’m not a good man like your father,” Rob said. “I drank the jobs I got. I had a boy… younger than you. I guess he’s a little older than you now, though. Name’s Bill. One night when I came home he just hauled up and told me off. Put me in my place. He had every right. I was a shitty husband and a shitty father, and he said so.” Cameron’s mouth dropped open. “He did? I can’t imagine.” “From the sounds of your father, you never had to.” He looked away. “We got into a fight. I broke his arm. I broke his arm…” Rob’s eyes glistened; he set his jaw so firmly that Cameron grew afraid that he would hear the man’s teeth shatter. Rob took a deep breath. “That’s when I left. I knew I had to.” There was silence in the tent. Elsewhere, men laughed, shouted, called out hands of cards and playfully cursed one another. Cameron said, “But you love them, right?” “More than anything.” “And you quit drinking?” Rob swirled his coffee, staring down into it. “Can’t quite shake that one, Cameron. Most of the time. But not all the time. And when I get the demon rum in me… I can do some terrible things.” “I’m sorry,” Cameron said. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.” Rob smiled. “It’s okay. It’s good to remember. It’s what keeps me right. And you’re a good friend.” “Really?” “That’s the God’s honest truth. If my sons are like you now, I’d be busting with pride just to know it.” Cameron sighed. Looked around. “Rob, you’ve been working on the TransCanada, right?” “Mostly. Well, a lot of the time.” “Is there still lots to do?” Rob laughed, scooping up the last of the stew. “Kid, the thing’s six or seven thousand kilometers long. We mined most of it when the Chinese invaded so they couldn’t use it. When the PLA retreated, they mined it so we couldn’t use it. Mines on top of mines. Must still be ten years worth of work to get it clear end to end.” “How much of it really has to be swept?” “All of it. You can’t take chances…” Rob set the thermos down and sat up, his eyes peering into the darkness as if he could pierce it and see beyond. “There are long, long stretches we never had time to desurface when the invasion happened. So you can see mile after mile of blacktop even now. Crumbling, breaking up, grass-grown, yeah. But still there. Ready for wheels. Except the Chinese… they had this great idea on the retreat. Find a hole, make a hole… plant a mine, tar it over. Looks like a road repair. But it’ll do worse to you than hitting some pothole if you drive over it. So there’s still lots and lots to do.” “And after we’re done here… are you going to head west?” “Probably. That’s where most of the work is. We’re pretty much cleared to the Lakehead at this point. Beyond that, it’s someone else’s job, really.” “Would you take me with you?” “What?” “My dad, Rob. I have to go get my dad out of the camps.” Rob stared at him, his features swimming in the dancing lamplight. “Cameron… Calgary is weeks and weeks away from here. Even without stopping to work. There are men out there. Dangerous men.” “I know that. That’s… that’s why I’m asking.” “Christ, kid… I don’t know.” “I wouldn’t hold you back. I promise. Rob… I don’t know if I… I don’t know if I’d make it. But I have to try. No one else can. Not my granddad. Not Dave with his one leg.” “I don’t know, Cameron. It’s against my better judgement. Why don’t you ask me again when we’re done here and it’s looking more realistic?” “Okay,” Cameron said. “But one way or another, I’m going to do it. Like that first day when I stayed in the first line.” Rob nodded. “I remember.” “I’m not a coward.” “No,” Rob said. “You’re a boy.” [End of part two]
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Yes, there's a third part, and it's just been posted. The whole thing was finished on the weekend after about four years of mulling it over (that first part's been sitting around pretty much all that time). I decided to break it up into three parts and present it over a few evenings rather than just drop it like a rock on people in one huge chunk.
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