Touching Spirit Bear (12 page)

C
OLE DROVE HIMSELF
hard after Edwin and Garvey left, staying busy every waking minute of each day. If he had to spend a whole year on this island, he had no intention of living like an animal. Each morning, he soaked in the pond and carried the ancestor rock. Afternoons, he worked improving camp. At night, he slept like the dead.

By the time Edwin visited next, Cole had built a table, a chair, and a bed frame for an old foam mattress that was part of his supplies. He made the furniture from driftwood, nails, and scraps left over from the cabin. He also started collecting armloads of firewood, cutting and splitting the wood with a small handsaw and hatchet, and stacking it in a straight pile against the cabin.

Over the top, he placed strips of leftover plywood and a tarp. For a bathroom, he dug a big hole up among the trees. When the hole filled, he would cover it with dirt and dig a new one. He didn’t
look forward to using it in the winter.

Edwin said little during his first visit. He eyed the pile of firewood and the furniture with approval. “Garvey flew back to Minneapolis,” he said as he crawled into his skiff to leave. “He was plenty worried about you.”

“If you talk to him,” Cole said, “tell him thanks again for the knife. I’ll carve something special.”

“What?”

Cole shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”

Edwin started the motor, backed away from the shore, and waved good-bye.

Cole watched the boat again until it blinked from sight. This time he didn’t feel the desperate loneliness and fear of four days earlier. It would not be easy, but he knew now that he could survive. Instead of returning to the cabin, he headed around the shoreline to hike and think.

Wandering along the grassy flats above shoreline a mile from camp, he came upon a huge driftwood log. The weathered white log had been worn smooth and was straight as a telephone post. It looked to be well over twenty feet long and almost two feet in diameter. Cole tried to imagine what kind of storm could wash such a big log up a dozen feet above the high-tide mark. He remembered all too well one storm that could have done it.

As he examined the huge log, an idea came to him. Back in Drake there had been a whole field filled with totem poles. Most had carvings of animals the same as the totem designs on the at.óow. Cole didn’t know what the figures meant, but he wondered if he could carve his own totem. Still he studied the log. There was something else this log would work for. The thought frightened him, and he pushed it out of his head. He would carve a totem, but how could he move the huge piece of wood?

Cole returned to camp and brought back two lengths of rope. He tied one to each end of the log. By tugging on one at a time, he rolled the log down over the rocks until it slid into the water. When he saw how high the log floated in the water, his mind again toyed with the idea that had scared him earlier. This log would make a great dugout canoe. It would make the perfect escape.

With the rope, Cole pulled the floating log slowly along the shoreline back to camp, using the last two hours of daylight to push, pull, and wrestle it up over the rocks until it rested near the fire. By the time he finished, it was totally dark.

Cole lit the lantern inside the cabin and made a jelly sandwich. He went to the doorway and stared out at the big log. Finally he slammed the door and crawled into bed.

For several hours he lay awake. Even after dozing off, his sleep was troubled. When dawn finally came, he felt groggy and rolled over for more sleep—it wouldn’t hurt to skip the pond just one morning.

The sun was high above the horizon when he finally dragged himself from bed. Yawning lazily, he got out the cold cereal and sat down to eat, the whole while staring out at the log. If he carved a canoe, it wouldn’t have to mean he planned to escape. Maybe he would use it for fishing, he told himself. But Cole knew that was a lie. He finished his dish of cold cereal then walked out to the log. He picked up the hatchet and began swinging hard, shaping a bow. By early afternoon, the end of the driftwood log had been roughly formed into a flat point. Cole felt angrier each time he rested. His only satisfaction came from swatting horseflies and mosquitoes. Never again would those little bloodsuckers feed off him like a carcass.

Overhead a pair of eagles worked the shoreline looking for fish. Suddenly one dove toward the water. It struck the surface with its talons and rose back into the sky, carrying a large struggling fish. Cole watched, fingering the hatchet in his hands. This was the first day he had felt angry since Edwin and Garvey left. This was also the
first day he had skipped going to the pond. He spit at the wood shavings. He had just slept badly, he told himself.

Again Cole knew he was lying. He had slept poorly because he had considered making a canoe instead of a totem. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the hatchet and began striking the center of the log. Again and again he hacked, until a deep groove circled the log. With each blow, he felt his anger disappearing.

When the log could no longer be used as a canoe, Cole pulled out the knife Garvey had given him and began whittling and shaping the deep groove into an eagle’s head. As he carved, he thought about the eagles he had seen and why they were such proud and powerful hunters. He continued carving until dark.

After eating supper and cleaning up, Cole went out to the fire pit and built a fire. He waited patiently until the flames burned high, then began to dance the eagle dance. Around and around the fire he circled, his arms spread like wings, banking left and right. Tonight he soared on the thermals and the air currents, seeing things that only an eagle could see.

After a long dance, Cole finally sat on a stump near the fire to catch his breath. His thoughts still moved high above the trees. He
wished that somehow he could always stay part eagle in his mind. How could he remember to stay strong and proud, seeing everything in life differently from a distance? As Cole sat staring at the flames, it began to drizzle, and finally he got up and went inside the cabin. The dance had helped to ease the stiff pain in his hip and arm. When he fell asleep that night, he slept hard and dreamed of soaring high.

The next morning Cole awoke early and went for a soak. Afterward, as he carried the rock, he had to admit it felt good to return to the pond. He watched for the Spirit Bear, but saw nothing. Since returning to the island, he had caught only one fleeting glimpse.

During Edwin’s next visit, as they dragged the skiff up on the rocks, Cole asked, “Why have I only seen the Spirit Bear once since coming back? I’ve seen plenty of tracks, but last time I was here, I saw it a bunch of times, especially after I got mauled.”

Edwin lifted a heavy box of supplies and headed toward the cabin. “At first it was probably the bear’s curiosity,” he said. “Maybe after being mauled you were invisible.”

“What do you mean invisible?”

Edwin didn’t answer the question. “Have you
finished your schoolwork?” he asked.

Cole nodded and handed Edwin his completed lessons. “Any mail?”

Edwin folded the homework into his jacket pocket. “There’s been mail, but we’re not allowing you any contact with the outside world. I can tell you this: Garvey said your mom calls him almost every day to ask how you’re doing.”

Cole held back his emotions. “I think of her, too. How’s Dad?”

Edwin shrugged. “After he was arrested, his lawyer got him released the same day. He never spent a single night in jail.”

“Will I ever have to live with him again?” Cole asked.

“I can’t answer that question,” Edwin said.

“How is Peter?”

“Not well. Garvey says his bouts of depression keep getting worse.”

“I wish I could help him somehow.”

Edwin turned and studied Cole. “I think you’re getting closer to understanding the secret of healing.” Entering camp, Edwin spotted the totem Cole was carving and walked over to see it. First he examined the tapered butt of the log, then the half-carved eagle. His voice turned hard. “It looks like you tried to carve a canoe.”

Staring down at the ground and speaking
almost in a whisper, Cole said, “I started making a canoe, but I knew that was wrong, so I cut this deep groove so I couldn’t try again. When I started carving the eagle, I finally slept good.” Cole ended by telling about his eagle dance and what he had learned. “Are you mad at me?” he asked.

“I’m proud that you carved a totem and were honest with me,” Edwin said.

Cole paused. “You said I wouldn’t heal all the way until I discovered one thing. Can’t you just tell me what that is? I don’t feel like I’m healing at all.”

Edwin shook his head. “You’ll discover what it is when you’re ready to understand.”

“Then tell me this,” Cole said. “What are totems for?”

“They tell ancestry,” Edwin explained. “And they tell stories.”

“But how come they mostly have animals?”

“Animals are symbols. Tlingit tribes have two divisions—the Ravens and the Wolves. Closely related members form smaller clans. I’m from the Killer Whale clan.”

“I’m not Indian,” Cole said. “Does that mean I can’t carve a totem?”

Edwin chuckled. “Indians don’t own the trees or the right to carve. Carve anything you want.
Your totem is your story, your search, and your past. Everybody has their own. That’s why you carve. That’s why you dance the dances. That’s why you live life—to discover and create your own story.”

Cole listened quietly, then spoke. “I haven’t created much of a story yet. I tried last week to dance the dance of anger, but I felt awkward, like I was pretending.”

“You’ll dance that dance when you’re ready.”

“When will that be?”

“You’ll know.”

A
FTER
E
DWIN LEFT
, Cole spent the rest of the afternoon carving. At one point, a downpour forced him to roll the log close to the cabin. He stretched a tarp out from the cabin wall so he could keep working. By nightfall, he had finished the eagle. Already he had decided to carve a wolf next.

The next morning after visiting the pond, he washed his clothes in the stream. He built a fire in the cabin’s barrel stove, then hung the clothes across the room on a makeshift clothesline. If he hung his clothes outside, they would never dry.

That afternoon, he tried to make himself invisible. He bathed extra well in the cold stream, then put on clean clothes. He even rubbed ashes and sweet cedar boughs over himself to mask any human smell. Then he hiked out to a point at the mouth of the bay where he could watch the shoreline both outside and inside the bay. He wedged
himself down between two big rocks and sat totally still.

For two long hours he waited, but saw nothing. Frustrated, he got up and moved into the trees to try hiding beneath the thick undergrowth. The shore came gradually alive with seals, seagulls, and eagles, but no bears. Finally, chilled to the bone, he returned to camp.

Several more times before Edwin’s next visit, Cole tried being invisible, but had no luck. One morning a beaver swam around him as he sat in the pond. At first, all he could see was a V-shaped ripple on the surface as the big animal swam closer and closer. Cole cleared his mind, breathed deeply, and sat completely still. The beaver swam even closer. Suddenly Cole reached out and tried to grab it. The beaver exploded in the water, slapping its tail with a loud whack before disappearing.

That was the only time the beaver ever came near. Cole regretted betraying the beaver’s trust. He couldn’t help but think how many thousands of times he had done the same thing to people. That night he danced the beaver dance. He realized that a beaver had persistence, patience and ingenuity. By using only its front teeth to chew down one tree at a time and
dragging each one into the water, it eventually made a home that could dam a whole river.

The next day, Cole began carving a beaver’s head. He tried to think about the lessons the beaver had to teach but he grew frustrated by how poorly he carved. His beaver head looked more like a deformed frog. Still he kept carving.

The air warmed with the passing of spring and the coming of summer. Some days not a cloud showed in the open blue sky, but most days were drizzly and wet. Cole had never seen a place with more rain.

Back in Minneapolis, Cole had thought that being alone on an island would give him plenty of time to just sit around. But just the opposite was true. Each day he kept busy cooking, carving, soaking in the pond, fishing, carrying the ancestor rock, washing clothes, doing schoolwork, and cutting firewood. Cole prided himself on how sharp he kept his knife and hatchet. Many nights he sat on his bed working them against a flat stone until they could shave paper.

Cole also continued to explore and look for the Spirit Bear, but still the bear did not show itself. Each night Cole tried without luck to find the feelings to dance the dance of anger. Weeks passed, but the large blank space he had reserved
at the bottom of the totem for his anger carving remained empty.

During one of Edwin’s visits, Cole expressed his frustration. “I’ve tried to be invisible,” he said. “I hide and try not to smell like a human. I’ve even smeared cedar boughs and ashes all over my body, but I still haven’t seen the Spirit Bear again.”

“Maybe you still aren’t invisible,” Edwin said, climbing into his skiff to leave. “Have you danced the dance of anger yet?”

Cole shook his head.

Edwin pulled the starter rope and brought the engine to life. He motioned for Cole to push him out from shore.

Cole felt helpless as he watched the Tlingit elder disappear across the water. This time he had stayed barely long enough to unload supplies. Didn’t he care? Was he mad? Cole returned to camp and spent the rest of the day carving. As he carved, two questions haunted him: What was the one thing that would help him heal? And how could he become invisible?

Many days Cole still fought hard to escape his familiar rage. It kept reappearing for no reason he could understand. At these times, he concentrated on funny and happy things. No matter how hard he tried, however, he still couldn’t bring himself
to dance the dance of anger. Long frustrated hours beside the fire brought angry movements, but the dance refused to come to him.

One day, after carrying his ancestor rock up the hill, Cole rolled his anger away, then sat down to think. Why had the Spirit Bear come to him when he lay wounded? Why had the beaver and fish come so close to him in the pond? He hadn’t been invisible at those times. And why hadn’t the bear showed itself again? Cole puzzled so hard his head hurt, but there seemed no connection. Nothing made sense. Finally he headed back to camp and worked the rest of the day in a sullen mood.

That night he went to bed as usual, but in the early morning hours, he awoke with a start and jolted upright in bed. He knew how to be invisible.