A Hand at the Window
In the beginning he was alone on the island. He had a code name, Teddy Bear, which he used for communicating with the boss’s helicopter. Every Saturday the boss would bring him work and provisions for the week.
There was still some snow in the underbrush, but the ice on the beach had been swept away by the April spring tides. Sometimes flocks of snow geese would land on the sandbar on the north shore. If Teddy saw any geese on Saturday morning he would advise his boss by radio and ask him to land at the other end of the island.
On this first Saturday in May there were no snow geese. They were probably on the other islands in the river, or at Montmagny or Cap Tourmente. The boss landed his heli- copter on the edge of the beach, opposite the North House. Teddy wanted to meet him, but before the Jet Ranger’s rotor had stopped spinning, the man was already climbing up the path to the house. He was small in stature, bald and paunchy. Eyes to the ground, face flushed, he strode past his employee without seeing him. He carried two bags of provisions and a leather briefcase.
When Teddy caught up with him on the gallery where he had set down his packages, the boss asked the ritual question:
"Are you happy on the island?" "Very happy," said Teddy. "Are you sure?" Teddy nodded.
The boss’s eyes were filled with concern. He shook Teddy’s hand vigorously, then smoothed his gloves. Racing driver’s gloves: the fingers were cut off and there were air vents on the backs. He never removed them.
Copyright © 2007 by Jacques Poulin. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
