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Excerpt from Gentle
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Later in the day Sun Cheng
showed up. Most locals knew him, which included the authorities, who
universally liked the Chinese. They never missed an opportunity to exchange
good-natured repartee with the man from Manchuria. But not this time, for one
glance in his direction told the corporal otherwise. Banter seemed
inappropriate under the circumstances, the man facing him seemed at the end
of his tether. Officer Sillery, who knew Cheng for years, had never seen him
so distraught. He was known throughout the town as Rosy Sun. When others
huddled morosely in a fierce snowstorm, Cheng hailed them with a laugh and
friendly words. Should people grumble on account of record-breaking cold
snaps, he reminded them of the summer, just around the corner to be sure,
when the land will be ablaze with profuse vegetation again. Yes, Sun Cheng
always had a smile on his face, and friendly words on his lips. Even in
oven-like heat, rendered unbearable by swarms of biting insects, he remained
sanguine. But not now, far from it. He
bore no resemblance to a harbinger of good tidings. He impressed the corporal
as someone in the grip of the horrors. “What’s up, Sun Cheng, have
you seen a ghost?” “They are not coming down.” “Who isn’t coming down?” Sillery
queried. “The men on the lookout haven’t
come down for two days and nights,” Cheng groaned. Corporal Sillery, though
considerable younger than Cheng, struck up an avuncular tone: “Easy now, old boy, have a nip
or two.” “No, no time, come quickly, it’s
cold.” Sillery needed not to be
reminded of it. One glance at the ice-covered windows told him more than
words. Corporal Sillery asked many questions to which few answers were
forthcoming. Sun Cheng, reputed to be blessed with a sunny, calm disposition,
made little sense; in fact, he was incoherent. The policeman felt disinclined
to walk three miles, in deep snow to boot, on someone’s behest, who appeared
to be unnerved. Stirred by Cheng’s insistence, however, he decided to go.
Corporal Sillery was a stalwart, judged by any yardstick, but the stubborn
cold had sapped his strength. Probing as he might, Cheng could not be drawn
out. Beyond the refrain: “We must hurry, corporal,” he
hardly said another word. What
took place at the lonely windswept outpost, remained a riddle now as before.
The policeman put on warm clothes, slung a camera around his neck, then bid
Cheng to come along. But the fellow didn’t stir; he glanced from the officer
to a rifle leaning in the corner. “The rifle, corporal, you need a
rifle,” Sun Cheng urged. “What for? the bears are gone.” The man from Manchuria shook his
head slowly but emphatically: “I tell you, Mr Sillery, a gun
is needed.” Corporal Sillery observed the
man standing opposite him closer. Although he had encountered him often in
the past five years, he barely could place the distraught fellow. Sun Cheng
came up to Churchill as an employee of Nanook Resources. His job consisted of
maintaining the camp at the Button Bay promontory year round, plus be a
factotum to the small crew from June to November. Nanook Resources were
engaged by the Canadian Government to document the behaviour of polar bears
in their natural habitation. “It’s a waste of money,” quite a
few locals averred. “A chimerical scheme,” people in
the know called it with condescending chuckles. Understandably so in view of an
annoying reality: When the bears come on land in the early summer, they are
haunted by visitors from every corner of the globe. These tourists, thrill
seekers and whisky swillers, gape at the huge beasts from enclosed vehicles.
It surely gives the lie to assertions that they are being observed in their
wonted environment. Added the fact that these bears practically live near the
local garbage dump, through which they rummage, draws the frame around the
whole picture. “Natural habitat? Don’t make us
laugh,” the old-timers say. Sun Cheng, being light-footed, walked several
strides ahead of the policeman. Crossing the Churchill River at the narrowest
point where it empties into the Hudson Bay, proved to be a chore; for
corporal Sillery in any case. To be sure the narrow passage was frozen solid,
yet the heavy blanket of snow, aggravated by drifts, caused the stocky
policeman a great deal of trouble. Irritated, no less embarrassed, he bid
Cheng, who nimbly skipped ahead, to slow down. Then he admonished: “This better be worth my
while.” It was. When they arrived at
the spot, the corporal refused to trust his eyes. What he saw made him gasp.
The ground surrounding the observation tower resembled a battlefield; it
looked as if a massacre without quarter had taken place. “I’ll be hanged,” corporal
Sillery exclaimed. Indeed, a charnel yard’s aspect
could not have been more gruesome than the sight that faced him. Blood and
gore soaked the tamped down snow, bones were strewn around in all directions.
He dared not think the unthinkable. Unconsciously he cast an inquiring glance
at Cheng. Amid the sepulchral silence the corporal panted: “Cheng, what happened?” The Manchurian wordlessly
shrugged his shoulders. Stung to the soul, the policeman pointed at the
shambles ahead: “This – this blood and gore,
does it stem from…?” Sun Cheng, baffled for an
instant, sported a knowing grin; he understood. “No, no, it’s from the bears.
They fought with teeth and claws for several days and nights,” he averred. Corporal Sillery
frowned, it made little sense to the man who was stationed east and west, north and south above the sixtieth parallel.
Besides, in all the years he had spent in Churchill he seldom, if ever, saw
these huge beasts fight in earnest. No doubt, they cherish mock frays, but
lacerating each other to the extend of drawing blood, copiously to boot,
judging by appearances, the corporal found unusual. Out on a promontory were old army barracks, unused for
decades, which in part served Nanook Resources as temporary quarters. The observation tower, set
back from the bay and the camp, overlooked a wide area. The little structure,
sitting on two sturdy piles, resembled a large hunter’s perch, totally
enclosed with windows all around. Steel bars, traversing between the piles,
functioned as a ladder. The bears’ movement and their behaviour could be
monitored from the raised hut. Officer Sillery
approached the lookout with utmost circumspection, contrary to Sun Cheng
who showed no inclination to slow down. He turned around several times and
beckoned the policeman to make haste. The corporal ignored Cheng’s impatient
signals; he proceeded like a hunter who sneaked up on a dangerous prey. While
instinctively clasping his rifle, whose safety lock he pushed aside, he
tiptoed forward. When he caught up with Cheng, he inquired with a measure of
incredulity: “Did I hear you say there are men up there?” “Yes.” The curt reply made
the officer grimace in annoyance. Cheng’s taciturnity started to nibble at
his forbearance. The fellow usually talked like an oracle, but for some
reason he was closed as a clam today. While they stood
there staring at each other, amid the great white silence and bone-splitting
chill, daylight waned rapidly. Corporal Sillery felt the tentacles of
apprehension moving up his spine. He never before felt so alone; an ardent
desire for company other than Cheng overwhelmed him. Nearby Churchill, across
the narrow channel, seemed worlds away, beyond reach in fact. He felt plagued
by a predicament. Darkness descended rapidly, thus rendering an investigation
difficult, if not impossible. He felt an urge to turn back without making
further inquiries. Yet a glance at the smirking Cheng set him right. He could
have sworn to see sneering imps in the Manchurian’s eyes. Was he mocking him,
trying to lure him into a trap? Hardly, the police officer decided, as he
called the Manchurian’s irenic disposition to mind. But, nevertheless,
keeping one’s eyes open can do no harm he thought. In any case his intrinsic
sense of duty gained the upper hand. |
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Sun Cheng |