Washika Read Online Free PDF Page B

the paper over and over again until it was perfectly round, licking the glue side with one sweep across his tongue, and then rolling it a quarter turn to finish the job.
    He looked out through the tall narrow windows, beyond the anchor and the open water, to Washika Bay. To starboard, he could see the steep bank of the log dump where Percy Dumont worked. Seen through the windows of the tugboat, it was the southern extremity of the long, natural clearing that was Washika Bay. There the expanse of beach sand ended and the forest continued with a narrow beach between it and the Cabonga. At the site of the log dump, the bank had been built up with large timbers and filled in with gravel so that there was deep water just in front of the bank. People even went there to fish for bass in the evenings since the water was so deep. Above the oil-blackened timbers of the bank, Alphonse could see Percy wheeling his tractor around. At first he saw only the pencil-yellow cab behind a great pile of logs. Then, as the logs came off the bank making a great splash in the water, he saw the tractor as Percy slammed her into reverse with her blade up high over the engine and her enormous black tires digging into the sand.
    Alphonse was alone with his thoughts and his great joy. Only the beat of the Madeleine ’s six-cylinder engine penetrated his being. All of that moment lay before him through the narrow windows of the tugboat. It was all there in a perfect half-circle: from the log dump to the thick green forest with its tall, white birch and the sloping beach sand; to the green buildings of the camp and the wharf where they would dock; and far to port, the long, narrow, flat-roofed infirmary where Henri would visit Mademoiselle Archambault.
    This was the one thing he had. As long as there was water and logs and he had this job with the Company, he would have it. There was really no necessity to approach Washika from the centre of the bay as he did. The other tugboats kept close to the southern shore after circling the point. It was the shorter route to camp. But, to have it as he did meant seeing it all at the same time, from one point and without tricks of vision or the imagination. Alphonse had it, he knew, and he never wanted to lose it. He reasoned, also, that few men of his lowly education and intellect could have such a thing. For this, he considered himself especially fortunate and thus never talked about it to anyone lest he should lose it; having this, in addition to his normal life, made him a very happy, contented man.
    Alphonse opened one of the windows and felt the cool breeze on his face. He stared across the water, from port to starboard, from the infirmary to the log dump and back again. It was good to know something so well. He knew the camp better than he knew any of the twenty young students; better even than Francine, his wife, or their seven children. One glance at the Westclox they had given him four years ago and he would know almost precisely what was going on in each of the buildings at Washika Bay. Just as he had seen Percy working his tractor at the dump, he could easily imagine the expression on his face when the Madeleine first came into view. As he headed the tugboat east into the bay, Alphonse saw the trailer with its load of logs stopped at the truck scales in front of the cookhouse. In his mind, he could hear Emmett Cronier speaking to the driver from the window of his little hut: “Yes, it’s a hot one all right. Christ Almighty!” Then Emmett would tilt back the tiny straw hat with the blue feather in its brim, a hat he had won at the fair in Ste-Émilie many years ago, and say, “Yes sir, too god damn hot for any man to be working on a day like this.”
    To know each individual and each building at Washika, to get to know each one of his twenty young log drivers, to know Francine and their seven children, to know everything well in its separate parts was, to Alphonse, a most wonderful