Alaska! Up North and to the Left Read online

  “Thanks, it’s very kind of you.”

  Sergei genuinely smiled. We continued the visit. The master bedroom was large and well lit with three windows overlooking the neighborhood. I peeked through the window pane. It was still snowing. A large man was walking by with a white Maltese dog, and I could hardly see the tiny animal on the fresh snow.

  “Sergei, I was wondering, a lot of the buildings here are built above the ground, even this house… why is that?”

  “It’s because of the permafrost. The ground is always frozen and shifts a lot. You cannot build foundations on that, it would break very fast. Like the highway, it’s very bad, all broken and twisted. So you have to build the house on stilts. There are forty eight stilts under this house, you did not see it because I put a skirt, it looks better. Once in a while, maybe every two years, you have to adjust the stilts to level the house. You can tell because the house shifts. Sometimes the door won’t close when it is time to do it. I put special jacks under the house, so is very easy to adjust. Don’t worry, I can do it if you buy the house. I show you the master bath.”

  We walked into a beautiful master bathroom with double sinks, a separate shower, and the advertised large tub. “Everywhere in the house I put an access door for the plumbing. If you need to fix something, it’s easy to go to, you don’t have to break anything.”

  “Sergei!” A female voice came from downstairs.

  “My mother is calling. I come back.” Sergei walked out of the bathroom. Deborah was roaming in the office staring at the falling snow in a bored daze.

  “It feels like we are adopting his kid, not visiting his house,” I muttered.

  “He is proud of his work, I give you that,” Lydia commented.

  “Well, that’s a good thing.”

  “It’s not that we are going to buy it,” Lydia said. I looked at her and stayed quiet. “I am not buying this house, this is… no.” Lydia frowned and stared at me. “Are you changing your mind?”

  “Lydia, I don’t know, I still think that… this is too much. Come on, we’re from California and it’s snowing outside,” I pointed out. “We’re not outdoor people and we’re thinking about going into bush country. Wait!” I highlighted my words with my hand. “Not any bush, a frozen one!”

  Lydia stayed quiet.

  “You know I’m right,” I added.

  “I don’t know…”

  “Today was fun I admit it, the flight school looks good, Doug is a nice guy, students seem great, the flight was awesome, but-”

  “But what?” She interrupted me.

  “This… this is crazy! What are we doing?”

  “Let it settle, let’s go back to L.A., and think about it. We don’t have to rush. Let’s just see Debby and do whatever she wants us to do without any drastic decision,” Lydia said.

  We walked out of the master.

  “So, what do you guys think of the house?” Deborah asked.

  Lydia forcefully smiled. “The house is beautiful, but we still need some time to consider the options.” There was a silence. “What are we supposed to do after this?”

  “There’s a little something on the river tonight.”

  “On the river? Isn’t it frozen?” Lydia asked.

  “Oh no, it’s ok.”

  We walked downstairs and met Sergei. “Thank you so much for the visit,” I said.

  “That was nothing. Please, tell me if you have any questions.”

  “We’ll let you know. Thanks again.”

  We shook hands, then walked out and sat in the warm car. “Aren’t you glad I left the engine running?” Deborah said.

  “That’s great, I am not going to say the contrary, we‘re not used to do that in L.A.!” Lydia said looking out. “It’s not snowing anymore. So… what did you say was next?”

  “Are you hungry?” Deborah said with yet another heartwarming smile.

  Dinner and a Race

  January

  The dinner in a small Chinese/ Mexican/ American restaurant was swift and tasty. The combination might have seemed strange anywhere else, but in Bethel it worked somehow. The Korean owner (of all things!) cooked, his wife paced the dining room with an unwithering smile, and the numerous customers rejoiced amid a warm and convivial atmosphere.

  “Is it so crowded all the time like that? Even in the street there’re a lot of people.” Lydia asked looking at a constant flow of people going by the window.

  “Oh… yeah… about that… we have a small dog race going on tonight… I thought you might like it.” Deborah answered.

  “How often do you have races here?” I asked.

  “Like the one tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “About… once a year.”

  “Wait, is this why you wanted us to come this weekend?” I asked with a playful frown.

  “Well… I thought it might be fun…” Deborah was cornered.

  “It’s not a small dog race, it’s the biggest race in Bethel, right?” I was tapping my index finger on the table to emphasize my point.

  “Well, it’s… it’s the second most important race in Alaska after the Iditarod… and it’s the most highly-regarded mid-distance dogsled race… in the world, I got that from Wikipedia, I think it’s very neat. The tourists like that!” She said with a nervous grin.

  “You tricked us! You knew what you were doing when you played innocent and you told us we should come today!” I laughed.

  “You’re going to like it! It’s really a lot of fun.”

  “Yeah, and you were thinking that you would send me on that medevac flight, you’d take me to the flight school, you’d find us a great house, and you’d finish up with -oh coincidence-the biggest event of the year!” I laughed. “You are good, I have to say, you know your job, you’re very good!”

  “So? How well do I know it?”

  The light tone dropped like a severed elevator car. I looked at Lydia.

  She shook her head. “It’s a huge change, it has been… it’s been a great weekend, I have to say, but… it’s another story to permanently move here, there’re so many unknowns.” Lydia continued shaking her head as she was speaking.

  “Like what?” Deborah asked.

  “How will we handle the cold? How do you buy things that are not in the store? I don’t know… it’s just so drastic.”

  “You’ve seen the cold, it’s not so bad. You get used to it. It’s not always twenty below, even today, it’s already warmer. You can get anything you need here, either in the stores or online. You’ve seen it; we have several cargo flights every day. You’re not going to stay here forever, it’s only four years. It’s an opportunity. I don’t mean to pressure you, but I think it’s a chance to experience something else. On top of that your husband is a pilot, you could go anywhere!”

  Lydia sat further back in her seat. “You’re right, just give us some time, we still need to think about it.”

  “I don’t mean to pressure you. I understand it’s a big decision.” There was a silence for a moment. “Shall we go see that race?”

  “Where do they do it by the way?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s right there by the sea wall on the river,” Deborah casually answered.

  “On the river?” I frowned and looked at Lydia. “That’s what I saw this morning, those poles on the river, that’s for the race.” I looked back at Deborah. “So, do we watch from the sea wall? That’s a bummer, isn’t it kind of far?”

  “No, we are going to the starting chute,” Deborah said.

  “On the river?”

  “Yes, but it’s ok, it’s frozen.” She smiled amused by the startled look on our faces. “We are also going to park on the river.”

  “Park what? Your car? Your SUV?”

  “Everybody parks there!”

  “The whole town?” Sure, most of the people who want to see the race park on the river. It’s not a big deal; it’s by the ice road that goes to other villages.”

  “Well, that’s different,” L
ydia said.

  We exited the restaurant, walked to the Ford, and drove in a surreal atmosphere half way between a frozen 4th of July celebration and Christmas festivities with a slap of winter wonderland coating. We were one car among so many in a jammed procession to the river like salmon wriggling their way up stream to reproduce. We followed the sea wall for a few hundred yards, passing pedestrians and onlookers converging towards the river. Hundreds of people were gathering around the starting chute, their cars neatly parked nearby on the river, some of them puffing warm exhaust fumes into the night sky. Snow was gently falling again over dozens of dog teams preparing for the race under powerful spot lights.

  We drove down a small embankment onto a narrow snow covered beach. The river was waiting for us. I had a sense of unavoidability, simple passenger in a vehicle I could not control, a cringe in the stomach telling me there was something utterly unnatural about the scene. The Explorer drove onto the ice. I was expecting a crack, a noise, something. There was nothing, hardly a mild roughness on the uneven ground. We were only one more car on the ongoing flow of vehicles towards the makeshift parking. Deborah drove to a spot like a Saturday stop at a convenience store. It was routine, nothing more. We parked and stepped out of the car. People were happy to be there, they were greeting family and friends, hugging and tapping each other in the back after a good joke. The thick mittens were reminders of the cold, but I was not feeling it anymore. We were in Alaska. This was Alaska. It was not the cold and the isolation, it was not the ridiculous prices and the questions governed by fear of novelty, it was the people. Bethel was about the people. I was getting it.

  The dog teams left two at a time, the people cheered and screamed. I was with Lydia, holding her hand in silence. The experience was captivating. The last teams leaving the chute drew a conclusion to the evening. Or so I thought. There was more, there was always more. An explosion replaced the last clamor of a fleeting dog team. We did not want to talk. We did not want to ask how and why there were fireworks. We did not want to overanalyze and dissect the beauty with a scalpel, we simply enjoyed it. Each bust of lights reflected on the snowy night sky for an unforgettable evening.

  We drove back to the bed and breakfast in relative silence. What was there to say? Did you enjoy it? Of course we did. How could we not otherwise? The nagging question remained. What do we do? We spent our second and last night in Bethel avoiding the topic. For some strange reason, it felt inappropriate. We both knew an answer would come soon, but now was not the proper time.

  The next day, we sat in the plane for the first of three legs bound to California. Deborah had been wonderful. She’d come early to give us a ride to the airport, she’d waited with us through check in and waved goodbye like an old friend. It felt genuine. She was genuine. She was not a recruiter trying to get her job done; she was a friend giving her farewell.

  We sat in the same combi plane we had seen a lifetime ago.

  “How did you like the house?” Lydia asked while staring outside.

  “I was not a big fan of the floor plan to be honest. The small dining room on the side of the kitchen is a waste of space.”

  “The other house is a dump. What are we supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know. What do you want me to tell you?” I shrugged slightly annoyed.

  “The heated garage is great, that would be a lot easier in the morning.”

  “I give you that one,” I said.

  “The piping seemed good too. You have to admit that Sergei is very proud of his house. He looks like we can trust him. I really don’t want to have the pipes freeze on us.”

  “I think you’re right, it looks like we can trust that house. I don’t want to wait too long, somebody else could make an offer and then we would not have anything. What do you think about a rental?”

  “Did you see the prices? They’re ridiculous. It’s not worth it to rent. We’d spend a lot of money for nothing. On the other hand, if we buy, we would live in a much nicer place and in the long run it would be cheaper…” Lydia said hardly looking at me.

  “That’s a good point, you’re right,” I said pensively.

  “So… does it mean that we are buying the house?”

  “I guess,” I said incredulously.

  “Does it mean that we are taking the job?”

  “I guess.” I repeated with an amused shrug.

  “We’re insane,” Lydia sighed and sunk deeper into her seat.

  “I give you that one,” I laughed.

  “My dad is going to have a heart attack,” Lydia said with a concerned smile.

  Hi Dad!

  January

  Forty five minutes, that’s all it took on that Monday evening to change our lives. Lydia called her future boss to accept the job and I contacted Sergei to make an offer and ultimately purchased the house. Lydia walked out of the master bedroom turned office and war room. She sat in silence on the couch and looked at me.

  “It’s done,” she said. “Now we have to put the condo on the market.”

  “You might want to call your dad and let him know.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” She glanced at the phone, and took a deep breath.

  “Put the speaker on, I want to hear that!”

  “That’s not funny. What are we doing?” Lydia looked at me concerned.

  “Ah, it’s already done, just enjoy it!”

  Lydia picked up the receiver and dialed. She waited for the tone. The phone rang once, twice, her heart was pounding, again.

  “Hello?” Harvey picked up.

  “Hi Dad, it’s me.”

  “Hi, Lydia! How are you? Sorry I could not pick you up at the airport! How was your visit? Did you like the area? What did you eat over there?” Somebody opened the valve and Harvey happily free flowed.

  “We liked it… I took the job and we bought a house.” It came out as one breath, one there you go, it’s on your plate, now it’s your turn to deal with it.

  “What? You… what?” The happy-go-lucky voice imploded.

  “I took the job. We found a house and we made an offer,” she mechanically replied. There was a silence. “Dad?” Lydia looked at me, pale.

  “This… this is very sudden… are you sure… aren’t you rushing into this?”

  “Steven and I have been talking about it. There’s really nothing else available either for the job or for the house. We had to do something.” She paused. “It’s only for four years.”

  “I understand, but… four years… that’s a long time… and… Alaska?”

  “It’s not the bayou in Louisiana!” I joked across the room to relax the atmosphere. “No, it’s much better, it’s a frozen bayou. Let me correct that, in bayous they have trees, up there it’s frozen swamp,” I laughed. Lydia looked at me with a cold stare and slapped the fine air to keep me quiet.

  “It’s not so bad, you and mom can come visit. You’ve never been to Alaska.”

  “Ayah, this is crazy!”

  “Dad, I’m sure it’s going to be fine, what’s the worst that can happen?”

  For Sale

  May

  Everything was on track. The house would officially be ours by the summer, Lydia had signed her contract with the health corporation to start in August, and I was well on the way to my Flight Instructor’s Certificate.

  I was off from my Emergency Medical Technician job today. There would be no 911, no waiting around on a street corner in an idling ambulance for somebody to get hurt or become desperately sick. My beautiful muse was on call in a local hospital. On call meant one thing, it meant that I would be on my own to enjoy my cherished television along with the comfortable couch in a delightful union. There was one small glitch in the otherwise picture perfect next few hours, a plumber was supposed to come and fix a water pipe in the garage. In order to sell the house, we were required to fix a small piping section which did not quite enter the garage wall at the right angle. In the stringent world of plumbing, ninety degrees angle to penetrate a wall
was the motto, anything less did not cut it. I confess that our pipe was gently going in at a shallow angle, almost parallel to the wall, but I trusted the city inspector, and you know, it was fire code regulation, so we did not have the choice anyway. Our realtor was sending somebody they recommended to make the change to move on and put the property on the market.

  The front door bell rang two hours after the scheduled time. I opened aggravated, but courteous. A scraggly middle aged man was holding a tool case with a small white pickup truck parked behind him on the alley.

  “Hi, I’m Tony. I’m coming for the pipe.”

  There was something unsettling about him. I could not pinpoint what exactly, but I had a strange vibe. It was not the outfit, an old white T-shirt, a faded pair of jeans, and tennis shoes. Perhaps it was only the annoyance of a late arrival.

  I showed him to the garage and described my piping issue. I had never liked prying on workers, so I left him alone to his welding duties, and walked downstairs to the office for some web surfing.

  I was very curious about Bethel, and any article on line was a gold mine to find out more about my new life to be. I had not tried YouTube yet, surely I’d find some kind of video about the area. My plumber turned on the water in the garage. Water for welding? Why? There was something eerie about this man. I only wanted him to do his job and go. I browsed the website and found a video of a bush plane landing at a village during the winter. Snow banks surrounded the runway-What was he doing? My plumber was pouring water in the wall between the garage and our master bedroom. I got up increasingly irritated and walked to the door leading to the garage. I opened. The room was engulfed in gray smoke with the garage door wide open. The plumber was panicking and was holding a water hose into the wall. The scene was surreal; there had been no smoke downstairs, no smell, nothing.

  “Did you start a fire?” I said shocked. He did not answer. I ran upstairs to the kitchen and dialed 911. The telephone tone was endless, working its way from wire to wire, connectors and relays, in an endless travel to finally reach a dispatcher.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”