10
“If you're an oak
you don't pretend
you are a flower”
― Matsuo Bashō
Yukon Station
The group of men stared at Levi while he ferreted out elusive words from his swirling brain. Their faces held nothing but a stoic “now what?” expression. A mixed lot, one large black man, a couple of Athabascan Indians, and four white men of whom one was definitely Italian and another an Irishman. The other two were a toss up.
“I’m in over my head here,” he continued. “I inherited a position that seems to be wider than my grasp. Because of that I ask each and every one of you to help me be a supervisor who can make a difference to you and your life.
“Any advice or pointers you can give me will be greatly appreciated. They surprised me with this job and not much choice about accepting it. I’m positive there were better choices.
“The one thing I can pledge is that if you give me an honest day’s work every day, week after week, I will stand behind you and champion your needs as much as I am able. We are all in this together and that’s how we need to face the world we live in.”
More than a few of them nodded at his words and Levi felt the first flush of success he had experienced since arriving in this strange place.
“What happened to Suzuki?” The question seemed to come from the air itself.
“He’s dead.”
One of the beefier men shifted his stance, glanced over his shoulder and said, “Yeah, we know that.” He had a slight Irish accent. “What happened to him?”
Levi shrugged mentally. “He was murdered in Livengood.”
Most of them hadn’t expected that answer. Some actually stepped back a pace with shock evident on their faces. Levi tried to memorize the faces of the three who didn’t recoil.
“Did the Japs say that?” Levi couldn’t tell who asked.
“I saw his body. Somebody had put holes in him, don’t know how.”
“They catch the murderer?” the beefy man asked in a more subdued tone. He had stepped back.
“No. Not yet.”
“How was he killed?” a tall, thin-faced fellow asked.
“Either shot or knifed. He came into my office, fell down, and died. Now we are all on the same page as I know nothing further about the event than that.”
“Why’d they give you his job?” the beefy man asked. His tone had altered from belligerent to curious.
“I wish I knew. Like I said, I feel that I am in over my head. I was the assistant down in Livengood until six weeks ago when my boss died. I was just getting used to being in charge there when they sent me up here.”
“Sounds like somebody either really likes you or hates your guts!” the thin-faced man said.
Everyone, including Levi, laughed harder than the joke called for. It also broke the ice.
“You don’t have to worry about us,” the beefy man said. “We know our job and we’ve got yer back.”
“What is your name, sir?”
“Timothy Keegan. I am the rail crew foreman. Mr. Charles is my boss.” He nodded at Gunther who stood next to Levi.
“I really appreciate your help on this. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was in over my head. The less I have to worry about the better.”
“You from the territory originally?” Keegan asked.
“No. I lived in Nebraska until I was ten, then I came north.”
Keegan nodded. Further inquiry into his background was pushing societal bounds, and everyone knew it.
“Thank you all for your time,” Levi said, forcing a smile he didn’t feel. “I really do appreciate it.”
As one, they all turned and wandered back through the cavernous shop, stepping over two sets of rails between huge sliding doors. On either side of the building squatted large pot bellied stoves demanding constant attention. Off to one side sat a dismantled steam engine in the middle of the rebuild process.
The atmosphere lay heavy with the odors of bearing grease, wood smoke, and massive, cold metal. Despite the obvious insulation on walls and sliding doors, errant puffs of cold air randomly penetrated the area. Yet the overall feeling Levi had in this building was strength.
I’ll have to sort that one out later, he thought.
“You ready to go, boss?” Gunther asked.
“Yeah, what’s next?”
“I need to give you a tour of the Project Building. After that you’re on your own.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Hired on to the Project in ’60 and worked in Fairbanks for two years, then got promoted to this job in late ’62.”
“Going on five years,” Levi said. “I can see why everyone thought you would get this job.”
“Including me,” Gunther said with a quick laugh that could have been interpreted as a bark.
“You might still get it.” Levi nodded toward the door and pulled his parka hood over his head. “Let’s get this over with.”
They pushed out into the frigid, windy afternoon.