Soul-Mate

I sat in the cockpit mesmerized by my first glimpse of the Arctic Ocean.  Soon we would arrive at our destination, Tree River, better known by the Inuit as Kogluktoaluk, a tiny outpost one hundred miles inside the Arctic Circle.

It wasn’t long before we caught a glimpse of the five tiny white washed cottages.  Their fiery red roofs stood out vibrantly against this harsh and rugged landscape.  This would be our home for the next five days. What a thrill and adventure this was going to be.

Doris and Bob, our gracious hosts had been eagerly awaiting our arrival. Tree River was their home for six months of the year.  It could be lonely so far from civilization and every guest was a welcome sight. 

Doris casually mentioned that soon Tim would be arriving.  He had been out checking fishing lines, part of his job as fishing guide to the guests at Tree River.  The Inuit called him Timmy Moon.  They had even created a little ode for him. “Timmy-moon, lucky boy, lucky, lucky boy, fishing guide to the stars, ”and that he was!

Whether it was Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman, Keefer Sutherland or Georgie Boy, (Mr. President to the rest of us), it made absolutely no difference to Tim. People, no matter what their station in life were just people, and next to fishing, people were what Tim loved best.

Suddenly the cabin door exploded into the open room.  Our sentences seem to freeze in mid air. Was it a tornado like the one that had taken Dorothy to see the Wizard?  No, this tornado was a human form rotating and whirling around us, about to take us all to our own Land of Oz.

Tim had arrived!  Science tells us that we are millions of tiny molecules vibrating at such speed that we actually appear whole. Not Tim, maybe his molecules had slowed down but I swear he was just one big vibration. He reminded me of a kangaroo; maybe he wore spring-loaded shoes.  Whatever it was I could tell his feet had never been firmly planted on the ground.

He wasn’t very tall, a small man some might say; but they would be wrong. Everything about Tim was big.  To me, he appeared larger than life, a fact that proved to be true. He was like Bill Bixby metamorphosing into the Incredible Hulk. All of that astonishing energy simply couldn’t stay contained and like a volcano he seemed to just keep erupting.

I guessed he was no more than thirty-five and yet the deep creases and lines that etched his face made one think of someone much older.  His dark eyes, dark complexion and black hair didn’t seem to match with his name; Timothy Shane Gillard. 



He wasn’t red hair and fair complexioned, as a great majority of Irish people seem to be.  Later, I discovered he thought of himself as black Irish, a clan of people supposedly descended from the Spanish.  Folklore has it that they are known as the dark invaders.

Although it seemed like an eternity it was only a few minutes before this mesmerizing, bundle of energy was standing before me.  He didn’t say a word; just took my hand and held it for a moment. He had the hands of a workingman.  The fingers were short, the palms wide, the knuckles large, but I had felt a gentleness flow from them.

Standing there together the room and the people in it seemed to fade away. With certainty we both knew, this dark invader and I, that it wasn’t just chance that had brought us to this place called God’s Country. Our destinies were intertwined and with words unspoken we understood that our lives would now be connected forever.