A winter story: "Food, Glorious Food"

I wrote this story a few years ago for an art and lit project at the Cornwall Public Library. Writers were given a photo of a painting and asked to write a story about it. Later, my story was published by Polar Expressions. It’s a good winter story

FOOD, GLORIOUS FOOD .

by Ruth Latta

    Blanquo’s  stomach rumbles as he sits on a lichen-covered rock staring into the distance. As his white fur ruffles in the breeze, he wishes he were out on a sea ice platform, stalking a succulent seal. But the ice receded too soon this spring and won’t be strong until mid-November.  Seals are delicious, nutritious, but wily; they don’t hang around on land waiting to be caught. He and his friends are hungry; their skins look too big for them.

If only a whale carcass would wash up on shore! A thousand pound bear cannot live on fish alone. And how will the mothers build up enough fat stores this fall to see them through hibernation and childbirth?  Fortunately, there’s another food source, though an inadequate one. Blanquo gazes at the village. Capable of running twenty-five miles an hour, he could be there in minutes, but he prefers to forage in the middle of the night, avoiding people. He’ll check out the  bins tonight. Maybe there’ll be chicken nuggets.

In a southern city, a plump politician, large in a red plaid bush jacket, pauses to speak to reporters before boarding the light plane that will take him, his assistant and his photographer, to visit a northern community.  Derrick’s purpose is to reinforce the nation’s claim to the Arctic and to garner support for developing the oil and gas resources beneath the ice and snow.

“How has global warming affected the community you’re visiting?” asks a reporter.

Derrick laughs. “Global warming is greatly exaggerated.” Doffing his touque, he boards and takes flight.

Anna, the village motel owner, is preparing rooms for her distinguished visitors and thinking about drawing aside their important guest  for a word about the polar bear situation.  The town is besieged by these czars of the north, more so in the fall.  In recent years they’ve been poking around dumps and garbage cans, relishing leftover pizza, lasagna, fries and other  food. Hunger makes them bold and unpredictable.  

This year, while putting out his garbage, one of the town’s residents sensed a presence, turned, and found a polar bear right behind him. The man froze as it began nuzzling his leg. Fortunately, his wife, peering through the window, saw it there and fired a shot that scared it away.

The mayor won’t raise the issue. He tells Annie that resource development in the area will make businesses boom, and not to say anything that might discourage corporate investment. Annie, however, intends to inform the visiting V.I.P. of her concerns.  Her daughter is afraid to let her toddlers play outdoors for fear they’ll be carried off like seals.

Blanquo, on his rock, eats a couple of mice as hors d’oeuvres, looks at the village and bides his time.

Derrick deplanes and finds the whole community out to greet him. Wonderful photo opportunities.  At the reception and banquet in the school auditorium, after  plenty to eat and drink, he feels warm and invigorated. He speaks of resource development, economic growth, prosperity and a chicken in every pot, and receives a round of applause. When the party’s over, when the organizers convey him  to the motel by all-terrain vehicle, he and his companions burst into song. The pushy proprietress who welcomes him wants to speak to him one-to-one, but her brushes her off.  Slurring slightly, he promises that they’ll have morning coffee together, but they won’t have time, as they fly out early.

Derrick is disappointed when his assistant and photographer say no to a nightcap and retire, pleading exhaustion.  Alone in his room, he’s too exhilarated to sleep. What a success!  He has enjoyed this trip:  the simple people,  picturesque buildings and bracing air.  Why not  a stroll in the fresh night air? He should shower, as he reeks of food odours, but will wait until morning.

A few hundred feet from the motel, he sees in the twilight a strange and magnificent apparition, an enormous white bear sniffing the air and moving toward him. It must be tame. Is it even real?

Although police and volunteers thoroughly search the area, Derrick’s remains are never recovered. At his memorial service, he’s  praised for his efforts to make the nation prosper.  Time passes, a new generation comes along, and he fades into history.  Annie remembers him, though, for on her walks, with her rifle on her shoulder, she has noticed a young bear on the ice, wearing what looks like a touque and a red plaid jacket.