My Name Is Tom.

I stood on the river bank, looking out into the river. I remember the boat, the bridge, and the sudden stop when I hit something. But I don’t remember how I got here. Standing, blinking into the sun, it was a lovely sunny day to be down here, a fine day, everyone was having so much fun!

We had put the boat into the Kalum River, down at the boat launch. It had been frustrating watching all the boaters fumbling at the dock, taking up our valuable vacation time. This was my first time on the rivers around Terrace but I had lots of fishing time out on the ocean.  At thirty seven, I knew what I was doing on the water, not like others who are still fussing about with their boats.

Our turn finally arrives and we swiftly and professionally slid the boat into the Kalum River. The big Dodge Ram is parked with its trailer, ready to be brought back to the boat launch.

Why aren’t I wet?

There were seven of us in the boat. We do have life jackets, I’m not stupid. But the day is really warm and the jackets are sticky, so they stay off but are kept handy. We enjoy the sun and the wind. I carefully steer the river boat, a new one I brought from a local man who builds these, down the Kalum past the other boaters to where the Kalum River joins the Skeena River. Some are going downstream, fishing rods already into their holders. But we turn upstream, into the current. I open the throttle and the boat starts to plane. Up we go, past the treatment ponds, around the corner, past Queensway road to the right of us, then we head towards the New and the Old bridges.

Under the new bridge we head, then I increase speed to go through the opening under the old bridge. Before we get there, I feel and hear a thud. I pitch forward and go over the wheel as the nose of the boat digs into the river current. I hear screams but all I feel is surprise as I hit the water.

Again I wonder, why am I dry? I look around once more. Where is everyone? I now recognise where I am. This is New Remo west of Terrace. How did I get here?

There are people fishing off the train tracks. I call out to some of them but I get no response. This is very annoying. I try to move but I can’t.

Where are the others that were in the boat with me? My wife Mary, who had a rye and coke in her hand when I last saw her. Ted, my son and Jacklyn my daughter. The first so eager and the second, so grumpy when I persuaded her to come. Why aren’t they here with me? And our friends, Will and Rita, always ready for a laugh. Also their pretty fourteen year old daughter, Betty, who had such a crush on me. At least Mary teased me that she did. While flattered, I was very careful around Betty; that was a load of potential trouble I did not want.

I looked again towards Terrace. Why couldn’t I move? I saw someone, a man, walking on the railroad tracks towards me. My feet began to move almost on their own and I walked toward him.

“Hello.” It felt so inadequate.

“Hello yourself, Nigel.” He smiled, a cryptic, knowing smile.

“No one calls me that. They call me Tom.” The answer came automatically. I had always hated the name my parents gave me at birth.

He smiled again and I suddenly realised that I was talking in perfect English with a German youth. One dressed in the traditional dress of some of those people. I think it was Bavarian, you know, the shorts with suspenders, I think that is what it was. I had seen the picture many years ago in the local paper. He had died because he was fooling around in the boat and had caused the deaths of his father and another man when he fell in the water. They both jumped in trying to save him. Drowned of course, you don’t mess with the Skeena. I remembered this because I was about the same age as him when it happened. That was more than thirty years ago.

“You must pay a price, the same as I did, twice the age I was when I foolishly cost the lives of my father and uncle on this very river. There were six with you in your boat. That means you must walk the banks of the Skeena River for six times your age.”

Damn, did that mean I would have to stand here for two hundred and twenty two years?

“Not just stand here, you may venture downriver to a point where you can go no further. The same for upriver.” He shrugged, “It does not matter.”

“It doesn’t matter? It matters a lot to me! And how can you read my mind?” I was getting angry and more confused.

“I cannot, however your face and stance were easy to read.” The look on his face said everything.

Another thought came to mind. “How come we can talk in English? Did you learn it in your school?”

Again the smile, it was getting annoying. “Not in my academy. I hear you in perfect High German, I cannot imagine that you are fluent.”

“I don’t understand any of this. Why do I have to stay here and why are you telling me this. I lead a good life. I even go to church. And what happened to my wife and kids?”

“Your foolhardy recklessness has placed you here. By driving your boat in such a manner without wearing life jackets, you condemned yourself to this penal servitude.” He turned and looked over the river. “As for those who were on the boat with you, only your son survived, for a time.” He paused. “You were found here.” The look of sympathy his youthful face held said it all, and tore at my heart.

I fell to my knees. The weight of his words was devastating. My wife, my children. All dead? I didn’t even think of the others, of Will, Rita and Betty. At least not right now.

“I have one more thing to tell you. You will spend your time here and after you have done so, one will come to replace you. That may not occur immediately. You may have to wait for some time. Then you will know what to do as I now know, but only learnt when you came here.”

He turned away and took several steps. Then turned back. “Goodbye Nigel, I wish you well.” He vanished.

He had never said his name, which I had forgotten. Then it came to me, I was alone.

“My Name Is Tom.” I screamed.