The Sandbox Theory

  Arcing smoothly out past Little Island, they cut through tiny fog patches, past Pelican Rocks along glistening white sandy beaches, before Franco cuts back the throttle at the entrance to Rabbit Bay. The fog hangs extra thick in this sheltered spot, one of the best fishing holes in the lake.

  “Here, try one of these spinners for pickerel,” Ryan tells Andy.

  “OK, thank you.”

  Franco has already cast a couple times as the now quiet boat glides in. The tranquility invites a settled peace after last night’s blackened sky. And the stillness opens doors of another denomination of Sid’s church. A peaceful place as he feels the moment’s repose gradually sink in. More benefits of the natural world. He could compose a brochure on the perks and remuneration package for simply living close with the lake and sky.

  Green reeds stand glistening in the water, like fields of summer wheat, covered with the night’s dewdrops or the thunderstorm’s raindrops – impossible to know which. Reeds mark the border between dry land and deeper water, a place where what you see on the surface tells you what lies further down. Like people … hey, is there something red floating in the reeds … he rubs his eyes.

  “Aren’t you gonna fish?”

  Sid looks up at Franco, he’s heard it before. His eyes roll. “Whatever.” Always enthused to go on any fishing trip, he lost interest in actual fishing long ago. The act of pulling fish into the boat demands attention not his, yet at the same time, the tranquil places people go fishing have always drawn him along.

  “So, Andrew, what type of business do you guys run in California?”

  “Uhh, it’s kind of an import business. Mostly goods from Latin America coming into the U.S. We book shipping, warehousing, points of sales … you need to talk with Robert, he knows it a lot more than I.”

  “Excellent idea,” Franco’s business-eyes sparkle. “I really would like to talk with you guys. You guys might want to consider opening a branch up here.”

  “Robert’s down in South America right now. He’s meeting some contacts down there about some deals.”

  “Cocaine! You guys are dealers,” Ryan laughs and winks. “You must make millions.”

  Andrew joins in the laughter. “Stereo parts, I think that’s the deal this time. Electronics in Latin America trying to compete with Asia. But I hardly know any details.”

  “There should be a market for that up here,” Franco’s voice flows in. “Here’s my card, Andrew. We can sure look into helping each other out.”

  “I got a bite,” Ryan cries out, yanking back. The rod tip bounces around as he reels in a small northern pike, a jackfish. He carefully pulls the hook out and places the fish gently in the water with all the concern of a big brother. Most things in Ryan’s life fall through slots like coins in a casino machine, but not fishing. Sid wonders what wealth would be for Ryan. He does know of one investment he makes.

  “Did you win a million yet?” asks Sid.

  “Gotta wait for the next pay check, so I can buy more tickets,” says Ryan, quite serious. He tells of the latest scratch-and-win.

  A carefree lifestyle can be interesting, thinks Sid. If a person spends all of their earnings as fast as they come in, they invest in the moment, free of complications. Life itself can be the investment. Why worry, be happy.

  Yet, he’s heard, others denounce this strategy. Waiting for the next paycheck can be a trap, an entanglement, where a person sits broke, maybe with short-term loans to get by. Overdrafts and lines of credit. Grandpa Pawlo said never to borrow money, if possible, like he had to for his passage. Grandpa told of how hard he worked, with the debt hanging over him. No pay back, and the now Polish family plot back in the Old Country would be lost.

  But things are different now than back then. Or are they? Most people Sid knows are consumers in what a Prof called the market economy. And Ryan fits in there, right into the mould, and maybe he doesn’t even know it. All those marketplace messages hammer their advert-spikes into a guy. Those billboards, colour newspapers, television ads… The system just lives to sell; it hypnotizes you if you’re not careful and it pokes at you from another direction even if you are.

  “Got another bite,” Ryan gets excited again. He reels in a pickerel this time, a walleye, the fish they are after that morning. He throws it in the tub, and holds up the hook he had caught it on for everyone to see. He passes Andy an identical hook, and they cast their lines back in the water.

  Five more pickerel come in over the gunnels of Franco’s boat. Two more for Ryan, two for Andy and one for Franco. Ryan and Andy chat of reels and hooks, while Franco’s smile shows boat-owner satisfaction and business possibility.

  The fog has gradually burned off the lake. A pair of grebes swims back and forth among the reeds, with a brood of half-sized young ones in tow. Sid’s eyes follow them, half scanning for that red, but the light has changed. Loons echo alluring calls from out in the lake’s middle, and a blue heron carries out its own fishing expedition in the shallows of Rabbit Bay. Then the buzz of a new boat coming in from deeper water shatters the air, and a pair of fishermen drift in close beside.

  “Catch any?” one of them queries.

  “One little jack,” says Ryan. “Threw him back.”

  Andrew frowns slightly, but doesn’t say anything.

  “Let’s go over to the beach,” suggests Sid in a low voice. “We can cook one of those fish we don’t have.”

  Franco hits the ignition, and they motor back to the white sands by Pelican Rocks. The string of smooth stones stands out like an archipelago of little islands, often occupied by their namesakes, but this morning attracting only a couple of gulls to perch. They motor in around the rocks to the beach.

  “Whoever catches the most, cleans them all,” Franco looks at his brother.

  What’s a fish anyways, the trick is to get someone else to clean the fish. That’s business advantage.

  Ryan ignores Franco, but pulling out his fish-cleaning knife, starts to show Andrew how to clean walleye, carefully explaining how to leave the bones out. Sid gathers dry branches for a fire and cuts green ones for cooking.

  “You eat yours raw, Ryan. Sushi,” Sid mocks.

  Ryan opens his teeth around the end of one fillet.

  They roast fish like hotdogs, the fillets cooking fast. A tasty morning snack. They scrub their hands in the lake sand.

  “So how are you guys gonna get rich? I mean, really?” Sid throws it out.

  “Win a million,” says Ryan. “I gotta get a new job too, though, just in case. They never pay me enough. I’m always broke by the end of the week. I scratched three numbers last week ... won ten bucks.”

  “I have a few investments,” Franco speaks calmly. “You can borrow or save but you have to invest. You have to keep an eye out for a good deal. Work hard, but be smart about it – you need to leverage what you have. You’re such a screw-up Ryan, you piss it all away.”

  Ryan smiles happily. “What about you, Andy?” he asks. “Maybe you can get me a million. You guys are loaded, right? Then I could buy lots of lotto tickets.” Sid struggles to follow Ryan’s reasoning.

  “Well, I suppose a million dollars sounds good,” says Andrew. “But I’ve never bought a lottery ticket myself. And I don’t have access to the family business either. John and Robert take care of everything, so I don’t think I could get you that million. Sorry.”

  “Wow. But they got a million in the business, don’t they?” exclaims Ryan.

  Franco shows extra interest.

  “Yes, but you know, it may not be the best thing, that million,” says Andrew slowly. “I think that’s why Lola … Mother … isn’t here, at least partly. You know what I mean? When you have the million, you have to hang with others like you. You don’t fit in with your family any more. You people are really cool … so maybe she loses.”

  Ryan practices hand-is-a-flying-eagle, while Franco scrutinizes his boat. Sid’s eyebrows both rise, amazed at such a thing to hear from his wealthy California cous
in. A moment of religious silence sets in.

  “Maybe it’s worth a million just eating pickerel on a beach,” says Sid carefully. “So we’re all worth a million right now.”

  The sun has risen higher, though clock time still reads early. The lake shows signs of a morning breeze, caressing its mirror surface into little wavelet patches. They kick sand over the fire.

  Ryan shows Andy how to skip a stone on lake water – seven jumps before it sinks to a new home. “Sahiya Lake is the best,” Ryan grins as they push the boat off the sand. “You like it?”

  “Oh I do, very much,” says Andrew. “It’s just awful early. What time is it now?”

  “Just after nine,” Franco reports from the digital dash clock.

  The engine’s roar drowns out all conversation, as Franco launches them off again in their rocket, speeding out into the deeper part of the lake and racing across its shimmering surface, back towards the village.

  As they hum across the lake, Sid recalls his next task. Back to the airport for Uncle Nick. Uncle Nick – a true man of adventure. He wonders if any cousin will come along for a road trip.

  Chapter 3

  After lunch, he hands the Fairmont keys to Andy to drive them to the campground a mile past the boat launch. Andy drives OK, but Sid can tell the Porsche interferes with his appreciation for the finer points of a Ford. He points out Franco’s truck alongside a thirty-foot camper trailer.

  Franco and Ryan are sitting in the shade in lawn chairs, drinking a Pilsner. Sid waves at Franco’s wife and children over at the beach playground. Andy hops out, Sid switches to driver’s seat and Ryan hops in. Ryan, whose wealth seems to be his passion for fishing, tags along for the trip. And Andy, born into money, yet searching for something else, has had enough of the road. Ryan drinks the last of his beer, handing the empty to Andy, and they head off.

  Ryan and Sid look at each other, knowing Uncle Nick will be the next encounter. Neither of them has seen or talked to the guy for years. Sid has the flight number in his head and he can’t wait to talk to, no, listen to, this uncle. Nick Mirchuk is a man who knows a few options, a guy who’s tried out one radical arrangement or other.

  “What the heck is Uncle Nick doing now?” says Ryan. “Mom said he took off to Puerto Rico.”

  “Yah, actually Costa Rica in Central America,” says Sid. “Puerto Rico is in the Caribbean. Both places speak Spanish and they’re both poor, so they’re easy to mix up.”

  “Can’t be as poor as me, that’s for sure though,” Ryan speaks with confidence.

  “Are you really all that poor, Ryan?” Sid sighs.

  “I’ve got nothing but debt and a lousy job. Thank God for my credit cards. I’m a poor man. I gotta win big – that’s the only way.”

  “You know the chances of winning a lottery aren’t that great.” Sid remembers telling Ryan this before.

  “What else? I mean, what else can I get but lotto tickets? A million bucks would give me everything.”

  “Have you ever listened to Franco?” Sid poses. “Ever saved up some of your hard earned cash?”

  “Ahh, Franco, he’s just lucky. I got nothing to save. I tell you I’m in debt up to my ears. Hey, I gotta take a nap, you don’t mind?”

  “Go for it Ryan.”

  Ryan rolls his window to the bottom, jumps into the back seat and sprawls out.

  ###

  The highway wind whistles by as they sail past the tamarack and willow scrub among the pine and poplars. Oncoming traffic brings its cargo of beach-seekers getting away to the village on the lake. The day is becoming a scorcher, like down south where people pay to go in the winter. Could Costa Ricans be weather wealthy? Sid drifts off, dreaming of the worldly tales his Uncle Nick will have to tell.

  Through hazy memories, Sid recalls Uncle Nick being an engineering student, one who fit in with the don’t-fit-in-so-well crowd. They laughed about hoisting the Dean’s car up on the university entrance arch. And Nick didn’t settle down after graduation either, getting short-term jobs, always drifting from contract to contract. Unlike responsible people, he preferred less secure terms of work. A restless spirit but what other type might discover a better way. A year ago his spirit took him overseas – not to a villa in Europe, but to the little country of Costa Rica.

  They whistle past the swaying green grain fields, slowing to a stop at the Debden corner. Turning south, the sign informs of Shellbrook twenty miles ahead. The sky engages in its daily cloud forming routine, and Sid wonders if Mother Nature has thunderstorms on the agenda. Grandpa Pawlo watched the weather dutifully, though in his later years, his more true to heart interests came forth in writing. And photo albums.

  Sid remembers vaguely a black and white picture of Uncle Nick in his youth. He, Lola, Harry and that other girl! That must have been Ksandra Andy talked of. They beamed at the camera with their sixties hair, arms over shoulders. Maybe Uncle will talk about the old days on the way back.

  He never did get married, though he came close at least once. Sid even met the woman at a cousin’s wedding, and if Sid remembers right, she seemed a really nice woman. She must not have been so adventurous.

  As they approach Shellbrook, his eyes latch closely onto the big Witchekan house. He measures it this time, holding a picture of it in his mind. Through old growth poplar forest, they come again to Blaine Lake. He views the tiny houses, placing his mind-picture of the big house beside them. Several tiny houses fit inside the big one. He deliberates over the cultural interiors of the houses, the two kinds of people inside, with perhaps two distinctive outlooks. What would happen if they were to switch houses with each other? Would they ever do it because they wanted to? The big-house people would have the choice to move, he decides, not the other way around.

  ###

  Ryan stirs as they cross the North Saskatchewan River.

  “Switch places?”

  “Yah … give me a minute to wake up.”

  He pulls the car over. Leaving the wheel to Ryan, he hops into the back seat for his own nap. Laid out with feet on the door handle, he wonders about trying on the financial shoes of Ryan, or maybe Franco; Andy perhaps or even Uncle Nick’s. What would it be like? Sid drifts off, as familiar and unknown voices come tapping at the door of his investment advisor’s chambers, all with something to say.

  The sound of urban noise teases Sid back, as half-flashes of his dream’s story taunt him. He is a sultan in a castle, living in a far off land, surrounded by chests of gold, silver and the masses looking up at him from the courtyard. But the supreme ruler wakes late in the night, as a feeling envelopes him with overwhelming demands. An empty well in his heart sinks its shaft deeper and deeper, crying out a lonely thirst. What can console the solitary call? His wisest advisors have no answer. Disgruntled, he sets off alone on his favourite horse, on a quest to find what will fill the void. Leaving the sultanate behind, he first travels to … an airport?

  “Hey Sid, we’re here.”

  “What time is it?” he pops his head up.

  “It’s Uncle Nick time,” Ryan grins.

  ###

  They saunter into the cool air of the terminal, and his mind flickers back and forth from sultan’s journey to yesterday’s stop right here. They find seats in two red polyester chairs. As they wait, Sid tries to shift, and groggily becomes aware of the bolts firmly securing the chairs to the floor. Safe and secure, as people wish to be. Uncle Nick appears through the gate, following a thin line of travelers. He looks well-tanned wearing a tightly woven hat and carrying two small bags.

  “Uncle Nick.” Ryan shouts out.

  “Hello Ryan,” Nick breaks into a wide grin. “Hello Sid. Hey, how are you guys?”

  “Good, good Uncle Nick. Hey are you getting some sun or what?” Sid exclaims. “We’re your official welcoming committee … so welcome to Saskatchewan.”

  Ryan and Sid each grab one of Uncle Nick’s bags. Sid feels a chill run through him as he walks beside his uncle. A medium sized man, he looks fit, wi
th bright blue eyes and light brown hair framing his handsome face. He isn’t in the least bit of a hurry, even more laid back that Sid ever remembers.

  “You driving or me?” Sid looks at Ryan.

  “You are,” Ryan decides.

  They climb into the Fairmont, Ryan settling in the back with Uncle Nick’s luggage. Uncle Nick swings himself through the front door. They pull out of the airport, and Sid steers them off the interchange onto the highway back north.

  “So how is life down in Central America?” Sid asks.

  “Oh, it is a beautiful part of the world, more thrilling when you first get there of course. But even after you settle in, say after a few months, you still want to be there,” Uncle Nick relaxes into the seat.

  “Really?” Sid’s mind starts working overtime.

  “The people are friendly and they live the most peaceful lives – muuyy tranquilo,” says Nick. “That’s Spanish for verryy peaceful. Muy pura vida – pura vida is local Costa Rican. Literally, it means pure life, but it has an even deeper meaning. I believe it’s a true expression of the cultural happiness of the people.”

  “You do any fishing?” Ryan wants to know.

  “Ahh … fishing, well yes and no. There’s not many lakes down there, so it’s not like Saskatchewan. But, there is the Pacific – it’s only a couple hour drive from San Jose – so people go fishing out in the ocean. Some cast from shore off the rocks or the beach. Some go out in boats … I don’t.” He shudders, then goes on. “But part of my business is tropical fish; we catch them in the shallows. Tiny little fish for the aquariums of North America – not to eat. It’s completely sustainable. That’s the kind of fishing I do. You guys will have to come down and check the place out.”

  “Really. Yah … fishing.” Ryan hangs his arms over the back seat, eyes all afire.

  “I live in what they call the Central Valley, in a town called Piedades de Santa Anna. It’s just outside of San Jose. San Jose is the capital and it’s really the one and only city in the country. Most people live in the Central Valley where it’s cooler. I go to work at the hot ocean beaches a couple days a week.”

  “So how’s business going?” Sid imagines such exotic commerce.

  “Oh, it’s good … the experience is fun, and enjoyment is meaningful to my way of thinking. We gotta get a fun column in the business books,” Nick smiles. “We are starting to see some black in those books though. Aquarium fish is new for me, and it takes time to get established. But it’s relaxing. So I drive down to Punteranus, where I have a couple young guys working the beach. They know the ocean and the fish quite well. We talk and repair equipment the first day and catch fish the second day. ‘Cause I have to get those little live fish to the airport fast for shipment. Then I’m writing some for a lifestyles magazine.”