Under the Ice

Looking down to lose himself in the mural, the Canadian admired the stretch of pure white sand, the crystal blue water, palm trees, and the distinctive volcanic formation known as Diamond Head. He had never been to Hawaii, but as soon as his orders arrived transferring him from Polestar, he promised himself that his first extended leave would take him straight to the exquisite tropical setting displayed on the wall before him.

From the other side of the bar, Jim Stanfield noted the forlorn expression that was etched on the young Canadian’s innocent face as he studied the mural. He had seen this same look before, and made certain to pour a bit more of the dark. Virgin Island rum into his coworker’s mug. He topped this off with a half-cup of hot water, a dash of cinnamon, some cloves, and a dab of rich butter.

“Bottom’s up, mate,” interrupted the Yank as he picked up his own mug in toast.

Suddenly brought back to reality, Graham solemnly reached out for his drink.

“Now come on, lad. Things can’t be as bad as all that,” reflected the American.

“Just think, we could have been left out in this icebox without a drop of booze to console us. Now that would be serious!”

Graham couldn’t help but laugh at this innocent statement, and seeing this, Jim Stanfield added.

“That’s more like it. Now are you just going to sit there, or are you going to try some of my magical elixir that’s guaranteed to cure what ails you?”

The Canadian lifted up the white enamel mug, took an appreciative sniff of the fragrant steam rising from its golden surface, and toasted.

“To your health, my friend.”

“And to yours,” returned the American, who raised his mug to his lips and took a cautious sip. Instantly liking what he tasted, his rugged face lit up in a full smile.

“This is just what the doctor ordered. Finish this baby off, and I promise you that those homesick blues will be gone.”

“How did you know that I was homesick?” questioned Graham, in between sips of his toddy.

The American winked.

“I don’t know, lad. Just call it an educated guess. May I ask where you were stationed when you got the orders sending you on your way to Polestar?”

“I was in Esquimalt, British Columbia,” Graham answered directly.

“I know the place,” replied the Yank.

“Me and the wife spent part of our honeymoon on Vancouver Island and really loved every moment of it. Why with those thick coastal woods and all, it’s hard to believe that there’s even a military base hidden away out there.”

Graham nodded.

“It’s beautiful country, all right.

Having spent most of my life as an Alberta flat lander those coastal mountains were like a breath of fresh air. Have you ever been to Waikiki beach, Sergeant?”

Stanfield took a long drink before answering.

“That’s Jim to you, and yes, I have been to the island of Oahu. In fact, I was stationed at Hickam Air Force base when I got the papers sending me to the Arctic.”

With his gaze locked on the mural, Graham sighed.

“You must have been really disappointed with your new assignment. Hawaii sounds to me like it’s the closest thing to paradise we have on this earth.”

“Believe it or not, I actually requested this transfer,” revealed the grinning American.

“You see, I was brought up on a farm in upstate New York, and all that Hawaiian sunshine was finally starting to get to me. There’s certainly nothing wrong with the cold, as long as you’re dressed for it. If you ask me, it makes a man feel totally alive.”

“I beg to differ with you, Jim. All my life I’ve had nothing but fickle Canadian weather. When it finally does warm up in the summer, the mosquitoes and flies are so bad that you really can’t enjoy yourself. And the winters, why they’re the worst. I’m sick and tired of having cabin fever for six months of the year. You can give me a warm beach and a shapely Polynesian lady any day of the week, and I guarantee you won’t be hearing any complaints from me.”

Jim Stanfield chuckled.

“I still say that it would get to you eventually. In a couple of months you’d be begging for a cool spell, so that you could finally stop sweating. Although, I must admit, this Arctic weather is a bit extreme. How long are you up here for?”

“Six months,” replied the Canadian.

“And you?”

“The same,” answered Stanfield as he warmed his large hands on the sides of his mug.

“Isn’t that an awfully long time to be away from your wife?” asked Graham.

The American polished off the rest of his drink before answering.

“Not really. You see, we split up this past spring. The last I heard from her, she was living in Waikiki with a Hawaiian surfing instructor. I should have known that she would go native on me.

That one was never satisfied from the very start.”