Adam Reed had no reason to doubt either his friend Ben’s intuition or even his common sense, let alone his apparently inexhaustible knowledge of all matters arcane. However, shivering with cold beside him and scanning the dark waters of Lake Huron in his pyjamas night after night had begun to seem pointless to him. But Adam kept silent. Ben must know better.
A lake freighter, silently crossing into the shimmering light cast onto the lake surface from the low-riding moon, was a reminder to him not so much that not all the world was asleep, but that they were awake when they should have been bedded down themselves.
In the short time that he had known him at Camp Whiteduck, Adam had been in awe of Ben’s forthrightness and encyclopedic knowledge. Ben had been right about how much Adam’s cousin ‘s NHL sweater collection was worth, about Lucy Parkes’ underarm hair, and about what Voldemort’s name meant. He had read all the Harry Potter books, could name all the elements in the periodic chart, the Governors -General since Confederation, and all the Presidents since the Civil War, along with their time in office. Of course, he was in Grade 8, which made him an eternity older. Such attention from a senior was hugely flattering. Introverts by nature, the boys had met in the outfield during a lacklustre baseball game, each recognizing a kindred spirit in the other.
‘Nothing tonight,’ sighed Ben. ‘But one of these nights…’ Adam forbore to tell him he’d said this on too many previous occasions. They turned from the beach and swished through the long wet grass to their team or “house” cabins, Adam following dutifully in his friend’s wake, Ben to the Orioles, and Adam to the Cardinals. Usually, they were able to meet only after supper, each house having different daily activities.
‘What makes you think they would cross here? ‘ Adam’s tone was untypically truculent. They had spent another unprofitable hour out of bounds on the lookout. ‘There’s no moon tonight, so your binoculars are useless. There’s miles of lakeshore along this island, and they could choose anywhere else to cross. My dad says we have the world’s longest undefended border, and too much geography and not enough history.’
‘When the clouds clear,’ said Ben,’ we will see the moon better. And why I think this is a good place to cross is that Michigan is just across the water, and this is a large empty island with no lights, where we happen to be. We can’t patrol the entire Great Lakes, obviously, but we have to do our part. The U.S. straddles both sides of the lake here,’ he added, apparently irrelevantly. He spoke with such conviction, tinged with a hint of condescension at his friend’s obtuseness. Despite his unsure grasp of geography, Adam persisted.
‘Why would they have to sneak in?’ His protest had the edge of truculence again.
‘Because they are refugees, probably without papers, like the Mexicans who cross the Rio Grande. There are plenty of migrant farm workers in southern Ontario. Maybe some of them are illegal. Canada is a welcoming place for refugees and immigrants. I’m one myself, and so are you.’
‘I’m not a refugee!’
