 
DAVID SHATH SQUARE Chapter Thirty-five
My father, grandfather, and the other men walked across a slippery steel catwalk that spanned the top of the dam for a half mile. Below, water thundered through openings in the concrete walls of the dam. Thick wood gates that could be raised or lowered by winches controlled the amount of water that flowed through each opening
"We had lots of snow this winter so there's lots of water moving through the gates right now," yelled the power plant superintendent, Sam Spartan.
As he spoke, spray from the pounding river rose into the air and froze on his hooded parka forming sparkling white ice crystals. All the men looked like Arctic explorers who had fought their way through a spring blizzard.
My father leaned over so he could talk into Spartan's ear. Spartan lowered his hood to hear my father
"We brought you out here to ask a question," said my father. "I know its going to sound crazy, but do you think a person could be swept over the falls and survive?"
"If you mean today," said Spartan, looking shocked, "the chances are zero. He'd die of hypothermia before he was dashed to pieces on the rocks."
"How about last August when the water was warm and less was moving through the gates?" my father continued.
Spartan rubbed circulation into his frosted ears with his hands while he considered.
"Well, as you remember, we had a drought last summer and most of the river was being diverted into the turbines. There wasn't much excess water going through the gates. I suppose if a person were really lucky, he might have survived the falls."
"How about two people and a dog?"
"Now wait a minute, Jude. If you're suggesting that Hardy and Thoreena and the dog were swept over the falls and survived, then I think you're chasing a false hope. I know you loved those kids, but..."
"But them kids is still alive," interjected my grandfather. "I know in my heart they's still alive and we ain't gonna stop lookin' for them."
Spartan looked up at my grandfather who was a head taller. In his emaciated condition with his clothes covered by ice crystals, my grandfather looked like a towering wraith chiseled out of hard snow.
"Well...now that you mention it, Jeb," said Spartan, choosing his words, " I suppose it is possible that they all could have survived. But if they did, where are they?"
My grandfather clapped his hands and strutted along the catwalk like a teenage peacock
"That's just the question I been ponderin'," said my grandfather. "And I reckon I know the answer."
The group of men moved close to my grandfather. Although most couldn't hear what he had said, his gesticulations had attracted their attention
"Mr. Jeb," yelled Lee Chang to make himself heard over the tumult of the cascading water, "how you know where children are?"
"I'll tell ya soon as we get off this ice castle and back to dry land."
With that, he turned and marched back along the catwalk toward the superintendent's office in the power plant. The rest of the group followed expectantly. They entered the plant through an ice encrusted door so narrow and short that most had to stoop or walk sideways to squeeze inside
It wasn't much quieter inside the plant than on the catwalk. Big circular generators with giant spoked wheels turned rapidly inside steel frames that resembled oversize bicycle fenders bolted to a concrete floor. The hum of the generators spinning out millions of watts of electricity pervaded the plant, making conversation impossible until the men were inside the superintendent's office.
Once inside the office, the group removed their ice covered overcoats and stood in circle around my grandfather. The office was sparsely furnished with an oak chair, desk, and filing cabinet. On a wall there was a large map of the Pointe du Bois dam and the Winnipeg River.
"Okay, boys," said my grandfather, "gather your butts around this map and let me do some explainin'."
My grandfather pointed to the forebay behind the power plant and traced a route with a skinny finger from the edge of the bay to the nearest opening in the dam
"Was this here gate open last August, Spartan?"
Spartan went to the filing cabinet and removed a file with August 1952 stamped on the cover. He scrutinized the log entries quickly
"Yes, that gate was partially open so there wasn't much water moving through it. I suppose if a person were to survive, it was a good gate to be swept through...the water runs over some smooth granite before it re-enters the main river."
My grandfather's skinny finger shook with excitement as he continued to point at the map.
"Okay! So let's assume them kids were strong enough swimmers to escape from the forebay and get sucked through this here opening in the dam. If they survived -- and I'm sure they did -- were'd they end up?"
All the men studied the river's course on the map. The current moved powerfully downstream for about three miles until an island split it into two channels. The west channel was blocked by a plug dam, but the east channel was open and the whole might of the river surged through this single gap. Another two miles downstream from the channel the river spilled into a large bay on the opposite side of the river to the Pointe where the frantic current subsided to a peaceful flow.
My grandfather traced the course to the big bay triumphantly.
"We all know how powerful that current is," he said, recalling the time he and the Swede had hauled a city slicker out of the river after the slicker's boat had capsized at the base of the falls
"We couldn't pull that fella into my boat 'til the river had drug us all the way to that there bay. All I could do was keep my boat headed up river 'til we hit calm water and the Swede could pull him aboard. That city slicker clung to the gunwales and yelled for help the whole way. What a spectacle…greenhorn fisherman had no dignity."
The Swede, lost to his grief during my grandfather's discourse, suddenly leapt forward and embraced my grandfather like a sinner who has been offered salvation by a priest.
"Ya, ya! Jeb, I remember," he kept repeating as he continued to hug my grandfather.
"What ya remember, Swede?" asked my grandfather, who was uncomfortable in the bear hug
"Ya, da dock. We dry out not so goot fisherman on dock."
Everyone except my grandfather looked at the Swede as if he had drunk too many pints of his special shellac.
"You do remember, Swede!" said my grandfather, thumping the emaciated Swede on the back.
"What are you two talking about?" interjected my father.
My grandfather freed himself from the Swede's embrace and explained how he and the Swede had taken the city slicker ashore as quickly as possible to dry out his clothes and to give the man a chance to regain his composure. They had landed their boat at a little jetty at the far end of the bay where the river lost its rage
"That's at the beginning of the Lake George trail," my father said
"Yup," said my grandfather. "And you know what's at the other end of that lake."
"Of course," said my father, "that cabin built by those two brothers who dodged the World War 1 draft."
"Right again, Jude. And that's where we're gonna find Zach, Thoreena, and the dog."
There was a buzz in the room as the men began to discuss the likelihood of my grandfather's hypothesis
"Just a minute, Jeb," Spartan asked. "Why would the kids run away from home. If you're right, they've been reckless and they've upset the whole community for no reason?"
"They had their reasons and you'll find out soon enough," said my grandfather.
The men began to discuss a rescue party. After so much conjecture, it was good to have something definite to do. It was decided that my father, grandfather and Lee Chang would start at first light as the day was almost gone. The Swede and a group of volunteers would follow with a sled loaded with provisions.
As the river was still too treacherous for a boat and the ice too thin to cross on foot, it was decided that the rescuers would use the dam catwalk to get to the other side, then follow the shoreline to the Lake George trail
"Let's hope the ice on the lake is still solid enough to support us," said my father. "I don't want to bushwhack all the way to that cabin."
To Chapter Thirty-six
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