The Incomparable Atuk Read Free Page A

to discover that her life had been irredeemably altered. Bette Dolan was a national heroine.
    As was to be expected, she was immediately inundated with offers to endorse bathing suits, health foods, beauty lotions, chocolate bars, and so forth, but Bette turned down everything. ‘I did not swimthe lake for personal gain,’ she told reporters. ‘I wanted to show the world what a Canadian girl could do.’
    SHE SWAM THE LAKE – BECAUSE IT WAS THERE , was the title of Jean-Paul McEwen’s prize-winning column. Seymour Bone’s approach, in his column on the next page, was considerably more intellectual. Quoting Frazer, Jung, Hemingway, and himself from a previous column, he elaborated on man’s historical-psychological need to best nature. While he was able to accept Bette as a symbol, Bone reserved judgement on the girl and her motives. He needn’t have bothered. The rest is part of the Dolan legend. Surely everybody now knows how she turned the bulk of her prize money over to her town council to build a fantastically well-equipped gym as a challenge to the crippled children; how the Red Feather, the United Appeal, the White Cane, and innumerable other worthy organizations all profited from Bette’s television, film, and public appearances. Bette Dolan was incorruptible.
    Harry Snipes wrote in
Metro
, The Girl With All The Curves Has No Angles.
    She has a heart, Jean-Paul McEwen observed in her column, bigger than Alberta.
    Bette was also lovely, unspoilt, radiant, and the most sought-after public personage in the dominion. In earlier times she would have come forth to bless churches, but in Canada, things being what they were, she pulled the switch on new power projectsand opened shopping centres here, there, and everywhere.
    Wherever Bette went she was instantly recognized. Ordinary people felt better just for having seen her. But if Canada loved Bette Dolan it was also true that she so loved the country that she felt it would be unfair, sort of favouritism, for her to give herself to any one man. So although many, including cabinet ministers, actors, millionaires, and playboys, had tried, Bette remained, in her mother’s words, a clean girl. Until, that is, she met Atuk.
    Bette first met Atuk at the party for him at the Park Plaza Hotel and saw him again at another party a couple of months later. Atuk was enthralled and promptly asked if he could meet Bette again. To his amazement, she said yes. Actually, Bette was more grateful than he knew because, by this time, nobody bothered to ask her for a date any more. Bette made dinner for Atuk at her apartment. Carrot juice, followed by herb soup and raw horse steak with boiled wild rice. Atuk, thoughtful as ever, had scraped together some money and brought along a bottle of gin. Bette, lithe and relaxed in her leotards, told Atuk about her father and how his life had been changed by the teachings of Doc Burt Parks. She sensed Atuk felt depressed, maybe even defeated by Toronto, and tried her best to encourage him. ‘You’ll be a success here yet,’ she said.
    ‘I don’t know. It is so difficult.’
    ‘But success doesn’t depend on the
size
of your brain,’ she assured him.
    Atuk hastily added some gin to the carrot juice.
    ‘Dr Parks has always said,’ Bette continued, too absorbed to protest, ‘that if you want to succeed you must always shoot for the bull’s-eye.’
    Atuk promised to try.
    ‘You’re as good as the next fellow. You simply must believe that, Atuk. You see, the most successful men have the same eyes, brain, arms, and legs as you have.’
    ‘I drink now. You too.’
    ‘I’ll bet,’ she said, narrowing her eyes, ‘that you envy some people.’
    ‘Many, many people.’
    ‘But still more people envy you.’
    ‘Do they?’
    ‘Sure. Some are bald-you have a head full of hair. Some are blind – you can see.
Everybody envies somebody else
. You must learn to have faith in yourself.’
    Soon they were sipping gin and carrot juice together