I’ve never spoken about this before, though perhaps it can be inferred. The theory of doubles, as I have thought of it, of course, is not really a theory, but rather a series of motifs or themes. As if it presented a way of connecting things in my mind… the love between us flowed along a fine umbilical cord of regret. Yet, try as I might, I could not see how to reach Maggie. Finally, I was forced to conclude I could not reel her in; Maggie, after all, stood on her own – in her own unique theory of singles.
Maggie or Margaret May as she preferred to be known, at least for legal reasons, was not a hard girl but a strong one.
One day, in her twenties, she woke up and decided to fulfil a lifelong ambition and head for the barren wastes of Alaska where she had the misfortune to be caught in a snowstorm.
Everything looked up for her. Maggie thought she was going the way of Scott. Picturing her petrified bones in Newfoundland in one hundred years, she was getting ready to write her dying words to friends and family, when a tall figure came into numb focus.
Big John Peter was Alaskan born. He had hard limbs. He could push sledges and command his dogs (those loving huskies) at will. He came to rescue Maggie from herself and the elements. He gave her whisky and the kiss of life.
By John Peter Maggie had three children, all boys, who grew up to be strong and healthy citizens of sledge and snow.
When she was fifty-six and John Peter was forty-five, tragedy struck. Whilst out on another rescue mission with his faithful huskies, John Peter was attacked by a polar bear.
It was a case of exit, pursued by the bear.
At 91, Maggie was still not prepared to push up daisies. Her three sons who were old, but strong told her it was time to retire to a home in California, but Maggie said:
“What I want is a further life in snow.”
At one hundred and one, with a storm blowing around her hut in the wilderness, she breathed her last breath and expired.
The boys set the flag at half-mast and played the last post.
This testimonial was penned, though not published, in two thousand and sixty-seven. Margaret May, who was buried with her photo albums of huskies, was born in 1966. RIP.