he canoe wavered across the cold blue river as Sam pulled the paddle through the water, first on one side, then the other. His arms ached and his palms felt tender. Small whirlpools formed by each stroke of his paddle spun smoothly by. The midmorning April sun warmed his face and bathed the gravel bottom in gold. A trout hovered in the current, waiting for food to come its way. The joy of this weekend visit with his children swept over him. How could he let these small discomforts detract from the day?
All through the winter he’d waited for the opportunity to take the kids on this outing. He’d missed a few weekends in February due to business, and at each reunion he thought he detected growing distance. After the divorce the gnawing fear of being less than a good father had eventually subsided, now replaced by the wrenching, constant worry he’d lose his children for good.
Sam spotted a group of blue herons nesting in the sycamore trees in a swampy area back from the river. He paused, feathering backward with his paddle.
“Why are we stopping?” Gail asked.
“Over there, in the trees.” Sam pointed. “Blue herons. The ones with brighter feathers on their backs and necks are males.”
“What are blue herons?” Bobby asked.
“The big birds in those trees.” Sam leaned over Bobby’s shoulder. “See? No, this way farther—that’s right. See them now?”
“Oh, I see them. They’re just birds, Daddy.”
“I know. But they’re beautiful birds. And you’ll see a lot more animals and plants if you watch for them.” He ruffled Bobby’s hair. “I want to teach you how to look at natural things and really see them, son. Gail already knows how.”
“Maybe I’ve forgotten,” Gail said. “I could never see them as well as you wanted.”
Did she think he was disappointed in her? Was that why she’d been reluctant to come today? The three of them had never floated before, and it had been years since he had taken Gail. Maybe he shouldn’t have insisted, but the weekends were the only time he had with her and Bobby, and he wanted to spend the time as a family. Had he pushed her too hard?
“You learned a lot about nature,” Sam said, “and it made me proud and happy to teach you.”
Gail gave Sam a perfunctory smile, as if fulfilling an obligation, then turned away. He shrugged, headed the nose of the canoe downstream, and resumed paddling.
A turtle sunned itself on a log jutting up from the stream. The distinctive call of a bobwhite sounded from behind Sam and blended with the rat-a-tat-tat of a redheaded woodpecker burrowing for insects in a large pin oak. Toothworts, with clusters of small, pinkish flowers, thrived among the twisted roots of a rotting elm. The breeze, carrying the scent of apple blossoms, rippled the surface of the water and blew the canoe off course, forcing Sam to paddle harder. The dull ache in his arms and the blister forming on his right hand reminded him of how out of practice he was.
He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, allowing the quiet of the river to engulf him and empty his mind of thoughts of work or money or the fresh wounds of separation. He needed to find the quiet, to let that quiet flow through him into his children. At that moment, the world outside this river valley didn’t exist. Everything he wanted was contained in the vivid blue sky and the trees and the water and the canoe that carried him and his children through this world that belonged only to them.
Billowy clouds rolled across the sun, hiding the bottom. A leaf dropped from a cottonwood, dancing back and forth and down on the wind, coming to rest on its bed of water.
“Bobby, did you see that leaf?” Sam asked.
Bobby didn’t answer. Sam had been afraid that Bobby, at six years old, might be too young for a canoe trip, but he was eager to share his son’s first fishing experience.
“Are we there yet?” Bobby asked. “When can I go fishing?”
“We’ll be at a good spot in about fifteen minutes. Remember when we practiced how to set up your rod and reel, bait the hook, and cast? Do you think you can do it?”
Without warning, Bobby stood up and reached across the seat for his rod and reel. The canoe heeled sharply over. Sam grabbed the right side, nearly losing the paddle.
“Don’t try to do it now,” he yelled. “Sit down, right now. I told you never to stand up in the canoe.”
Bobby flopped into his seat and hung his head.
“Gail, make sure the straps on his life jacket are tight.”
Gail turned around carefully, checked Bobby’s life jacket and her own, then glared at her dad.
“You shouldn’t have yelled at him,” she said. “He didn’t mean it.”
Sam met her eyes and then looked away. He’d seen this confrontational look more often lately and still didn’t know how to deal with it. As a young girl, she had accepted everything he said without questioning, but now…
He smiled, trying to make light of her defiance.
“I know he didn’t mean to do anything wrong,” he said, “but a canoe can be dangerous, especially with three people. Bobby, I’m sorry I yelled at you. Remember I said we need to respect the river and always be careful when we’re floating? Okay?”
Bobby smiled at him, the sting of the reprimand already faded. “Why don’t you have a life jacket, Daddy?”
“Your dad’s a very good swimmer,” he said with an exaggerated grin. “Besides, I don’t intend to get wet.”
A challenge formed on Gail’s face, but she remained silent. Sam considered making a joke, but said nothing.
The sun emerged from the clouds and warmed him in its golden-yellow light. With everyone settled into seats, he headed the canoe downstream again. “Now, what about setting up for fishing when we get to our spot?” Sam said.
“I want to do the worm myself,” shouted Bobby. “Can I, Daddy, can I?”
“Sure. The worm’s the best part.”
As they rounded a small bend in the river, Sam recognized the spot the outfitter had pointed out on the map. After telling the children to sit very still, he paddled into the protected cove. The canoe stopped abruptly as the bow slid a few feet onto the smooth sand. As he stepped out, the canoe lurched, and he almost fell in the river. Cold water spilled over the top of his hiking boots. He helped Gail out of the bow, then picked up Bobby and set him down several yards from the water.
“Well, we made it,” he said. “Let’s rest a few minutes while I dry my feet a bit; then we’ll get to the hard work of fishing.”
Sam sat on a rock under a huge river birch, pulled off his boots and socks, wrung out the socks, and spread them on a root. He leaned back and looked over his head straight up the trunk of the tree. The mosaic of branches and leaves intertwined with sections of brilliant blue sky. Not a word interrupted the gurgling of the water, or the whoosh of the wind in the trees, or the flute-like sound of a wood thrush calling its mate. Sam let his gaze wander to the stream. It gleamed blue-green with silver caps and smelled fresh as if it were teaming with life. Squadrons of insects hovered above a spot in the water, then darted in unison to another point.
When he glanced to his left, he saw Bobby underneath a nearby black willow, imitating his father. Gail twirled her hair between her index finger and thumb, bored.
He’d noticed a change since she’d turned thirteen last year. Before then, she had a strong feeling for nature and real enthusiasm for sharing it with him. Now she seemed to have lost both.
Sam glanced at his watch and was surprised it was already 11 a.m. “So, what do you say? I think it’s time to hook up the old rod and reel and do some serious fishing.”
“Daddy, Daddy,” Bobby yelled, “can I go first, before Gail? Help me first, Daddy.”
“You can go first, but calm down. We don’t want to scare the fish away.”
“I think I’ll just read my book,” Gail said.
“Sure, princess.”
He was glad she was reading more now—it would help her in school—but the books she chose worried him. Many of the books seemed too adult for a young teenager, especially his daughter. Would the notions in her books add to the growing distance he sensed between them? He shook his head. Maybe he just didn’t understand girls.
“Come on, son, let’s catch some fish.”
He fitted the reel to the rod, threaded the line through the metal eyes on the shaft, and tied a hook and bobber to the line. Bobby opened the bait can and came up with a night crawler.
“Hurry,” Bobby said. “The worm’s trying to get away. It’s too squirmy to hold.”
“That does it,” Sam said. “I’ll hold the rod. Remember how we practiced at home? Hold the hook in your right hand and the worm in the left. That’s it. Now, push the hook through the worm, quickly. Great! You did it. Now you’re ready to catch fish!”
Sam smiled at Bobby’s awkward, impatient attempts at casting. It reminded him of his first time fishing with his father, the hook that had cut his finger, how flustered his father had become. He remembered his father’s huge, gnarled hands around his as he helped him cast, and the smell of pipe smoke in his father’s beard as it scratched his neck. Smiling again, he thought of how it would be for Bobby and Bobby’s son, and how the hoped-for love of nature would connect him through time to his grandfather’s grandfather and his children’s children.
After half an hour or so, Bobby tired of fishing. Gail helped Sam pack the canoe, then put on her life jacket and helped Bobby with his. Sam headed the canoe downstream to find a good place to have lunch.
It was almost one o’clock when they stopped at a small, hilly island. Sam spread the blanket on a grassy spot in the sun near a redbud, its dark green, heart-shaped leaves interspersed with brilliant pink flowers. After getting the children started with lunch, he took a sandwich and climbed the flat, moss-covered rock that was the highest point of the island.
The moss was deep green and thick and soft to sit on. Tiny, dull-yellow plants he didn’t recognize sprang from a crevice next to him, their buds only partially formed. Across the river, a small herd of white-faced Herefords grazed behind a row of hawthorns. The trees’ delicate white flowers reminded him of tiny teacups. Black-capped chickadees flitted among the hawthorns and red cedars that lined the pasture. A faint odor of manure wafted to him on the breeze.
Bees gathered around his sandwich. He felt strangely comforted by their familiar buzzing. He leaned motionless against the rock and studied the river, trees, and sky. Moment to moment, each took on different shapes and colors and textures.
Bobby had fallen asleep on the blanket, his sandwich half-eaten, and Gail was sitting silently beside her brother, the paperback in one hand and a sandwich in the other. Despite the comfort of the surroundings, Sam felt anxious to move on.
He climbed down from the rock, motioned Gail to stay quiet, and together they got ready to push off. He slid on Bobby’s life jacket without waking him, laid him in the canoe wrapped in the blanket, and quietly paddled away.
Soon, Sam became immersed again in the serenity of the scenery while Gail read in the bow and Bobby napped. The river gradually moved faster. Sam relaxed with his feet up on the crossbar, using the paddle only to steer.
They rounded a big bend coming out of a heavily wooded section of sweet gum and sycamore, and the river opened to nearly a hundred yards wide. Limestone bluffs, bone-white with streaks of copper and black, rose out of the river to over fifty feet. Scraggly red cedars stood in a line like sentinels on top of the bluff.
Sam’s thoughts drifted with the canoe down the river. A snake slithered by, its head barely above water, its tongue darting rhythmically in search of insects. A muffled roar like a train rumbled in the distance. Two turkey vultures soared on the updrafts from the bluffs. The feathers at the tips of their wings reminded him of long black fingers, grabbing and releasing the wind. He envied the vultures, drifting free, content to go wherever the winds would take them.
The rumbling sound grew louder and seemed to be coming from somewhere ahead. Sam looked down the river. The canoe was moving into a narrow passage formed by the bluffs. The roar he had heard was not a train but the fast-flowing water squeezing through the narrow opening.
He scanned the shore. The bluffs came right to the water—no place to land.
The roar grew louder and louder and the canoe picked up speed. His concern mounting, he stood up to have a look downstream. A section of white-water rapids started less than fifty yards away.
Gail put her book down and turned to him.
Trying to keep the fear out of his face, he motioned for her to stay in her seat. The bluffs blocked the sun, making the river more difficult to read.
The roar of the river woke Bobby, and he sat up to see where the noise was coming from.
“Sit on the bottom of the boat,” Sam said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “We’re going through some rapids, and I don’t want you to get wet. Okay?”
This was more white water than he’d ever seen. He had no business in water like this, especially with his children. He prayed to God the rapids would end quickly.
The canoe hurtled into a huge trough. Sam opened his mouth to yell but could make no sound. The acidic taste of bile covered his tongue, and he swallowed several times to clear it. “Stay down,” he shouted above the deafening roar of the water. “If we go over, hold on to the canoe!”
The canoe raced down a steep hill of water toward an enormous boil. As the wall of water rushed toward Gail, she suddenly crouched. The shift in weight tipped the canoe, spilling them into the churning water.
The roaring stopped and darkness surrounded Sam. The weight of his clothing and the force of the water drove him to the bottom, cracking his knee against a rock.
He pushed off the bottom, toward the air. He opened his mouth to scream and swallowed a roiling mixture of water and debris.
Panic gnawed at the edge of his thoughts. He could barely move his legs. His boots felt like twin anvils. He clawed at the water as if reaching for the rungs of a ladder that would take him to the air his aching lungs craved.
He broke the surface, sucking in air, and the roaring filled his ears. He took a second breath, then coughed. His arms flailed, barely keeping his head above water.
The children! For an instant he saw the gleaming metal bottom of the overturned canoe; then it disappeared downstream. The river sucked him into a trough and turned him completely around. He swallowed more water, stopped paddling to clear his lungs, and quickly sank into the eerie silence. Terrified, he stroked furiously toward the precious air, the thundering roar.
Then he saw Bobby, face down, being swept away from him.
He could no longer feel his face and hands, but he started stroking toward Bobby. He caught a brief glimpse of Gail pulling Bobby toward shore just as a wave washed over him, obscuring his vision.
The roaring subsided. The rushing water propelled him out of the canyon and toward the right bank. His foot dragged on the bottom and struck a rock. He stumbled, trying to find his footing, and the sharp gravel on the bottom opened a cut on his palm. Coughing up debris from the river, he got to his feet and ran downstream looking for Gail and Bobby.
His hand bled steadily. Without stopping, he wrapped the bottom of his wet T-shirt around the cut. If Bobby or Gail were hurt he’d never forgive himself. If they were hurt… They couldn’t be hurt. He rounded a bend, and spotted them about thirty yards ahead, where Gail was helping Bobby with his life jacket.
“Gail, are you all right?” he shouted. “Is Bobby okay?”
Before they could answer he reached them, threw his arms around both, and kissed them.
“I’m okay,” Gail said, “and I think Bobby’s all right, too. We’re just a little scared, and cold.”
He hugged her tightly and then stepped back to look at her. Her clothes clung to her, and her hair was wet and tangled. She shivered slightly, but she looked calm and in control.
Bobby’s pants were low on his hips, tugged down by the water, and his eyes were wide.
“How are you, son?”
“I’m cold, Daddy.”
“We’ll get you warm and dry real soon.” He turned to Gail. “You saved his life, you know. I’m so proud of you.”
She returned his smile, but concern filled her eyes.
“I was so frightened for you,” she said. “Why didn’t you wear a life jacket?”
Sam looked away, toward the middle of the river where it rippled over the rocks. Gail was right, but he didn’t want to think about what could have happened.
“Where’s my fishing pole?” Bobby said. “Can we get it, Daddy?”
The little boy clung to Gail, shivering. Sam smiled as they lingered in the hug. She had saved Bobby’s life. She was so… so adult.
“Don’t you worry about your fishing pole,” he said. “I’ll get you a brand-new one.”
Sam had to get them into warm, dry clothes quickly. According to the map he’d studied, there was an old hikers’ path roughly parallel to the river that led to the state highway.
“We need to dry off,” he said, “before we catch cold. Let’s hike up to the road and see if we can get some help.”
He led them away from the bank and into the woods that surrounded the river. Violet gentians clustered near the edges of the primitive path, and dead leaves and pine needles blanketed the center. Sam held Bobby’s hand while Gail stepped briskly ahead of them. The trees formed a canopy penetrated only by narrow funnels of sunlight that scattered about the path. Insects swarmed around them as they made their way through thick stands of oak and elm and pine. Squirrels jumped from branch to branch in the trees, and an occasional chipmunk darted across the path.
When they reached the dirt road, Sam hoisted Bobby onto his shoulders for the rest of the walk to the highway. A pickup truck came along after a few minutes. The driver, a kind, craggy-faced man with a scratchy voice, took them to the livery point where their car was parked.
***
On the drive home, Bobby slept in the backseat wrapped in an army blanket, naked except for the dry socks and tennis shoes Sam had thought to bring with him. Gail, still in her wet clothes, sat silently in the front next to him. When he had suggested she put on a blanket as well, she bristled.
“I can’t take my clothes off here!” she’d said. “Someone might see me. And I will not ride all the way home with only a blanket on.”
Sam didn’t want to embarrass or alienate her by insisting, so he’d turned the heater up as high as it would go and hoped she’d be warm enough. He wondered if he were the someone she didn’t want to see her body. Since before her birthday, she’d been careful to close her bedroom door even when she wasn’t dressing.
As they drove toward home, the dank, musty smell of the river hung in the heated air and reminded him of what had happened and what she had done, and what he had done. He’d been a fool for not wearing a life jacket, and he’d been blind to the changes in his own daughter. She was growing up, becoming her own person with her own thoughts and needs, and he hadn’t seen it clearly before today.
“Princess,” Sam said in a soft, hesitant voice, “I’m sorry. I made a terrible mistake today.” His throat was dry and he swallowed several times. “You…you’ve grown into a remarkable young woman. I’m so very proud of you.”
“Oh, Daddy, I, I…”
He glanced at Gail. Her eyes were wet and deep blue like the river.
He looked back to the road. Although he was sure he’d come this way before, he didn’t recognize this section of the road. Gail looked different, too, as if his new insight had changed her, but he knew it was he who had changed.
She leaned closer to him, touched him lightly on the shoulder, and kissed him on the cheek.
He reached for her hand and held it gently as he drove toward home.
___
John Danahy’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Aim Magazine, Art Times, Desert Voices, The Griffin, Haight Ashbury Literary Journal, The MacGuffin, North Atlantic Review, RiverSedge, Salt River Review, and Sanskrit.
Posted by Leif.
View all posts by Leif
Friday, December 30th, 2011 1:45 pm
Categories: Current: 5.3, Stories
