When they first stumbled from the forest that grabbed at their clothes like it wanted to keep them and he saw the town, Bob McPherson started to cry. He’d been supporting his wife Rene since she twisted her ankle on the morning of that day; she was deadweight and holding her arm around his neck was the only leverage he had to keep her moving at all. They’d been walking through the trees for two days without a compass to tell them where they were going- all the food and water had run out the second day after the crash, and he’d given up on rescue but not surrendered to death when they made their way into the clearing.
"My God," Bob said , wiping tears away with the ragged shirtsleeve of his free hand.
Rene said nothing: her head and matted blonde hair hung limp with her chin on her chest.
"Look…Rene, Look!" he said , his eyes filling with tears again, realizing they had really made it out. "Look," he said again pulling the back of her hair gently so her head stood up ; she gurgled and a man took one silent step to be beside Bob.
"Is that really a town?" the man said
"Yes," Bob said, realizing it must be true, but not looking away from it. He saw pale orange streetlights shining off squat white stucco homes fifty feet in front of them; there were no cars on the dirt roads and no lights in any of the windows. A silent highway divided the clearing from the town; Bob looked up and down at the white centerline that stretched off into the dark on either side of them.
Rene’s head bumped his shoulder and he felt startled by what he was thinking. He shifted his hands under her armpits and she fell backward into his arms, her eyes fixed and round, staring up at him blankly ; he heard her breathing rattling faintly in her chest and he looked quickly at the man without moving his head to see if he’d noticed.
"Oh, my," said the man beside him,"your friend… is she?"
"Yes," said Bob, relieved he seemed to have an accomplice by the side of the highway- he could always come back later once he made proper arrangements in the town. Some rocks were scattered in the clearing, and Bob was careful to roll Rene on her side so he wouldn’t have to look at her face while he piled them on her. Even so, he piled them all around her and left her face open for last.
"Oh, my," said the man again, "what shall we do about the face?"
Bob said nothing, tucking her hair around her neck like a collar so it wouldn’t stick out and laying a long flat rock on her cheekbone.
"Okay," he said to the man beside him, "let’s go see about that town." He was trying to sound brave, hoping that screen would help him erase the picture of Rene with a rock on her face and, as they turned, he was careful not to look back at the mound.
They would have to cross the highway first; Bob stood on the gravel of the soft shoulder and looked both ways up and down into the dark. It was strange to him- how a highway with a town right on the other side had no cars on it- no cars or traffic lights or even a piece of litter blowing down the pavement. He’d just taken his first step from uneven earth to solid ,familiar pavement when the man grabbed of his arm.
"I’m sorry," the man said, " but you can’t make the crossing this time."(He didn’t sound like he was sorry to Bob: it was a polite but stern statement of fact like an apologetic maitre de telling him he needed a tie to eat.) Bob turned to face him, quickly afraid and ready to run. The man took his arm away and started picking at one cuff of his white blazer. He shook his arms out to straighten the sleeves and adjusted the lapel.
"An understandable reaction for a first attempt," he said , looking up and smiling with ivory teeth, "but I’m afraid you’ll have to try again.’
II
The engine roared like a pride of African lions chasing their prey across a dusty, pock-marked plain and the wind was shrieking, tormented by the aircraft skewering her middle. Bob McPherson was flying solo again for the first time and he was pushing it: he’d become rich at twenty-five by pushing it and by pushing anyone who got in the way of his getting rich out of his way; the plane hurtled above the ocean on their approach to land and he pushed the throttle forward so the breakwater looked like it was being spit out under the prop.
"Look Rene, look!" he yelled, turning to admire her beautiful blond hair catching the sun in shards of light; she nodded and forced a smile and a spinning needle on the instrument panel caught Bob’s eye just before the controls went deaf to his touch.
The plane skimmed the tops of the trees before it crashed; Bob saw green branches smash past the windshield and he thought they looked like mad brushes in a car wash and he started to laugh and cry and….
He woke in the cockpit, not remembering anything about his previous crash; the plane was on the ground among the trees and he looked over at Rene in the passenger seat and noticed her eyes were wide open and thought she might be dead, but her chest swelled as she drew a breath to speak:
"We’re alive," she said and he wondered how long she’d sat staring out the windshield, amazed they were , but not saying a word, afraid talking might ruin the spell. They climbed from the wreckage and Bob gathered what was left of the food and water from a cooler behind his seat and put it down clear from what was left of the plane. Then, they started off through the forest and, without a compass, he wasn’t sure where they were going; Rene tripped on the same large root sticking out from the ground at the beginning of the second day and twisted her ankle badly. He knew by his own mounting weakness and the desperate way Rene dug her nails into his neck as he held her up that they would be critical by the end of that day. She rarely talked to him , and he only talked to keep his own spirits up and his mind off what he felt would be inevitable for his survival.
."Look, there," he would say,"a jackrabbit just ran into the thicket. See, right over there." She would look up with wide, large, uncomprehending eyes, and he noticed her blond hair was matted and grey with dirt.
When the sun went down , he kept her on her feet, afraid to sit down, rest and maybe fall asleep; when they stumbled out from the trees again and saw the soft glow from the town, Bob, less shaken than before, felt a faint wisp of recognition, like a quick smell that triggers a familiar memory.
"Good," said the man standing behind Bob, "Good…" he said staring across the highway at the quiet homes.
Bob turned his head to look at the man; this time he didn’t loosen his hold around Rene’s neck but he brought her arms up to his neck and held them there protectively with one hand, putting his other arm around her waist.
"Good," said the man taking a step behind Bob and Renee as Bob started to drag her over the empty highway toward the town.
"Very,Good Bob," the man said from behind when Bob stopped , adjusted his weight, and shifted his arm around her waist before starting again. They were almost at the centerline and Bob started to walk faster-Renee immediately became heavier. He tried to swivel around to look behind for some word of encouragement- tried to turn around to see the man behind him, but he stumbled and almost fell with her in his arms.
"Damn," he said, amazed the town was so close now and angry thinking he might die and never get to enjoy it. He looked down at her; her eyes were wide and he thought she might have died somewhere on route but he carried on.
"Very good Bob," said the man quietly and Bob, encouraged, turned , put his hands under her armpits, and started to drag her. He faced the forest now and he could see the man in his white blazer standing with his feet shoulder width apart , straddling the white centerline of the highway, his arms crossed over his chest, smiling . The man looked down to pick at the front of his white suit with a thumb and forefinger.
"You’re doing the right thing now," he said, "but why are you doing it?"
"I’m doing it because…because she’s my wife and she ..she needs me." Bob looked down at Renee, then up to the man on the highway. "Damn it ," he said, "If you’re so righteous, why don’t you help me?" He could feel the hot blood in his cheeks and if he’d had a free arm, he would have raced over and hit him
"Someone with clear motives,Bob" the man said calmly, "wouldn’t be angry- they might implore help from another but they would never demand it," and he took one step backward and disappeared into the dark . Bob set Renee down on the asphalt- he was too tired to go on with her and there was no reason for both of them to perish. When he turned around to cross into the town, it was gone.
III
The needle was spinning counterclockwise- Bob looked at it calmly.
"Do something," Renee screamed and he almost changed his mind when he looked at her, almost scrubbed his plan when he saw her blond hair that had slayed him the first time he’d seen her, but he knew he couldn’t do anything until they’d crashed again. This time around, he thought, as he released the joystick, stopped the engines, and crossed his hands over his chest, I‘ve got it all figured out.
"Renee, my love," he said, "we’re going to crash, but we’ve done this twice before. After the crash, I want you to take the food and water that’s left in the cooler and go the opposite way I go. Do you hear? I want you to walk away from me after the crash."
This time, when the trees hit the windshield like mad brushes in a car wash, Bob put his hands behind his head and enjoyed the effect. He was confident he would be able to cross alone: how would the emissary in the white suit know that his wife was hopelessly lost on the other side of the forest?
When he woke in the cockpit, Renee was gone and he made his way from the plane and checked to make sure the rations were gone with her . Then, he looked around the passenger side of the plane to make sure the footprints were leading off in the opposite direction from where he’d found the town twice before.
Bob made good time to the clearing without Rene to hold him back; He thought about his wife while he piled the stones at the edge of the highway, but only briefly. When all the stones were in place, he looked for the one he’d used to cover her face before. When that was done, he sat down and put his hands up to his face in a gesture of grief and waited-thinking only while his life without Renee would be harsh, it would still be a life. After all, he thought peeking across the highway from behind his fingers, only the strong survive.
He had fallen asleep sitting by the decoy of rocks when the hand on his shoulder startled him, waking him up.
"Bob," the man said, "Is she?"
"Yes," he said turning to face the man and look without blinking.
"Then," the man said, "there’s nothing left for you to do but cross."
Bob got up and looked at the highway- he looked down at the asphalt and not up at the town, he planned to look up once he crossed to the other side, when it was within his grasp. He stepped from the dirt and gravel, uneven under his feet, to the asphalt, solid and familiar. He started to walk, knowing that to turn around would betray his dishonesty, and wanting desperately the rest he hoped waited for him . He was standing on the white centerline when he heard the stone fall to the ground behind him.
He didn’t have to turn around to know which one it was and where it had fallen from. He didn’t have to turn around to know the man had uncovered his hoax, but he felt even more desperate and lost when he did. He’d expected to be met by anger or, at the very least, admonishment ,but the man was smiling at him- a forlorn smile like a father who knows he must punish his son against his will.
"Bob," the man said, "I’m truly sorry," and he was gone into the dark. Bob spun around to the town and was met only by the black night; he turned on his heels to the clearing and the would-be grave marker he had hoped would be deception enough to make his escape – it was gone as well.
He stood in the middle of the highway, expecting to find himself back in the cockpit of his plane again beside his wife. He looked around at the black night- Nothing. He closed his eyes, clenched his fists and tried to imagine the roar of the engines. He opened them. The highway stretched out behind and in front with only the white centerline visible a foot in each direction.
"Damn," he said looking again into the night. He started to walk ,being careful to stay on that line, putting one foot –heel to toe- in front of the other. Still, without a compass, Bob McPherson wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew Rene was safe and warm, looking out from one of the windows of the squat stucco homes across the highway. He knew her blond hair would be clean, shimmering, and reflecting the soothing orange streetlights of the town, and he thought she might be sad, waiting and hoping he might eventually make the crossing to get there.
Robert Starr was educated at Ryerson's School of Journalism in Toronto in
the mid- eighties. After a brief career in the field, he decided to leave and
work in non related jobs, writing at night. You can read more of his work at
his website 'Buddhist Cat Naps' at
hometown.aol.com/starrshdr/myhomepage/writing.html
E-mail:
StarrShdr@aol.com
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