“Just as well,” Doug told him. “Good time to teach you bathroom regulations anyway.”
“Regulations?” Bob laughed softly.
“Oh, yeah,” Doug said, “very important.” He got up. “I’ll show you where to go. Come on.”
“Okay.” Bob winced a little at the pressure in his bowels. “Not too far, I hope.”
“Far enough,” Doug said.
Bob pulled on his boots and got to his feet with a groan. “Stiff,” he said.
“You’ll loosen up,” Doug told him. “Get your flashlight and toilet paper.”
He led Bob away from the camp, walking up the slight rise. He walked and walked. “How far are we going?” Bob asked.
“Far enough,” Doug said again.
Bob couldn’t believe how far they were walking away from the campsite. “Jesus, I’ll need a compass to find my way back,” he said, grimacing; he really had to go now.
“Okay, this should do,” Doug said. Turning, he looked back at the faint glow of the campfire. “About two hundred or so yards,” he estimated. He held out his trowel; Bob hadn’t noticed that he’d brought it with him.
“Okay,” he said, “behind that boulder would be good. Dig a cat hole six to ten inches deep. Squat over the hole and shit. Then, when you’re done, fill the hole back up and tamp the soil down good.”
“What about the toilet paper?” Bob asked.
“That you can’t bury,” Doug told him. “Either you burn it at the campsite or you pack it out.”
“Pack it out?” Bob stared at him incredulously.
“So burn it,” Doug said. “Just make sure the smoke isn’t blowing in my direction.”
Bob nodded. “What if the ground’s too hard for digging?”
“Cover your crap with dirt or leaves or dead bark or whatever you can find. Just don’t leave it uncovered. Some animals might eat it.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Bob said, moving behind the boulder. He started to undo his trousers, watching Doug’s form moving back toward the camp.
“What if I have to take a leak during the night?” he called after him. “Do I have to schlepp all the way back here?”
“No,” Doug said across his shoulder. “Just move a decent distance from the campsite.” After a few moments, he added, “And try to pee downwind.”
Fifteen minutes later, Bob gave up trying to move his bowels. Maybe tomorrow, he told himself.
When he got back to the camp, except for his slippers, Doug was completely naked.
“Whoa! What’s going on?” were the first words that occurred to Bob.
Doug chuckled. “Bath time,” he said. “What did you think, I was going to seduce you?”
“Uh… try to seduce me,” Bob replied.
Doug laughed. “Right,” he said.
“Bath time?” Bob asked.
“I like to do it every night,” Doug told him. Bob noticed that he’d filled a cooking pot with water and was heating it on the grate.
“I thought we slept in our clothes,” Bob said.
“You can.” Doug’s tone was dubious. “But dirt and body oil can collect on the inside of your sleeping bag that way. Eventually find its way into the fabric, eventually into the fill and break down the bag’s insulation ability.”
“Ah.” Bob nodded, averting his eyes.
“This embarrass you?” Doug asked him.
“No. I just—” He broke off. Don’t be so polite, he thought. “Well… yes, sort of. Outside of my son, I haven’t seen a naked man since college gymnasium.”
“Don’t know what you been missing,” Doug said. Bob glanced up at him. What the hell did that mean?
Doug laughed again. “Jesus Christ, Bob, I’m just kidding.”
“Oh, okay.” Bob nodded, trying to smile.
“If I’d known this was going to bother you, I’d have done it behind a tree. It’s a little warmer by the fire though.”
“Yes. Of course.” Bob was aware of trying to sound casual and failing.
“Not that I need the fire,” Doug told him. “I’m exothermic; it’s easy for me to release heat. My hands and feet are always warm.”
“Not Marian,” Bob said, still averting his gaze, “her hands and feet are always cold.”
“She’s endothermic then,” Doug told him.
“Ah-ha.”
Doug said no more but took the pot off the grate, using his washrag for a pot holder. Setting it on the ground, he soaked the washcloth in the water. “Whoa. Hot,” he said. Taking the washrag out of the pot, he wrung it out gingerly, then started rubbing soap on it.
“You gonna do this?” he asked.
Bob sighed. “I dunno. If we were going out for a couple of weeks, I suppose so. But three or four days…”
“More likely four or five the way we’re going,” Doug told him.
Again, the little jab, Bob thought. “Isn’t this where you were planning to camp the first night?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Doug said, soaping under his arms and over his chest. “But only because I figured we’d never get any farther.” He chuckled. “You almost didn’t make it here.”
“Mmm.” Bob had sat down by the fire now.
When Doug didn’t respond he glanced up. Doug was soaping his stomach and groin, leaning forward slightly. Bob had seen him in a Speedo bathing suit when Doug and Nicole came over to the house to swim. Seeing him entirely naked though made him aware of how muscular Doug was, his stomach flat, his abdomen muscles clearly defined.
For a moment, he thought of telling Doug how well built he was, then decided against it. He wasn’t sure how Doug would react to such a comment. He was aware of how uncomfortable he felt.
Doug seemed to read his mind. “Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable,” he said.
“No, no. It just… caught me by surprise, that’s all.”
“How do you plan to wash up?” Doug inquired. “It’s not a good idea to keep wearing the same underwear. You do have some extra long johns packed, don’t you?”
“Sure.” Bob nodded. “And some packages of moist towelettes to wash myself off with.”
“Well, that’ll have to do if it’s all you want,” Doug said. He was bending over now, soaping up his legs and ankles, then his feet.
The silence bothered Bob again.
“I, uh, see that that boulder over there is kind of black. Why didn’t you use that same spot for the fire?” he asked.
“Stupid thing to do,” Doug said. He was rinsing the soap off his body now. “That black will be there for centuries. That’s why I make a fire ring with stones. Which I’ll dismantle in the morning. You’ll be helping with the fires so remember never to use wet stones, they can explode in a fire.”
“Oh, my God.” Bob winced a little.
Silence again. He glanced up involuntarily and saw Doug drying himself with a towel, arms raised. He swallowed, wondering if Doug had done this deliberately to embarrass him.
Oh, don’t be stupid, he told himself.
“I notice that you didn’t dig a fire pit,” he said to break the silence and divert his mind from more uncharitable thoughts.
Doug chuckled. “You’ve been reading,” he said.
“Yeah, well… yeah, it did say that in the backpacking book I read.”
“It’s a good idea in windy weather,” Doug said. He was getting into a clean pair of long underwear now. “It’s also less visible and won’t bother other campers. But since it isn’t windy and there are no other campers, there’s no need for a fire pit.”
“Got ya,” Bob said.
Doug put on his slippers again and crouched by the fire, palms extended to the heat.
“You use only squaw wood to burn,” he said.
“Squaw wood?”
“I guess they call it that because Indian squaws made the fires,” Doug answered. “It’s wood that’s lying on the ground. You never use living growth for burning. Start the fire with fallen leaves or twigs or pine needles. And if there’s not enough dead wood on the ground, break off dead limbs or branches on fallen trees. Or living ones; just make sure the limbs or branches are dead. Got that?”