Reaching out his right hand, he laid it on Doug’s uncovered right shoulder—Doug was lying on his left side—and shook it gently. “Doug?” he said.
Doug didn’t stir, his sleep was so heavy. Great, Bob thought. He drew in a deep breath and moved his hand a little harder on Doug’s shoulder. “Doug,” he said.
Doug made a grumbling sound but didn’t move. Shit, he must have polished off that brandy, Bob thought. Here we go on yet another first-class backpacking day.
“Doug,” he said more loudly. He shook Doug’s shoulder even harder.
Doug twisted around with an angry sound. Bob stared at his face. Even in sleep, it looked morose now. Was he dreaming badly?
Well, to hell with it, he thought. We have got to get on our way.
“Doug, wake up.” He gripped Doug’s left shoulder and shook it.
Doug’s eyes fluttered open and he stared at Bob as though he hadn’t the remotest idea who he was.
“We have to get going,” Bob told him. “It’s almost ten o’clock.”
He expected Doug to jolt up in surprise. Jesus Christ, we gotta get out o’here then, he heard Doug’s voice in his mind.
Doug only looked at him with the same expression, that of a man regarding a complete stranger.
“Doug. Did you hear what I said? It’s almost ten o’clock.”
Doug cleared his throat. “So?” he muttered.
“Well—” Bob’s voice broke off. Doug’s reply had flabbergasted him. “I thought—” Again, he broke off.
“Thought what?” Doug said. His voice was guttural, raspy.
Bob tried to smile. “That we had to get on because it’s—taking too long. Because I’ve been holding things up,” he added, trying to put the blame on himself.
Doug sat up and rubbed his face with both hands. He hissed, feeling at his right shoulder.
“Shoulder hurt?” Bob asked sympathetically.
“What d’ you think?” Doug asked through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry,” Bob said. He tried to smile again. “I’ve got quite a few sore spots myself.”
“Yeah,” Doug muttered as though he couldn’t have cared less.
Was Doug going back to sleep again? he wondered. They did have to leave. Otherwise, they’d never reach the cabin when Marian was expecting them.
“I… saw you sitting by the fire last night,” he said to prevent Doug from dozing off again. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Don’t need that much sleep, I told you,” Doug muttered. “Three twenty-minute naps better than an hour’s sleep. You saw me take a ten-minute nap yesterday, do it all the time. Don’t need that much sleep. I’ve gone for days on two hours sleep a night.”
“That’s… very impressive,” Bob said. He braced himself. “But shouldn’t we get going? Marian will—”
He broke off as Doug made a growling sound, got out of his sleeping bag, and crawled from the tent. Bob started to follow him, almost bumping into him. Doug was standing just outside the tent, urinating on the ground. What happened to sanitation? Bob thought.
When Doug was through, Bob got out of the tent and moved to the hanging clothes, feeling them. “Not bad,” he said. “A little damp.” He started pulling on his trousers, expecting Doug to do the same.
His expression glum, Doug was stirring the coals to build up the fire. Why’s he doing that? Bob wondered.
He watched as Doug moved over to the rope that held up the food bag and untied it. The food bag thumped on the ground as he let it fall the last few feet.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Doug said, giving Bob a stony look.
“Well…” Bob finished with the fasteners on his jacket. “I don’t know, Doug.”
“You don’t know?” Doug said caustically. “You’re the one who wants a piping hot breakfast before taking off.”
“Well… yes. I do,” Bob said. “But yesterday, you wouldn’t even let me have a cup of hot coffee before we left, and that was seven o’clock in the morning.”
“Yesterday was yesterday,” Doug muttered. He was taking what looked like flour and dried milk from his food supply. He got his jacket and put it on—the morning air was chilly—then poured some of the powders into a small metal bowl, added water to it, and began to mix it all together with a wooden spoon. Bob watched him in concern. How long was this going to take?
“Well, what are you looking at?” Doug said.
“I’m… just wondering what you’re—”
“—making?” Doug interrupted. “Isn’t that obvious? We’re having pancakes. Now make us some coffee.”
Oh, Jesus, Bob thought. This is going to be one hell of a day, I can see it coming.
“Sorry, I don’t have any Canadian bacon to go with your pancakes,” Doug said scornfully.
Bob sighed. Just don’t speak, he told himself. No matter what you say, he’ll take it the wrong way, that’s for certain.
He finished dressing and put on his jacket. He sat down to pull on his socks and boots.
“Well, how about the coffee, Bobby boy?” Doug snapped.
“As soon as I get my boots on,” Bob told him.
“I don’t have my boots on,” Doug said.
Well, what the hell am I supposed to do about that? Bob thought. Utter a lament?
He finished lacing his boots. Doug had placed the frying pan on the grate and added some oil to it. It still had fragments of trout in it. Shouldn’t we clean it first? he heard himself asking Doug. That would be a mistake. So he’d eat his pancakes with trout fragments in them. Better that than agitating Doug any more than he was already agitated.
“You want a little orange juice?” he asked.
“No thanks,” Doug responded flatly. “I would like a cup of fucking coffee though.”
Jesus, he is pissed, Bob thought. At what though? Everything? Was this day going to be a total nightmare?
He poured some water in his pan and put it on the grate next to the frying pan. He almost winced, seeing the bubbling pancake batter because the frying pan looked so begrimed. But would he dare tell Doug he’d rather not have any pancakes? That would only set Doug off again.
He opened one of his small boxes of orange juice and drank some. It tasted very good to him, tart and refreshing. He washed down a multivitamin with a second swallow.
“Sure you don’t want some of this orange juice?” he asked, trying to be amiable.
“Did I say no?” Doug demanded.
Bob was going to repress his reaction. Then abruptly, he decided that the two of them simply could not go on like this for days on end.
“Doug, what’s the matter?” he asked.
Doug didn’t answer, flipping over the greasy-looking pancakes with his small spatula.
“If it’s something I’ve said, I apologize,” Bob told him, wondering if he really felt a genuine concern or was just trying to mollify Doug because he was becoming more and more unnerved by him.
Doug said nothing, his lips pressed together. Bob drew in a quick breath. Let it go? he thought. Or confront it?
He chose the latter, even though it troubled him to consider the possibility that it would only rile Doug further.
“Doug, we can’t just go on like this for the rest of the hike,” he said.
“The hike?” Doug snickered. “What hike?”
“Doug, I know I’m a total flop as a backpacker, but—”
“That you are,” Doug cut him off. “Total.”
Bob felt himself getting angry now. Menace or not, he couldn’t see himself enduring these endless gibes from Doug.
“All right,” he said. “A total flop. But we still have to get along for the next two or three—”