“That’s right,” he said. “I was scared they’d shoot me then and there.” Darkness swallowed the far bank. Jason’s shadowed expression was hard to read. “We’ve been rescued,” he said. “So tell me—why do I feel so awful?”
“Till now we were just trying to survive,” Nick said. “Now we have time to feel.” Strange, he thought, to think of emotion as a luxury.
“Almost makes me want to go back on the river,” Jason said. “As long as I was on the river, I didn’t have to think about things. The river was, like, our fate. It wouldn’t let us go, but it kept us safe.”
“We made it, Jason,” Nick said. “There’s no reason to feel bad about that.” Jason seemed unconvinced. “I guess,” he said.
He gazed out onto the river. “I keep thinking I could have saved my mother,” he said. “If I’d known about that trolling motor, maybe I could have taken the boat through the flood and pulled her out of the house. If only I’d known a little more about how things worked.”
“That’s not your fault, Jase. It wasn’t even your boat. You can’t be blamed for not knowing that motor was hidden under the deck.”
“I suppose,” he said reluctantly.
“We’re not to blame for being alive. It’s not our fault. And the people who didn’t make it, it’s not their fault, either. They’d be with us if they could.”
Jason looked out at the dark river. “I know,” he said.
Well, Nick thought, either this has made an impression or it hasn’t. No sense in beating a dead horse, no less a live one.
“Hey,” he said. “Cook’s frying up a feast for us. I stay on this boat much longer, I’m going to gain fifteen pounds.”
Jason gave him a wry look. “You’re telling me it’s time to eat, right?”
“Only if you’re hungry. You want to stay out here and think for a while, that’s fine.” Jason hesitated for a moment, then threw his leg over the gunwale and dropped to the deck. “Might as well have dinner,” he said.
Nick had underestimated dinner on the Beluthahatchie. In addition to all the fried food, there was potato salad, red beans and rice, corn bread, and icebox pie for dessert. Nick couldn’t understand why all the crew didn’t look like blimps.
Nick and Jason told Captain Joe what they knew of the river north of their location. He was impressed that they’d survived the poison gas at Helena—he’d been worried that it was still there, clouds of the stuff hovering over the river like fog. The captain told them what he and his crew had heard on radio broadcasts. “Ain’t no harbors on this river no more,” he said. “All wrecked or closed. When I got the boss man on the radio, he told me to get this boat into the Ohio as soon as I can get her afloat. Nearest berth’s in Cincinnati.”
“There are rapids between here and Cairo,” Jason said. “I went down them.”
“Waterfalls, too,” Joe said, to Jason’s surprise. “But they ain’t so bad as they were. Old Man River, he gon’ wear down them rough spots. By the time we get afloat again, I figure them chutes are gonna be safe enough for Beluthahatchie. Maybe I’ll have to moor the tow somewhere where I can pick it up later—boss man says I can do that—but we’ll make Cincinnati okay, I guess.” He looked at his watch and gave a shout of joy. “It’s eight o’clock! Time for Dr. Who.” They watched in surprise as Captain Joe jumped up from the table and headed aft. Nick looked at the other crew.
“Might as well join the captain,” one of them said. “He likes company when he watches TV.” They followed Captain Joe into a little crew lounge aft of the dining room, where they found the captain digging through a cabinet filled with a large collection of videotapes. “You like Dr. Who?” he asked.
“Never seen it,” Nick said.
“Well, podnah, you got yourself a treat in store. I watch Dr. Who every night at eight, unless I got business or a watch to stand.”
Nick didn’t make much sense of the video—it seemed to be a middle episode of a series—but he enjoyed Captain Joe’s narration, a continuous discourse on the various actors who had played the Doctor over the years, the changes in the theme music, and footnotes on the various minor characters. He talked more than he watched the television, but Nick figured that Joe had seen the episode a hundred times anyway.
As the closing credits ran, Jason rose from his chair. “Thanks for the show,” he said.
“I hope you liked it.”
“I was wondering,” Jason said, “can I ask you for a favor?”
“I reckon you can ask.” The captain grinned.
“I wonder if I could use your radio.” Jason hesitated. “I thought about someone I could call.”
“I can do that,” Captain Joe said. “Just wait till the tape rewinds here, and I’ll take you up.” Nick decided not to go with Jason, to give the boy some privacy. He waited in the lounge, staring at the empty eye of the television. Jason returned after ten minutes or so, just stood in the doorway while his eyes brooded over the little lounge.
“Everything go okay?” Nick asked.
“I got the answering machine,” Jason said.
“You said that you might.” Nick gestured at the TV set, the recorder. “You want to watch a tape or something?”
Jason shook his head. “I’m going to take a shower, if I can.”
The boy left. Nick let his head loll back on his chair, raised a hand to touch Arlette’s necklace in his breast pocket. One day soon he would give it to her. He knew that now.
It was just possible, he supposed, that now he would actually manage to relax.
“Charlie?” It was his neighbor, Bill Clemmons, the father of the girl who’d talked to him yesterday—or was it the day before? Or the day before that?
“Yeah, Bill?” Charlie, sweating in the driver’s seat of the BMW, gave his neighbor a smile. “What can I do for you?”
“You doin’ okay, Charlie?” His neighbor seemed concerned. Looked at the empty wine bottles in the car.
“I’m fine, Bill. Thanks for asking.”
Bill had a smear of white on his nose, zinc oxide against the sun. “I didn’t know if you’d heard,” he said,
“they’ve got a refugee center down at Cameron Brown Park. They’re pitching tents and distributing food.”
Charlie kept the smile plastered to his face. Never let them see you down, that was his motto.
“Thanks for telling me,” he said. “Did the radio mention when they’re going to get the phones fixed?” Bill shook his head. “They’re workin’ on it. The phone companies are bringing in lots of workers from out of state. But transportation is so busted up that priority is being given to food and shelter.”
“Well,” Charlie said. “I guess there are plenty of homeless people.”
“You think you might head on down there?”
Charlie shook his head. He could not see himself at a refugee camp, living in tents, holding out his begging bowl for rice as if he were a starving African farmer. This was not a place for the Lord of the Jungle. All he needed was a place that would cash a check.
“I’m doing fine, Bill,” Charlie said.
“You sure, Charlie?”
Charlie winked at him. “You bet.”
“Well,” Bill said, “I guess you know best.”
“Pastor Frankland?” said Farley Stipes. “We have a little problem—I caught a boy trying to steal some food.”
After the discouraging hour with Father Robitaille, a difficulty like this was just what Frankland needed. He felt his heart lighten. “What did you do?”