When the fishing was done and the boats on the flat, Steve and I found the whole gang waiting for us on the top of the cliff. Kathryn hugged me and Del and Gabby and Mando slapped my sore back, and oohed and aahed over my cuts and bruises. Kristen and Rebel joined us from the bread ovens, and they all demanded that I tell my story to them. So I sat and began to tell it.
Now this was the third time I’d told the tale in two days, and I had latched on to certain turns of phrase that seemed to tell it best. But it was also the third time that Nicolin had heard it, and I could tell by the tightness in the corner of his mouth, and the way he looked off into the trees, that he was getting tired of it. He recognized all my phrases, and it slowed me down. I found new ways to describe what had happened, but that didn’t make much difference. I found myself passing over events as fast as I could, and Gab and Del jumped in to pepper me with questions about the details. I answered the questions, and I could see that Nicolin was listening, but he kept looking into the trees. Even though I was just telling the facts I began to feel like I was bragging. Kathryn braided her disobedient hair and encouraged me with an exclamation here and there; she saw what was going on, and I caught her giving Steve a hard look. We got back on the subject of San Diego, and I told them about La Jolla, thinking that Nicolin hadn’t yet heard about that part of the trip. I described the ruined school, and the place where they printed books, and sure enough Nicolin’s mouth relaxed and he looked at me.
“… And then after he’d shown us the whole place he gave Tom a couple of books, a blank one to write in, and another one they just printed, called”—I hesitated for effect—“An American Around the World.”
“What’s this?” Steve said. “A book?”
“An American around the world,” Mando said, savoring the words, his eyes fish-round.
I told them what I knew. “This guy sailed to Catalina, and from there he went all the way around the world, back to San Diego.”
“How?” Steve asked.
“I don’t know. That’s what the book tells, and I haven’t read it. We didn’t have time.”
Said Steve, “Why didn’t you tell me about this book before?”
I shrugged.
“Do you think Tom is done reading it yet?” Mando asked.
“I wouldn’t be surprised. He reads fast.”
Nicolin stood up. “Henry, you know I’ve already heard about your swim, so you’ll excuse me if I go pry that book out of the old man’s hands for us.”
“Stephen,” Kathryn said impatiently, but I cut her off, saying, “Sure.”
“I got to read that book. If I get hold of it we can read it together in the morning.”
“By that time you’ll be done with it,” Gabby said.
“Steve,” Kathryn said again, but he was already on his way and he waved her off without looking back.
We all sat there and watched him hurry up to the freeway. I went on with my story, but even though Steve had been putting a crimp in my style, it wasn’t as much fun.
It was near sunset when I finished. Gabby and Del took off. Mando and Kristen followed; at the freeway Mando sidled up to Kristen and took her hand. I raised my eyebrows, and seeing it Kathryn laughed.
“Yeah, something’s going on there.”
“Must have happened while I was gone.”
“Earlier, I think, but they’re bolder now.”
“Anything else happen?”
She shook her head.
“What was Steve like?”
“Oh… not so good. It bothered him, you and Tom being off. Things were tight between him and John. Those two…”
“I know.”
“I was hoping he would calm down when you got back.”
“Maybe he will.”
She shook her head, and I guessed she was right. “Those San Diegans will be coming this way again, right? And that book. I don’t know what will happen when he reads that.” She looked afraid, and it surprised me. I couldn’t remember ever seeing Kathryn look afraid.
“Just a book,” I said weakly.
She shook her head and gave me a sharp look. “He’ll end up wanting to go around the damn world, I know it.”
“I don’t think he could.”
“Wanting is enough as far as I’m concerned.” She sounded so bitter and low that I wanted to ask her what was going on between her and Steve. Surely it was more than the book. But I hesitated. It was none of my business, no matter how well I knew them and no matter how curious I was. “We’d best be home,” she said. Sun slipping under the hills. I followed her to the river path, watching her back and her wild hair. Across the bridge she put her arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze that hurt me. “I’m glad you didn’t drown out there.”
“Me too.”
She laughed and took off. Once again I wondered what went on between her and Steve—what their talk was like, and all. It was like anything else: I was most curious about the things I couldn’t know. Even if one of them were willing to tell me about it, they couldn’t—there wasn’t the time for it, nor the honesty.
That night Nicolin came by fuming. “He wouldn’t give me the book! Can you believe it? He says come back tomorrow.”
“At least he’s going to let us read it.”
“Well of course! He sure better! I’d punch him if he didn’t and take it away from him! I can’t wait to read it, can you?”
“I want to bad,” I admitted.
“Do you suppose the author went to England? That would tell us more about the east coast; I hope he did.” And we discussed possible routes and travel problems, without a fact to base our speculation on, until Pa kicked us out of the house, saying it was his bedtime. Under the big eucalyptus tree we agreed to go up to Tom’s next day after fishing, and beat the book out of him if we had to; we were fiercely determined to dent our ignorance of the world, and this book seemed likely to do it.
By the time we got up to Tom’s place the following day, Mando and Kristen and Rebel were already there. “Give it over,” Nicolin said as we burst in the door.
“Ho ho,” Tom said, tilting his head and staring at Steve. “I was thinking I might give it to someone else first.”
“If you do I’ll just have to take it away from them.”
“Well, I don’t know,” Tom drawled, looking around the room. “By rights Hank here should get first crack at it. He saw it first, you know.”
This was touching a sore spot; Nicolin scowled. He was dead serious, but Tom met his black gaze blinking like a lamb.
“Ha,” Tom said. “Well, listen here, Steve Nicolin. I got to go and work the hives for a while. I’ll lend you the book, but since these others want to read it too, you read a chapter or three aloud before you go. In fact, read until I get back, and we’ll talk about our lending agreement then.”
“Deal,” Nicolin said. “Give it over.”
Tom went into his bedroom and reappeared with the book in hand. Nicolin pounced on him and they yelled and pounded each others’ shoulders until Nicolin had it. Tom gathered his beekeeping gear, saying, “You be careful of those pages now,” and “Don’t bend the back too hard,” and the like.
When he was gone Steve sat by the window. “Okay, I’m gonna read. Sit down and be quiet.”
We sat, and he read.