River Boy

by Tim Bowler

  She stopped and looked behind her. The trees and the bend in the river had snuffed Grandpa from view and she wondered for a moment whether she should go back and check if he was all right. She shouldn’t go too far anyway, in case he called her.

  She stiffened suddenly.

  There it was again, that feeling of someone’s presence, just like yesterday when she had sensed someone and then seen the river boy at the top of the fall.

  She gazed about her but saw only trees, and through them, the river flowing by. There was no sign of anyone. She waited for a few minutes, standing as still as she could, just letting her head move as she watched and listened.

  Nothing.

  She walked on, uneasily, past the clearing she had swum to yesterday morning, and back into the trees again, feeling less exposed here than by the bank. The river had widened to about forty feet, and both sides of the valley were now densely wooded.

  She came to another clearing and walked down to the water’s edge. It was perfect for diving, yet the feeling that someone was near now held her back.

  She noticed a tree stump close by and stood on it. From here she could see the texture of the river more clearly. The current was quite strong, and the ground shelved quickly below the bank.

  It was a perfect spot to dive. There were no reeds to bother her, the depth was fine, everything was right. She looked around again and still saw no one.

  This was getting ridiculous: she could stand here all day and not see anyone, and end up not swimming at all. She clenched her fists and made ready to dive.

  Then she heard a splash nearby.

  She jumped off the stump and hurried in among the trees, angry at herself for retreating but unable to stop herself. There was a sound of more splashing, then silence. She drew back farther from the bank and scanned the river.

  Suddenly a swimmer broke the surface.

  It was the boy from the fall —she was certain of it. He must have dived in somewhere to the right of her; and he must have swum under water —against the current —at extraordinary speed to come up here.

  He showed no sign of having seen her.

  He dipped his head and started to swim upstream with a strong, impressive crawl. She crept forward, keeping as low to the ground as she could and trying to catch a glimpse of his face. But all she saw was black, untidy hair, matching equally black, untidy shorts.

  It was him, it was definitely him, and he swam like a fish, every bit as well as she did, if not better, though she didn’t like to admit that to herself. There seemed nothing he couldn’t do: backstroke, breaststroke, butterfly —he changed effortlessly from one to the other, as though flirting with the water as he swam on against the current. Then, suddenly, he stopped, turned over on his back, and let himself float back down towards her.

  She watched, trying once again to see more of his face, but he was too far upstream, still floating with the current back toward the place where he had started, and where she still waited, crouched among the trees.

  She moved farther back among the foliage as he drew nearer, but kept her eyes upon him. He seemed unconcerned about where the river was taking him; his gaze was fixed on the sky, his body easy and relaxed as though he were lying on a bed, and his arms made not the slightest motion to propel or steer him. He seemed at one with the water, a creature spawned by the river itself.

  Then, just as she thought he might come close enough for her to see his face properly, he turned and dived.

  The water seemed to enfold him. She caught a glimpse of his body slipping beneath the surface like a blade, heading downstream; then the trees cut him from view.

  She hurried to the water’s edge and leaned out, watching to see him come up. But he did not. She craned over the water, scanning the surface as far as she could.

  But there was no sign of him.

  Suddenly she heard a shout.

  “Help! ”

  She whirled around. It came from Grandpa’s direction, but it was not Grandpa calling.

  It was Alfred.

  She plunged into the trees, racing as fast as she could. The ground, so soft and grassy on the way out, now felt hard against her bare feet. She drove herself back toward the cottage, thoughts of the river boy pouring out, thoughts of Grandpa pouring in.

  There was the clearing, and the easel and paints, and, by the bank, Alfred, peering down at the water, the wheelchair by his side.

  Empty.

  “Grandpa! ” she shouted.

  There was no sign of him; and the picture was gone, too.

  She saw Mom and Dad running toward them from the cottage. Alfred turned to face her.

  “Where’s Grandpa? ” she snapped.

  “I don’t know, ” he said, clearly startled at the fierceness of her manner. “I just got here and saw the empty wheelchair by the water. I was just having a look to see if — ”

  Dad arrived, breathlessly, Mom close behind him, and marched up to Alfred. “Where’s Dad? ” he said bluntly. “And how come we didn’t see you on the lane? ”

  Alfred, now looking distinctly hurt at his reception, cleared his throat. “Well, I took the shortcut down from the ridge there. It’s a nice little walk when the weather’s good and . . . anyway, I saw the old boy sitting by the easel and thought I’d come down this way to join him. Well, I lost sight of him when I got in among the trees and when I came out again into the clearing, he was gone and so was the picture. Then I saw the wheelchair by the edge of the water and I thought maybe, you know . . . ”

  Dad strode to the bank and gazed over the river. “What’s he done? What’s the stupid old fool done? He didn’t come back to the cottage. I’m damn sure we’d have seen him. We were right by it. ” He shot a glance at Jess. “I thought you were supposed to be with him. ”

  “I was but he wanted to be alone to paint and said I could go swimming. ”

  “But you don’t look as though you’ve been swimming. ”

  “I didn’t go in. I just wandered downstream for a bit. Then I heard Alfred. ”

  “Well, go in now, will you? See if you can . . . ” He stopped for a moment, breathing hard. “See if you can find anything. Go down with the current for a bit. If he really has done something stupid, he’d have . . . ” He stopped again, then turned abruptly away. “We’ll check out the cottage in case we missed him. Alfred, can you hang around here and keep an eye out? ”

  “Yes, to be sure, I can do that. I can — ”

  But Dad and Mom were already running back toward the cottage. Jess didn’t wait either but ran to the bank and threw herself in the river.

  The ground was too shallow for safe diving, but she was ready for the crunch of the bottom against her and had hands poised to push herself quickly up. She broke the surface and splashed out to the center of the river.

  Go with the current, Dad had said.

  She forced her fears aside and focused her mind on the task before her, praying she would not find him here. She knew how much the painting mattered to him, and that his frustration was at fever pitch. And then the business about his hands. If he’d tried and failed again to paint, if he’d suddenly felt he would never finish his work, his despair would be overwhelming. He might indeed feel life was not worth living. And with the river so near . . .

  She pushed these thoughts aside and drove herself down the river, keeping her head above the water as she looked about her. There was no sign of him here, and she prayed again that she would not find him.

  After a few minutes she stopped and tread water, searching the banks. Still nothing. To her surprise, she found images of the river boy pressing themselves into her mind again; the boy she had seen only moments ago, swimming this same water.

  She started to shiver.

  Everything was starting to feel strange, dark, terrifying. She saw images of a boy who appeared where there should be no boy; and images of a painting where a boy should be but was not; and she saw Grandpa, the thread upon which this paradox seemed to hang —but wher
e was he?

  He couldn’t have thrown himself in the water. He was surely too strong in his mind for that, no matter how desperate he might be. More anxious than ever, she swam back to the clearing and hauled herself out onto the bank.

  Alfred was still standing there.

  “Have you seen him? ” she said breathlessly.

  “No, and your mom and dad don’t seem to have found him back at the cottage. Well, I’ll stay here a bit longer if you want to run down and speak with them. ”

  She dashed back to the cottage and found Mom around the side, hunting among the trees.

  “I couldn’t find him, ” she said.

  Mom looked around. “How far did you go? ”

  “Couple of hundred yards downstream. I don’t think he’d have gone farther if he’d . . . ” She looked away, feeling tears start.

  Mom hurried across. “Easy now. Don’t let’s worry unnecessarily. It might not mean what it seems. You know what he’s like. He might have decided to walk off somewhere. It wouldn’t enter his mind to tell any of us. He’d just go. ”

  “But he can hardly stand up. ”

  “When has something like that ever stopped him from doing what he wants? Well, he’s not in the house. Have a look upstream, will you, in case he’s wandered up that way. ”

  “Where’s Dad? ”

  Mom nodded to the trees on the other side of the stream.

  “Having a hunt around there. I can’t believe he came this way, though. I don’t see how he could have gotten up here without Dad or me seeing him. We were just up there, watching out for Alfred. ”

  “Well, you missed him, too. ”

  “I know. We had our eyes glued to the lane, so I suppose it’s possible we could have missed Pop if he came this way. But it still doesn’t explain where he is now. Oh, God, here’s Alfred. ”

  Jess turned and saw him lumbering up to join them.

  “I was just wondering, ” he said slowly, “should I maybe head back and get my daughter and son-in-law to come and help? More eyes the better, I’d say. And we might just — ”

  “No, ” Mom interrupted him quickly. “It’s very kind of you, but we’ll wait a bit before we do anything like that. We know where you are. We can always drive down to your house if we need any extra help. I’m still hoping he’ll turn up. ”

  “Yes, well, you know where I am. I always think in situations like this — ”

  “Thank you, yes, but excuse me, we must keep looking. ” Mom smiled briefly. “We’re very grateful to you for helping and, of course, we’ll let you know if we find him. ”

  “Yes, well . . . ” Alfred’s face clouded, and he clearly had more he wanted to say, but Mom was already wandering off along the side of the stream.

  Jess wanted to go with her but, for a reason she could not explain, she suddenly felt concerned about the feelings of this old man. It didn’t make much sense; she knew well enough that she shouldn’t give him any opportunity to talk, especially when time was so precious. Yet, in spite of herself, she took a step toward him. “What was it you were going to say? ” she said.

  His brow cleared, and he looked almost startled to receive such an invitation. And, as if by way of not wanting to abuse her trust, he gave her the concisest answer she could have imagined him capable of. “He used to love a bit of mischief. ”

  She stared at him, trying to work out what he meant while she waited for his inevitable elaboration; but he said not a word more and simply ambled off across the clearing and out of sight along the lane.

  A moment later, she heard a voice. “Has he gone? ”

  She drew breath. It was Grandpa’s voice, hoarse and tired but unmistakably his. She looked around her, but there was no sign of him.

  The voice came again. “Are you blind or something? ”

  “Where are you? ” she called.

  The only response was a laugh.

  She stared about her in frustration. She felt it should be easy to gauge the direction of the voice, but somehow the sound of the river seemed to distort everything. She ran her eyes over the cottage, the trees, the river, the lane.

  No Grandpa.

  His voice called out once more, with gentle mockery.

  “And there was me thinking you always knew what was in my mind. ”

  She snorted and called back. “I’d have to be out of my own mind to do that. ”

  And she heard him laugh again.

  It seemed to come from near the cottage, but still she could see no one. She took a few steps toward the front door and waited there, still listening. He had not spoken again, but she sensed she was close.

  She stamped her foot. “Grandpa, where are you? And what are you doing? ”

  “Getting some practice, ” came the answer, and this time Grandpa’s sense of the ridiculous gave him away. She ran around the side of the cottage and looked down.

  There was the coffin, its lid still on, looking exactly as when they had left it after emptying out all the things.

  “I suppose you think this is funny, ” she said.

  There was a moment’s silence, then the lid rose a fraction, and two eyes peeped out; and they were laughing. She bent down and opened the coffin fully.

  Grandpa lay there, clutching the picture to him, his body twisted somewhat to fit himself into the space. His eyes sparkled a moment longer, as though he was proud of his joke; then the light suddenly dimmed.

  “Get me out of here, ” he muttered.

  She reached down and tried to help him up, but he was too heavy. And he had no strength of his own left now. She shook her head. “Grandpa, why did you have to do this? ”

  He lay back again and looked up at her. “I saw Alfred coming over the ridge and couldn’t face the prospect. So I thought I’d get myself out of the way for a bit until he’d gone. ”

  “How come Mom and Dad didn’t see you? They were just up on the lane. ”

  “Easy as pie to get past them. They were looking the other way. Anyway, I didn’t come across the middle of the clearing. I went through the trees down by the river where they couldn’t see me so well and then came back to the cottage from the other side. ”

  She looked at the picture, but he quickly shook his head.

  “Don’t ask about the picture. I haven’t finished it. I can’t. My hands and arms are hurting too much. And seeing Alfred coming was the last straw. ” His face darkened suddenly. “I don’t feel very well, ” he said.

  He’d exhausted himself completely and slept through the afternoon. Jess sat at the kitchen table, playing solitaire, while Dad and Mom read magazines. She felt an air of waiting over them all.

  Waiting for Grandpa to wake up; or perhaps to fall into that final sleep from which there was no waking. She didn’t know. He snored as he slept, an uncomfortable honking sound that seemed to pervade the whole cottage and take away all restfulness. Yet still, mingled with the snores, she heard the tinkling river, the ever-present music she had come to listen for, constantly.

  In the evening, Alfred came again, clumping in through the door, his large head almost touching the lower beams of the cottage. He asked no questions about Grandpa’s reappearance but simply said he was glad there had been no accident; then he sat down with Jess at the kitchen table and played cribbage with her, and they all went on waiting for Grandpa.

  At eight he awoke and, to her slight embarrassment, called for her alone.

  She went through and sat down by the bed. He reached out with difficulty and took her hand. “Stick with me tomorrow. I’ve got some idiot doctor coming out to see me and he’s bound to try and make me agree to go into the hospital. ”

  “You should go into the hospital. ”

  “Don’t you start. ”

  “But you should. You know you should. It might not be for very long, just to get you over the worst. ”

  “If I go into the hospital, I won’t come out again. Except as a corpse. Your mom had no right to call the hospital. ” He closed his eyes. “Is
that Alfred’s voice I can hear? ”

  “Yes. ”

  “Then you’d better bring the old fool in. Seeing as he’s hobbled all this way again. ”

  “Why don’t you like him? I know he talks a lot, but he’s nice, really. ”

  Grandpa opened one eye and glanced at her. “I like him well enough, but I’m not telling him that. Go on, bring him in or they’ll think I’m being difficult again. ”

  He was being difficult again, but she said nothing, fetched Alfred, and left the two of them together. Dad had made some soup, and she sat down at the kitchen table again, cleared the cards away, and drank it in silence, aware of Mom and Dad watching her. After a while Dad spoke. “What’s on your mind, Jess? ”

  She looked across the table and tried to organize her thoughts.

  There were so many images in her mind now, so many strange feelings she could not come to terms with; and all of them, in one way or another, centered on Grandpa.

  “Don’t tell us anything you don’t want to, ” said Dad. “Just tell us you’re OK. ”

  She saw the anxiety on his face and quickly answered. “I’m OK, really. Please don’t worry about me. I’ve just got lots on my mind. ”

  Something was drawing her, she didn’t know what; something deep, something powerful, drawing her as irresistibly as the river itself was being drawn into the sea. She looked away, hoping they wouldn’t question her further.

  Mom stood up. “I’ll just see if Pop can manage a bit of soup. ”

  “You’ll have to spoon-feed him, ” said Dad. “He’s hardly got any strength left in his hands. And Alfred might like some. We’ve got enough, haven’t we? ”

  “Think so. I’ll ask him anyway. ”

  She left and Jess looked across at Dad. He was gazing out of the window toward the river, his lips tight, his eyes narrowed, as though he had seen something outside. She thought of the river boy and quickly looked, too.

  But all she saw was the river.

  As always.

  She reached out to touch him —but stopped and drew her hand back, unseen, and rested it, with her other hand, on the table; then she lowered her head into the cradle of her arms, closed her eyes, and listened once more to the tumbling waters.