by J. J. Murray
“I don’t know,” Fish said. “Did they say ‘shit’ back then?”
“Yes, but I have a feeling she’s going to be saying more than that by the time she crosses that stream.”
“She ain’t crossing that stream today,” Fish said, pulling out a twenty. “And I got twenty that says she won’t.”
“All right.” Walt found a Canadian twenty in his wallet and put it on top of Fish’s twenty.
“Nah, nah,” Fish said. “None of that play money.”
“Fish, the way the U.S. economy is going, my twenty is worth more than your twenty.” He looked at the big screen. “She’ll cross. It’s not as deep, and the sun is coming out. Get ready to zoom.”
The transmitter squawked. “Everybody ready?” Vincenzo asked.
“It’s a go,” Fish said.
“I’m going to cut it a few times, so be patient,” Vincenzo said.
Fish smiled. “Oh man, that’s cold.” He turned to Walt. “We’re gonna get Miss Katharina seriously wet today.”
Katharina’s toes tingled to life. Maybe if I run across quickly it won’t be so bad. She hitched up her dress and crashed into the stream, lifting her legs high, splashing water up and over her head.
She also cursed like an overworked, underpaid truck driver cut off by a tree hugger driving a hybrid.
She stopped and panted on the other side, giving a thumbs-up to Vincenzo and feeling the icy cold seep into her pores.
“Why did you stop?” Vincenzo asked, letting his camera droop. “It must be a continuous shot. You are running for your life. You would not stop and rest.”
I can’t feel my knees! My nipples are tearing my dress! “Can’t we just, you know, take it from here?”
Vincenzo shook his head. “The headset footage will jump if we cut and splice. It must be one smooth take. You understand.”
Katharina blinked. “You want me to go back across and do it again.”
“Yes,” Vincenzo said.
She looked down at her dress. “But I’m already wet. You want me to be wet before I get wet?”
“It is a brown dress, no one will notice,” Vincenzo said. “And if they do, who cares? It is a wet forest. You were bound to get wet before you hit the stream, yes?”
How can I convince this idiot …” Look. The headset shows me crossing, you pick me up on this side as I climb. It will work.”
Vincenzo shook his head. “It is what I want, Miss Katharina. It is what the audience needs to see. They must see the entire movement with no intermissions. It will leave them breathless, yes?”
“I guess, but …”
“And when you get to the top of the bank, you must crawl through the clearing to the heavy brush on the other side and hide. I want several minutes in a row of just what you see. It will be a sensational beginning, you will see.”
She looked upstream. “I’ll, um, I’ll just walk on this side until it’s shallow enough to cross back.”
“Fine,” Vincenzo said.
She reached up a hand. “A little help?”
“Oh no, Miss Katharina,” Vincenzo said. “I misunderstand. You cannot come up this way. The bank has no foot prints on it. You must cross back the way you came, and then come over here again. We can see no footprints but your own for this entire movie.”
Which makes total sense, Katharina thought. Maybe he’s not such an idiot. “So I have to go back across.”
“Please, Miss Katharina. It will be a perfect shot, I assure you.”
She looked at the stream. “Doesn’t anyone have a boat or a raft or something?”
Vincenzo smiled. “Just Curtis. The water is low enough now. He will not drown.”
Shit. “All right. We’ll do it your way.”
She pulled her dress nearly up to her head and slogged back across the creek, not lifting her legs at all. I can only imagine what this looks like.
Fish tilted his head as Vincenzo’s camera zoomed in on Katharina’s butt. “Those leggings don’t leave much to the imagination, do they? This will make a nice addition to the blooper reel, huh?”
“You’re sick, Fish.”
“Don’t forget ‘twisted.’”
During the second take, Katharina crossed more quickly than on the first with more splashing and shivering. She was about to attempt the bank when Vincenzo yelled, “Stop!”
Katharina froze.
“I must play it back,” Vincenzo said. “I think I heard hammering.”
“Hammering?” Katharina asked. “I don’t hear any—” She stopped and listened to hammering sounds and their echoes. “You can edit that out, can’t you?”
Vincenzo turned his head. “Oh, the hammering has stopped. Um, go back across the stream and come over again.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No,” Vincenzo said. “You are doing so well, Miss Katharina! The shot was good, but we must make it fantastico!”
Katharina turned and waded across again. I ought to make you come across with me, Sly. Then your shot will be fantastico. I have officially lost all feeling below my booty.
The third take went swimmingly and without interruption until Katharina attempted to crawl up the muddy bank. She clawed and tore at the soil, the slick soles of her boots giving her no traction at all. She clawed (and cursed) and slipped (and cursed) and fell back (and cursed) and even backed into the water several times to take a run at the now seriously muddy bank. She was almost to the top, with one arm over the edge, when the bank underneath her gave way and sent her tumbling to the edge of the stream.
“She’s not moving,” Fish said. “Will you look at the mud on her lens? That is so cool.”
“Get up, Katharina,” Walt whispered. “Get up!”
Katharina looked up at Vincenzo filming her, his camera less than ten feet away. She wiped mud from her face, growled fiercely, and leaped up that bank, crawling on all fours until she was up and over and lying in the clearing, wailing in pain, groaning in victory.
She turned her head to Vincenzo’s camera with the slightest of smiles.
Walt walked toward the big screen. “Would you look at that smile.”
“That’s a smile,” Fish said.
“A smile of victory,” Walt said.
“And now her lips are moving,” Fish said. “Up volume …”
“It’s about motherf—king time,” Katharina muttered as she got to her feet and crawled toward the brush at the back of the clearing. “I’m gonna kill the asshole who was doing that motherf—king hammering!”
Walt looked at Fish.
Fish looked back at Walt. “Any suggestions?”
“Maybe we can overdub it and turn it into a prayer of thanksgiving.”
Katharina looked from side to side once she was deep in the brush. Vincenzo’s camera and several cameras mounted in nearby trees showed her muddy brown dress and face blending perfectly into the brush, where she held her legs, rocked, and whispered something she thought only she could hear.
Vincenzo set his camera and monitor on a fallen log and ran to Katharina. “You were wonderful! Just wonderful!”
Katharina extricated herself from the brambles and brush, picking twigs out of her hair and flicking gobs of mud from her nose. “I must eat now, Sly. I must get warm now. I must have a bath now. I must kill whoever was hammering now.”
Pietro, riding Curtis, came up the same muddy bank Katharina had fought earlier, a hammer hanging prominently from his tool belt. “You ride now,” he said.
“You!” she yelled, and she ran at him, skidding to a halt in front of Curtis’s nose. “Were you hammering just now, Fonzi?”
Pietro nodded, his eyes cast down.
“Did you know we were filming the first scene just now?”
Pietro shook his head. “I not think you cross today.”
Katharina blinked. “You didn’t think I would go across the stream?”
“No. You … testardo. Like Curtis.”
“Are you saying I’m stubborn as a mul
e?”
Pietro nodded. “Sì. Stubborn as mule. Testardo.”
Katharina shot a look at Vincenzo. “I am not stubborn.”
Pietro slid off Curtis, grabbed Katharina, and lifted her onto Curtis’s back before she could take her next breath.
“Don’t put your hands on me!” she howled. “Understand? And I do not want to ride this beast!”
Pietro smiled. “So. You are being testardo.”
Katharina shot another look at Vincenzo. “You better do something about your cousin here, or I’ll—”
“Calma, calma,” Pietro said, turning Curtis and leading him up the hill. “You tired. You freddo. Curtis caldo. You ride.”
Katharina, surprised Curtis’s body was so warm, looked back at Vincenzo. “You tell your cousin that he is never to touch me. Never.”
Vincenzo ran up beside Pietro and bopped him on the back of the head. “She was great today, wasn’t she?” he yelled angrily in Italian.
“Why are you yelling?” Pietro asked softly in Italian.
“We have to make it look like an argument!” Vincenzo yelled in angrier Italian. He poked Pietro in the chest for good measure.
Pietro nodded. “You do that again,” he said softly in Italian, “and I’ll kick your ass from here to the border. Why does she hate to be touched so much?”
Vincenzo took a deep breath. “Because,” he yelled in Italian, “you and I and all the other little people on this planet are not supposed to touch greatness! Now, I want you to apologize to Katharina!”
Pietro looked at Katharina. “I sorry.”
“You got that right,” Katharina said.
Vincenzo approached Curtis. “Great work today, Miss Katharina. Superb! Rest well. Ciao.”
Pietro led Curtis through a maze of trees to a makeshift bridge of planks, logs, and plywood spanning a narrow and shallow part of the stream.
“Oh, now there’s a bridge,” Katharina said.
Pietro smiled. “I build for you.”
Katharina stifled another criticism and looked more fully at Pietro. Even though she rode the mule, he was nearly as tall as she was. “Will it hold all of us?” she asked in a nicer voice than normal.
Pietro nodded. “It hold me and Curtis just now.” He handed the lead to Katharina. “You go. I wait.”
“You want me to … ride this thing without your help?”
Pietro nodded. “Safe.” He blushed, or seemed to. “I big.” He slapped Curtis on the butt, and Curtis walked easily across the bridge, Katharina holding on for dear life. Pietro crossed behind and again took the lead. “You ride well.”
“It was all of ten feet,” Katharina whispered under her breath. “Um, how’s the turkey gizzard salad coming?”
“Che?”
“The stew,” Katharina said slowly.
“Oh. Sorry. Bad.”
“I meant the new … never mind.” She smiled. “You are an ignorant brute, you know that?”
“Sì.”
Katharina almost laughed. “I can say anything I want to you, can’t I?”
“Sì.”
“I have died and gone to hell.”
Pietro smiled and said, “Sì.”
When they finally arrived at the cabin, Pietro lifted Katharina off Curtis and placed her on the porch.
He lifts me as if I weigh nothing at all! “Um, Bianca!”
Bianca opened the door. “Yes, Miss Minola?”
“I don’t care how you do it, Bianca, but I want you to get me food and coffee, even if you have to sell your body to Fonzi here. Or to his mule. Get me some food! Now!”
Bianca looked hard at Pietro and hesitated. No. It’s too early to quit. She sighed. “Yes, Miss Minola.”
Katharina turned with a flourish at the door. “I am not to be disturbed.” She slipped inside and closed the door.
Pietro led Curtis toward his cabin, Bianca following.
“Okay,” Bianca said, “what do I feed her?”
“I know just the thing,” Pietro said, and slipped behind a thick pine tree. “Walt, Fish?” he said to the tree.
“You’re talking to a tree,” Bianca whispered. “Katharina is getting to you.”
“In the cabinet above the refrigerator is a box of old cereal,” Pietro said. “Bring it to my fence, and Bianca will come and get it. Have some hot chocolate ready for her, okay?”
Pietro drew a map in the dirt. “It’s about a half mile or so, and take your time.”
“I may run my ass off on the way there,” Bianca said. “Will it be enough for both of us to eat?”
“No,” Pietro said. “It’s some really old Kashi.”
Bianca blinked.
“Cereal.”
“Oh.”
“And I’ll make my famous hockey puck espresso.” He smiled. “If she even drinks half a cup, she’ll be awake for days.”
“How thick is this stuff going to be?”
“She’ll need to use a knife and a fork.”
Bianca smiled. “Hot chocolate, here I come.”
“I’ll make the hot chocolate, you get the cereal,” Fish said to Walt. “You’re married.”
“Kashi?” Walt asked, showing Fish the box. “What the hell is Kashi?”
“Cereal,” Fish said.
“This is cereal?” Walt looked inside. “It looks like Kansas in there.” He checked the expiration date. “These … weeds expired two years ago.”
“Perfect,” Fish said. “You think Bianca likes little marsh-mallows? She looks like the type.”
Katharina started to remove her own boots and stopped. I have people, I mean, I had people. Damn. I just sent my person out of here. The fire is dying, too. I should add a log. No. My person can do it when she comes back.
She removed her headset and saw a mud smudge on the lens. She cleaned it off with her sleeve and noticed her nails caked with dirt. Two were slightly cracked, one torn, and one thumbnail had a sliver missing. I should trim them all back. What am I saying? Bianca can do it when she comes back.
The things I think about having to do for myself …
Pietro knocked and entered a split second later. “Why knock at all if you’re just going to come in anyway, Fonzi?” Katharina asked.
Pietro held out a pan and a tin cup.
Katharina smelled something heavenly. “What’s that? Is that—”
“Espresso,” Pietro said. He set the tin cup in front of her. “May I pour?”
Katharina nodded.
And then she waited.
And waited.
And waited some more until a single spaghetti string of espresso left the pan and yawned toward the cup.
Katharina could wait no longer. She grasped the pan and took it to the bathroom, adding some water. She wanted to swirl it around with something, and her fingers were out of the question. She jiggled the pan back and forth, the lavalike espresso slowly turning into molasses. She returned to the table and poured herself a cup, dropping the pan and drinking it all before the pan stopped ringing.
So bitter! Where’s the sugar? “You have any sugar?” Katharina asked.
“No,” Pietro said. “Best no sugar.”
Katharina poured herself another cup anyway. “What’s the point of espresso if you don’t have any sugar?” She showed Pietro the goo in her cup. “See? You didn’t add enough water. I thought you Italians knew how to make this shit.”
Bianca then entered with the box of Kashi and two bowls and two silver spoons.
Katharina squinted at the box. “What the hell is that?”
Pietro took the box and poured two bowls, then took the bowls to the bathroom sink to run water over them. He set Katharina’s in front of her. “Enjoy!”
Bianca dug into hers with gusto. “Yummy.” Oh God, she thought. This sucks so bad! It tastes like lint! It tastes like cat hair, not that I’ve ever eaten cat hair! The things I have to do!
Katharina put a spoonful in her mouth. “This shit tastes like cardboard!” She flipped the box aroun
d. “And it went bad two years ago!” She pushed away her bowl. “Is this the best you could do, Bianca? I’d get more nourishment from eating the damn box!”
Pietro grabbed Katharina’s right bicep. “Grain good. Make strong.”
Katharina ripped her arm away. “I told you about touching me. Don’t you touch me again. Tell him that if he touches me again, I’ll have him arrested for assault.”
“This is really bad,” Bianca snarled in Italian.
Pietro nodded. “I like it,” he said in Italian. “It tastes much better with milk, even as old as it is. For some reason, I don’t think Kashi can go bad. I thought you’d bring some milk with you. Tell the queen here that I’m tired of her bad attitude and will handle her any way I please.”
Bianca hesitated. “Um, you’re not going to like what he just said, Miss Minola.”
“Spit it out, Bianca!”
“Okay, here goes.” Bianca glanced at Pietro. “Um, he said he would touch you as often as he wants to, anywhere he wants to, however he wants to, and whenever he wants to because you have such a bad attitude.”
Katharina’s mouth dropped open. “Did you tell him that I’d have him arrested?”
“Um, yeah, I did,” Bianca said. “He said he can’t be arrested because the police are fifty miles away and most of them are his relatives, anyway. He also says you can be arrested for cursing in Ontario, so you better watch out.”
This girl was made for this role, Pietro thought. Amazing creativity!
Katharina stood and took a deep breath. “Screw him! And screw Canada!” She smacked the bowl onto the floor. “And screw whatever the hell that shit was!” She grabbed her headset, settled it on her head like a crown, and walked out of the cabin with her head held high.
“Should I follow you, Miss Minola?” Bianca asked. Please say no!
Katharina stuck her head back into the cabin. “No. I want you to sit in there and eat burnt grass. Come the hell on, Bianca!”
Pietro stooped and whispered, “The espresso is having an immediate effect. Be careful, Bianca.”
Chapter 18
Katharina, with Bianca trailing a few steps behind, forded the stream easily using the bridge, almost leaping across in her haste to get to the next scene.