by C. M. Bacon
“What about the water current?” I asked. “We almost drowned trying to escape it.”
“Yeah. You’re right.” Arvin sighed. “That might be a problem.”
“Oh wait,” I said. “The first time we swam down, we felt the water current rush past and stop. The second time, we felt it rush past and stop again.”
“Yes,” said Arvin, nodding, “that sounds about right.”
“Well, how many minutes was it from our first dive to our second dive?” I asked.
“Around three minutes…. maybe four,” Arvin said, seeing the plan forming in my head. “Now you’re thinking. How long can you hold your breath?”
I said, feeling proud of my ability, “Two whole minutes – last time I tried, anyway.”
“We should eat some more mulberries and take a rest first. It’s getting dark out, and you’re going to need to see at least a little to get the job done.”
“Agreed,” I said, walking over to the bramble. We crammed another load of mulberries into our mouths and watched the sun slip under the mud.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A Sticky Situation
We fell sound asleep on the cold, wet ground coiled like snakes. I dreamed about Dad and the gewgaws:
I’m in my room back home. Dad’s here with me. His shirt is dirty, and he has cuts on his fingertips. I show Dad all the magical gifts we’ve been given: the yellow balloon, red rock, and the brown stick. Dad places his soft, cool hand against my right cheek. His skin is rough; he’s been building stuff in the basement again. He always forgets to use the lotion mom bought him. He kneels down and looks me in the eye. He wants to tell me something, but he’s fading away.
“Use what you have and seek out what you need. If your choices lead you astray, don’t be afraid to rely on a friend. I love you, Son.” Dad reaches to hug me, but he’s only a blur. His arms pass through me and mine through him. “Please, don’t go,” I say as Dad disappears into the darkness, leaving me standing alone in my room.
I awoke, shivering in the cold and yearning for home. The dawn sun was shining on the mulberry bushes. I walked over to the serene lake and splashed cold water on my face, cleaning the gooey mud off my right cheek. Then, I saw it out the corner of my eye - a long brown red-bellied snake the same color of the mud. It was coiled around the base of a mulberry bush, hissing as it slept in the glistening mud. I splashed more water on my face and turned back to wake snoring Arvin.
“Arvin, wake up,” I whispered, dripping icy water on his forehead from the tips of my fingers. “Hey Chipmunk, it’s morning. You don’t want the snake to bite you, do you?”
He began to flinch as the cold drops hit his skin. He awoke to the real world. “I asked you to stop calling me Chipmunk. I’m not a wild woodland mammal,” he protested, sounding like he’d been paying serious attention in school. He sat up to face the sun with me. “Is it morning already?”
“It is. How did you sleep? I’d ask him, but he’s snoring, too,” I said.
“Who’s snoring?” Arvin asked, yawning and stretching out his arms.
“Looks like he’s awake now, too,” I said, pointing over to the long reptile coiled like a rope around the base of the bramble.
Arvin jumped back higher than a seven-foot basketball player, splashing mud onto the snake. It recoiled, hissing and looking at me with its beady red eyes before slithering into its hole.
“Hopefully, it’ll stay in there as long as the sun’s out,” said Arvin, keeping a safe distance from the mulberry bush.
“I had the strangest dream,” I said, trying to calm Arvin with snake-free chit-chat.
“Me too,” he said. “I dreamt I was drowning in chocolate pudding. I had to eat my way to the surface. How about you?”
“Never mind,” I said, smiling down at his mud-encrusted head. “Yours was better.”
“Oh, yeah. I almost forgot with the snake and all,” Arvin said, smiling. “Happy Birthday, Perry. I was going to buy Dragon Sorcerer 4 for you, but I haven’t had time.”
I forgot about turning 14. I had no idea how long we’d been gone, but Arvin did. He counted the days so he could wish me “Happy Birthday” in the mud. But I wish he’d forgotten it; I didn’t want to be reminded.
“Thanks. You don’t need to get me anything,” I said, sporting a half-smile. I looked at Arvin’s muddy shorn scalp and felt a twinge of guilt. “You’ve done enough for me this week.”
I helped him stand up, and we walked to the picked-over mulberry bushes, splashing our feet in the shallow mud. We ate a few handfuls, filling our mouths and staining our lips and chins with the sweet juice. A light breeze blew over the water, creating gentle ripples as it passed. I felt stronger and more confident than I had in two years, and it was time to put it to the test.
“Are you ready?” asked Arvin, finishing off a sizable portion of mulberries.
“I am,” I said.
“Good. But let’s wait until the sun is a little higher in the sky. You’ll have all the light you need to see where you’re going.”
About two hours later, the sun had risen higher into the sky. Its bright beams shined through the clear water and into the mouth of the cave. I removed my muddy muumuu, took my gewgaw coin and five-dollar bill out of my shorts pocket, and placed them in a pile over the snake’s hole. I jumped into the lake. Goosebumps popped up as I sank into the cold water. The cave’s opening was under my feet.
“Three minutes. Ok?” Arvin said, looking worried.
“Ok. Three minutes,” I repeated the water current’s cycle, feeling the flow of water pick up speed against my toes. “Here it comes.”
I took a huge breath and plunged into the water toward the cave. I swam as fast as I could, kicking my legs and pulling myself along the roof by the roots of dead mulberry bushes like climbing ropes to guide myself deeper into the cave. The cave was darker this far in. The sun’s rays created a faint glow in the water around me. The pain in my lungs grew. I spotted the end of the cave. I guess it didn’t stretch as far as the mudflat did. Two large boulders rested like a figure eight, wedged one on top of the other at the end of the tunnel. Between them, two little round holes had formed side-by-side as the rocks rubbed and crumbled against each.
The current grew stronger, forcing its way through the round holes like the thrust of two small jet engines. I wouldn’t have any chance of holding onto the roots, so I let go. The rush of water flipped me upside down, over and over, until spitting me back out into the lake. I swam to the surface feeling like my lungs were about to burst. I popped my head out of the water.
“WHUH!”
I let out my spent breath and took in several new ones. Arvin was waiting on the shore looking like he was about to come get me.
Arvin gushed his panicked words all over me. “Perry. Thank God you’re ok. You were gone too long. Three and a half minutes, Perry. 210 seconds. I counted ‘Mississippi style’. Did you find it?”
“Yeah, I found it,” I said, telling him about the cave and the boulders. “I need something strong to fill the holes.”
“Maybe our clothes? Or how about a branch from the mulberry bush?” Arvin said. “It’s the only other thing around.”
“No. The current’s too strong. Both of those would be spat out as soon as the current picked up again,” I said, trying to think of anything else we could use.
“Well, what else is there?” Arvin asked. I could hear his frustration growing. “What else can we stick into the holes?”
“I don’t--” I started to give up. “The stick, Arvin. The brown stick. The petrified wood walking stick Iwa gave us. I can break it again and jam the pieces into the holes. Please tell me you have it.”
“Sure,” Arvin said, lifting the back of his muumuu and pulling the shimmering brown stick out of his dirty shorts. He showed it to me, glass-smooth surface sparkling in the sunlight the same as before.
“Was the stick in your shorts the entire time?” I asked.
“Of course. I didn’t
want to lose it,” Arvin said, smiling.
I looked at Arvin holding the brown stick and tried to avoid thinking about where it had been for a day and a half. I swam to the edge of the lake - right up to Arvin’s dirty toes. “Break it in two and hand the pieces to me. I’ll try again.”
“210 seconds, Perry Dobbs,” Arvin said, leaning the stick against the mulberry bush.
He put all his weight on his right leg, slamming his heel into the middle of the stick, breaking it into two cylindrical pieces, like two paper-wrapped rolls of nickels.
“If you’re not back by the time I count to 210 ‘Mississippi style, I’m coming after you,” Arvin said, handing me the two short pieces.
“If you say so,” I said.
Feeling the current pushing through my toes, I slipped the sticks into my pockets, took the biggest breath ever, and plunged down into the round opening of the cave. After a minute, I had almost made it to the end. I took the short sticks out of my pocket and reached for the holes, but I was too late. The twin jets of water gained speed, ripping one of the sticks out of my hand, throwing it like a javelin into the cave wall.
With one hand holding the second stick, I couldn’t fight against the current anymore. I was sent with a forceful push towards the mouth of the cave. I was going to let it spit me out, but my blue shorts got snagged on the other brown stick. One of its ends stuck into the cave wall. The other jagged end ripped through my shorts, holding me in place as the water rushed and eased again.
I pulled myself off the sharp stick. Reaching back, I yanked it out of the gray cave wall and pushed off towards the boulders. My lungs burned hotter as my deep breath began to run out. I swam, with sticks in hand, back to the boulders a few feet away. I stuck both sticks into different holes. The sticks began to flicker like candlelight in the darkness. I was amazed to see each grow larger in their holes, stretching and expanding out on all sides. Soon, the sticks joined together, plugging the two holes and reaching up to close a third I hadn’t noticed before. As the brown sticks bonded to the cave walls, their color changed to match the hue of the rocks around them.
The sticks stopped glowing and growing, sealing all three holes. Each looked like they had always been part of the tunnel. From start to finish, it had taken a few seconds. And in those seconds, I was out of breath. I pushed and kicked toward the cave opening, but a terror I hadn’t experienced filled my body. I belched out all the air from my lungs. I kicked as hard as I could, trying to call to Arvin through the unstoppable water filling my lungs. I became dizzy and weak, feeling the life begin to drain from my body. Everything went dark.
“KHACK!”
I coughed, heaving out a liter of cave water. Arvin took his mouth off mine and slapped me hard across the face.
“Perry, can you hear me? Are you ok?” Arvin asked, slapping me over and over again.
“Yeah, I’m ok. Stop hit-” I said as he slapped me hard enough to leave his handprint on my cheek. “Ouch! That hurt.” I said, gurgling up more water. “I said, I’m okay.”
“That last one wasn’t for you,” said Arvin. “I counted to 210 ‘Mississippi style’ and then to 215, but you didn’t return. I jumped in and swam to find you at the bottom of the cave opening. I pulled you out and did CPR.”
“CPR?” I asked. “How do you know CPR?”
“I took extra swimming and safety lessons in Dublin after Mom had said she wanted me to come home. And you’re lucky I did.”
“Thanks, Arvin. But don’t kiss me again,” I said, coughing and smiling.
Arvin laughed. “Not in a million years.”
I turned myself onto my hands and knees. Arvin helped me like a crutch. I stood onto my wobbly legs. I retrieved my muddy muumuu and gewgaws from under the mulberry bush, and I placed them into my back shorts pocket and fastened it with the button.
As the day went on and several severe headaches came and went, the water level in the aquifer started to lower. After a day, it went down an inch or two, then a foot, and down another two. On the second day, the water plummeted about five feet below the shoreline.
“Bye-bye, drinking water. Bye-bye, swimming hole,” Arvin said. “If we fall in, we’ll never get back out.”
“I wouldn’t say that. We could always make a rope by tying our muumuus together and making knots down the length of it,” I suggested.
“Who are you, Perry Dobbs?” Arvin asked with a grin. “I like how you think.”
Our muumuu rope was finished before the sun went down at night. We tied the ends of our muddy muumuus together, making sure to create a secure knot every few inches and a larger, stronger knot in the middle. We coiled and tied one end to the mulberry bush and let the other one fall over the cliff into the water. I tested the homemade rope and anchor by dipping one end down into the lake. I pulled it out and, like a sponge, I squeezed the cool water into my mouth. Next, I tugged the center knot to see if it would hold. It felt sturdy in my hand, but I still wasn’t convinced.
“I hope my weight doesn’t rip out the mulberry bush by its roots or even worse - wake up the mud snake,” I said, looking at Arvin.
Arvin had no fear in his eyes. He only said, “No worries.”
We agreed to test it again in the morning. Arvin and I laid down to rest in the ooey-gooey mud. The full moon’s light poured through the leaves and branches of the mulberry bush, casting pale shadows all over. Arvin turned on his side to sleep, when I noticed something on the small of his back peeking out from under his waistband. It looked as though his skin were smeared like paint on a wall. I whispered to Arvin, hoping he hadn’t already fallen asleep, “What’s on your back?”
He reached behind, rubbed his fingers over the mark, and pulled his shorts up to cover it.
“An old burn,” he said.
“I hadn’t noticed it before. When did you get it?” I asked
“When I was seven - the autumn before we met.”
“Is that when your house burned down?” I asked, remembering the rumor.
“Who told you about my house?” Arvin sounded surprised I had heard the cruel joke.
“I heard about it in gym class. Is it true?”
Arvin yawned. “Mostly. I was wearing my underwear when they pulled me out of the fire. The elastic in the waistband had already begun to burn and melt. That’s why they sprayed water on me. It left a couple small scars on my waist. My house burned down as they were trying CPR on me.”
“How did the fire start?” I asked. “Sean Davis said you set the fire, but I didn’t believe him.”
“Dad used to take me camping. At night, I always saw him light a campfire with his matches. I wanted to do it, too. The flames were beautiful as they danced around. I went into the basement and took Dad’s matches out of his rucksack when he was upstairs watching TV. I lit a match and dropped it on an old sofa. That stupid sofa burned, followed by the curtains, the ceiling, and the wood paneled walls. I don’t remember anything afterward.”
“Wow,” I said, amazed there was any truth to the rumor. “You’re super lucky to be alive. Was anyone hurt?”
“Yes. In the hospital, Mom told me Dad had died trying to find me. She didn’t blame me, though. She’s nice that way.”
I knew replying with one of Mom’s famous “accepting loss” or “surviving adversity” or “moving forward” speeches would be too crass, and a simple “Sorry, man” would be too little, so I decided not to say anything at all. I laid next to him, and we slept back-to-back in the chilly night air.
We awoke the next morning a little later in the day. The sun was already high in the sky, shining warm rays of sunshine over the mudflat and onto our cracked, peeling skin. Without our tunics, our shirtless bodies looked like cooked lobsters. Arvin’s sunburn was especially painful. I scooped up gobs of the cool, wet mud and rubbed it all over his pink, peeling skin hoping it would be as magical on sunburns as it was for gashes and blisters. It didn’t work, but it was wet and cool and his only relief from the stinging pain. Arvin w
as returning the favor by rubbing mud some on my back when I spotted a green leaf in some dried mud near the mulberry bushes.
“Arvin, look. More plants,” I said, calling for him to check out a dozen little green leaves sticking out of the mud.
“Well, that was quick. I assumed it’d take longer,” Arvin said.
“Yeah, me too. Let’s just call it magic.”
“Sure. But we’ll be out of mulberries to eat long before those little green seedlings grow into brambles.”
“We have to look for another way out of the mudflat,” I said.
“What do you suggest?”
“First things first. We need to find more food,” I said, explaining my plan. “Let’s dig in the mud pits a little. If mulberry brambles and other plants grew all over this area before, they might be some edible mulberries and other food buried a couple feet below the surface. It’s that or wait for those seedlings to mature.”
“Ay-Ay, Captain,” Arvin said, raising his hand to his eyebrows and saluting me like a dork. “We should also look for my walking stick. It’s probably buried under the surface.”
“Ok. We’ll look, Mini Mud Monster,” I said, patting him on his muddy head.
“Takes one to know one,” Arvin said, kicking mud on my leg.
We walked until I felt the mud plunge deeper. I said, “Let’s get started. If we don’t find anything, we’ll have to check out another pit.”
We knelt down. Spreading our legs apart, we flung large handfuls of mud through the gap between our knees. I laughed, looking over at Arvin. “You look a dog digging in the yard. Here, digger-digger.” I said, slapping my muddy hands on my thighs. “Come boy!” Arvin ignored my taunt.
We continued digging until my fingers touched something within the squishy wet mud. I couldn’t be near the bottom of the pit; it was too shallow. It couldn’t be a branch; I’m sure they were deeper. They were too small to be pieces of Arvin’s walking stick. I felt around them, fondling the two small objects under a foot of mud. I curled my fingers around and pulled them out of the mud.