Intertwine

by Angie Merriam

  Steve shoved his hands into jean pockets and walked around the campsite without saying another word, until stopping by a large dead-fall to scrape the ground with the pointed toe of his cowboy boot. Squatting, he picked something up and sniffed it. When he returned, Ron had never seen Steve’s face appear so dark.

  “Who brought the weed?”

  “Ponte,” the Tinsdale boy quickly fingered.

  “Booze and weed? And who brought the crack?”

  Ron and Percy looked at each other with horror. The four accomplices bowed their heads in silence.

  “I said, who brought the crack? ” Steve shouted loud enough they nearly jumped off their seats.

  “Tory,” Tindsdale answered.

  “You guys were mixing booze and crack?”

  “Just Tory. He’s the crack head.”

  “You just drink beer and smoke pot.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tinsdale answered as the others shook their shaggy heads in agreement.

  “Well, that explains how he could get lost up here.”

  At that moment Benson appeared.

  “When are you going to start tracking?”

  “I needed to know how this happened first. That has a bearing on where I look. Tory brought beer up here last night.”

  “So? All the kids do.”

  “We don’t,” Percy answered.

  “And he brought cocaine.”

  “What are you trying to pin on my son?”

  “It’s true, Mr. Benson. Tory’s been using it for a while now. He brought some up last night and mixed it with Ponte’s weed,” Gruber verified.

  “I’ll start searching, but it won’t be easy. Your boys have trampled at lot of sign. Ron, Percy, come with me.”

  “Do you think he fell in the lake and drowned?” Percy asked as they circled around the lake to the south.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Where do you think Tory went?”

  “He’s not functioning with a full deck. Best guess he’s headed for Mule Leg.”

  Mule Leg was a saddle between two peaks east of the lake. It was there Steve picked up sign pointing them to Mirror Lake, a prime trout area a mile down into the next valley. The drizzle continued as smoke-like clouds hugged parts of the mountains. Steve’s concern needn’t be expressed. They had to overtake Tory soon.

  Mirror Lake, a post card, glacial lakes nestled in a long, narrow, emerald valley, was a popular destination for serious outdoors folk. The lake itself was surrounded by a shelf of rock sheered flat. That’s where they lost the trail.

  “You boys circle to the right. I’ll go left.”

  Percy scouted where rocks and trees met while Ron scanned the shore. A hundred yards later, Ron let out a whoop, bringing the other two on the run.

  “It’s his clothes,” Ron said pointing at a pair of jeans, plaid, long-sleeve shirt, boots and socks laying nearby.

  “Think he went swimming?”

  “No,” Steve replied beginning to run along the shelf. “He’s got hypothermia.”

  Minutes later Percy shouted, “There he is,” sprinting toward a body lying in the fetal position beneath a Spruce not far away. It was clad only in boxers.

  “He’s alive, barely,” Steve said, checking his carotid artery. “Get your clothes off, both of you,” he ordered, ripping a small, silver packet from his hip pack and expanded it into a large square that looked like tin foil and placing Tory in the middle. “We’ve got to get his body temperature back up. Ron, lay in front of him, Percy lay along his back. Snuggle close.”

  “He’s cold as ice!” Ron screamed.

  “It’s his only chance. He’s got to have your body heat to warm up.” Steve explained while rolling them up into the blanket.

  “If you can hear me, Tory, you’re going to owe us big time for this,” Percy said.

  Steve tried to radio for help with no results.

  “I was afraid of that. We’re in a dead area.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t say that,” Ron whined.

  “I’ve got to get to higher ground. Stay put. I’ll be back quick as I can,” he instructed before taking off at a steady trot back up the mountain.

  “What if Tory dies? How’d we know? I don’t want to be cuddled with a dead guy,” Percy groaned.

  “We're safe; I can feel his breath on my face. Jeez, it stinks, stale cigarette smoke.”

  “Well, if he stops breathing let me know ‘cause I’m outa this body bag before his spirit grabs me.”

  They lay for what felt like an eternity before hearing Steve’s voice, “Your mom’s coming up to get Benson and his boys headed this way with blankets. How’re you guys doing?”

  “Freezing,” Ron answered, as Steve started a fire.

  An hour later footsteps and hard breathing announced the rescue party’s arrival. As Benson bent over his son’s head and stroked the long, straggly hair he asked, “You boys okay?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tory was re-bundled tightly and laid on a makeshift stretcher. As the same time, Ron and Percy quickly dressed. They were shivering until Steve encouraged them to a trot back to the vehicle, quickly raising body temperatures. At Prospect Lake, a Sheriff’s truck and rescue unit arrived to whisk Tory to the hospital. Ron’s mom was there, too, and swept both wet boys into her arms. At home, they were hustled into a hot shower, bundled in warm blankets and herded in front of the fireplace where she plied them with hot chocolate.

  “Are you guys getting warm enough now?” she asked pouring another round of hot chocolate.

  “If we get any warmer, we’ll melt like cheese on a hamburger,” Percy said.

  “Man, that sounds good,” Ron said.

  “Oh, my! You didn’t have lunch. Hamburgers it is. How about you, Steve?”

  “I’ll help,” he said.

  Several days later as the boys set the dinner table, Lydia and Steve brought out the meal.

  “I love meatloaf,” Percy said licking his lips, “especially yours, Mrs. Elam.”

  “I’ve been meaning to mention that, Percy. I’d like it if you’d call something that doesn't make me feel so old.”

  “Okay, Mom Elam,” Percy said, cracking a big smile.

  As Lydia blessed the food, the boys noticed something different. The two adults were holding hands above the table.

  “I checked on Tory,” Steve said after prayer. “He’ll be alright, but he won’t be quite right in the head.”

  “He never was.”

  “Ron! Shame on you!” Lydia chided.

  “Sorry.”

  “The combination of drugs and hypothermia fried his brains,” Steve explained. “You won’t see the other boys, either. They’re facing drug charges and Benson fired their dads.”

  “On a brighter note,” Lydia beamed. “We have an announcement.”

  “You’re getting married!” both boys shouted together.

  The two adults looked at one another and blushed.

  “Well, if it’s okay with you, we thought after the fire season,” Lydia said as the boys leaped up into a group hug.

  Ron hated that mile-long walk to Rock Point when they first moved into the old ranger's house, but it had been the best thing that ever happened.

  Sunrise Paving

 

  The pavement was hot. I could feel the heat burning through the soles of my sandals making me pick up each foot in turn to cool, just like the Sahara ants Mrs. Bloomfield had told us about in natural history class. Not that I minded, it was fun being a Sahara ant it and helped me forget the awful baseball cap Aunt Delia made me wear to keep the sun off my head. I was so busy being a Sahara ant that I forgot to look where I was going until it was too late because I was deep into the colours by then.

  “Watch out there, boy, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Take those clumsy great feet of yours out of my meadow!”

  An old man with scraggly long yellow hair, an unlit roll-up cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth, glared at me with angry eyes.


  “I’m so sorry,” I looked down, “I’m afraid didn’t see it there.” I was standing in the middle of a bright green field with a herd of white cows grazing on rich grass beneath a clear blue sky.

  “Of course you didn’t see it, boy. You didn’t look! Hasn’t anyone told you to watch where you’re going instead of blundering about the place like a blind elephant? You’ve already walked slap through my Storm at Sea, the Desert Oasis, not to mention A Shropshire Sunset. If you keep on trundling carelessly about like that, you’ll smash up the bridge of my QE 2 next. Open your eyes boy; see what’s going on in the world around you, instead of playing silly games of hopscotch.”

  “I wasn’t playing silly games of hopscotch,” I said indignantly, ‘I was being a Saharan ant to protect my feet and forget my baseball cap. Aunt Delia won’t let me out of the house if I don’t promise to keep something on my head. And it’s either this, or an awful floppy hat like the one Uncle Ben wears when he goes to the beach. But I am sorry if I’ve spoiled your pictures.” I held out the pound coin Aunt Delia had given me to buy an ice cream, “will this pay for the damage? It’s all I have I’m afraid.”

  Piercing grey eyes continued to glare at me with disapproval; then suddenly softened as a hint of a smile began to play around the corners of his mouth. Leaning forward he rummaged amongst the loose coins lying in the upturned hat beside him and came up with a matching pound.

  “That baseball cap of yours doesn’t look so bad you know, and it certainly is a hot one. Dare say even a Saharan ant could do with a cooling vanilla or strawberry ice. I’d go myself but I’m stuck with the shop,” he waved expansively at the pictures. “But if you went for both of us, I promise I’ll draw you for posterity when you get back.” He laughed. “Mind you, that’s if posterity doesn’t walk over it in the next hour or so. But then as you know, my work isn’t exactly permanent.” He smiled to take the sting out of the words.

  When I got back with the ice creams, he was on his knees, putting the finishing touches to the repairs of A Shropshire Sunset. Catching sight of me he climbed to his feet, put the brightly colored crayons carefully in a green felt wrap-around- holdall, wiped the chalk from his fingers onto an old rag, and then gestured to the wall behind the drawings. “Come and join me on one of these mat things, if you rest your back against the wall you’ll find it comfortable enough.” I did as I was told and for a while we sat companionably, silently enjoying the sun, lost in the pleasures of cold ice cream.

  “Comfy things these cushions,” he broke the silence, “gift from God you might say, well a loan anyway.” He grinned, nodding across the square towards the Abbey. “Has to be at least a thousand or more in there, so I don’t suppose He will miss a couple, not for a day at least, and I’ll put them back before I go.”

  “Go….. go when?” I had only arrived a day ago and he was the first friend I had made.

  “Tomorrow I think. I’ve been working my way down to the coast for the past six weeks, and though I’m glad to say business has been pretty good on the whole,” he jerked a thumb at the hat, “and with September looming it’s time for me to head south. It doesn’t do to be caught in the cold in my line of work. Liable to wind up in hospital, and once there, you’ll get sick for sure.”

 

  “But you can’t go any further south than this!” My geography marks were not the greatest, but even I knew when you reached the South Coast that was it, and the sea was only a few hundred yards away.

  “Well, yes, in a way you are right, boy. But even the South Coast can turn a bitter cold come November, and sometimes it stays that way right through to May if you’re unlucky. So I always make a point of heading a long way further south than here. Work my way down through France to the Mediterranean, cross the Pyrenees into Spain, then try to make it down to Andalusia by autumn. That’s about the southern most tip of Spain. You can’t go further south than that. Mind you, even Andalusia can get more than nippy at times in winter, but if it gets really cold I take a job for a while, live indoors. Nowhere else to go, unless Africa takes your fancy.”

  “Africa! Have you really been to Africa?” I had seen some programs and pictures on the news, but never actually met anyone who had been there. “What’s it like in a war zone?” There was always a war or something exciting going on in Africa, at least on the news there was.

  “Yes, I’ve been there. Not that any war was going on, at least not where I was, but then I only stuck my toe in so to speak. Took the ferry across from Algeciras to Tangiers, and came back again the next day. Twenty-four hours in a place like that was more than enough for me, and I’ve never been back. Didn’t take to the place you see, that and the way people kept spitting on my pictures.” For a moment he looked quite fierce again, then crunched the last if his ice cream cone before grinning like a friend again.

  “Nasty habits they have over there, boy, dead nasty. But what about you, staying at your aunt’s for the holidays are you, with your Mum and Dad?”

  “No, only me. I usually come here for the second half of the summer holidays.”

  “Well, there’s nothing like a bit of independence I always say, makes a man of you. Where did you spend the first half?”

  “Nowhere really, I stay on at school as a rule,” I tried not to sound defiant for I really hated this bit, but people always asked you to explain. “It’s not too bad and not at all like term time. You can even go into town in the afternoon, if you ask first.”

  “Your dad in the army or something then, always on the move?”

  “Not exactly, but my parents are always on the move, going off somewhere or other, which is why they don’t have time to come back for the holidays. But wherever they are I always fly out to join them for Christmas, Dad said Mum insists on that.” I stared hard at a shop across the street, bracing myself for the questions that always followed. But he just nodded and lit his cigarette.

  “Know what you mean, spent more time than I care to think in school myself, though being a little older than you I was teaching. Leastways that’s what I thought I was doing, at one of those fancy Art Colleges. Not quite the kind of school you go to I know, but once you take away the flowery bits they all boil down to the same thing, and the terms still seem to go on forever.”

  “Is that why you left? Because of the terms I mean. God, I wish I could!” I didn’t usually bring God into things, but it was the first time I had had a real conversation with a grown up and it seemed like an adult sort thing to say.

  “That was part of it,” he blew a cloud of evil smelling smoke into the still air with evident pleasure. “But mainly because I found out I was a fraud, well admitted it anyway, I must have known for years of course. But then we all tend to avoid the obvious…. if it’s disagreeable.”

  “I’m not sure I understand…”

  “Of course you don’t, boy,” he interrupted, “and why should you. Pay no attention to me, I was just rambling. Comes from spending too much time on my own, makes you start talking to yourself. Anyway, you have your own problems to face, like those endless school terms stretching out like a life sentence before you, wondering how on earth you’re ever going to get through them all. But look at those people,” he waved an arm, embracing the street, “most of them went through school, and I bet a lot of them hated every damned minute. But they survived the experience and I don’t suppose many of them give their school days a second thought now. Not that it helps much when you’re still going through it.” He smiled as an idea occurred to him. “Tell you what, before I go I’ll to let you in on a little secret of mine. Doesn’t work for everybody, but if you’re prepared to practice a little, you might find it a help with your school problems and a few more you haven’t encountered yet.”

  A couple of pretty girls with long tanned legs who had been admiring the pictures bent down to put some coins in the hat. “Thank you ladies,” he gave them a beaming smile. The ice cream must have gone down a treat, for he had ignored most other peop
le who had added coins to his hat. As if knowing what I was thinking and was somehow embarrassed about it, he rummaged in the hat and came up with a handful of coins.

  “Here, boy, take these and get us another round, same as before for me, and don’t pocket the change mind!” He winked to show he was joking.

  The morning was wearing on and there was quite a queue at the ice cream van so it was a while before I got back. He was kneeling over a paving stone working busily with his chalks, and for a moment or so ignored me, though I sensed he knew I was there. Then he leapt to his feet, flung his arms wide and cried, “Behold Posterity, de da!”

  It was a perfect portrait of me in vibrant living colours and the best present I had ever had. He had even drawn an oval frame to make the setting more real. No one had ever done anything like that for me before. I wanted so much to thank him but suddenly my throat ached and I couldn’t speak. So I hugged him fiercely instead. It was the only way I could express the way I felt.

  “Hey there,” he disentangled himself gently, “it’s only a picture you know, and I doubt it will last the day. Come on now,” he smiled, “let’s have our ice cream; see what goes into the hat, and whatever it is we’ll split. How does that grab you?”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, it’s a great idea, but I can’t stay. As it is I’m going to be late for lunch, even if I run the whole way, and Aunt Delia does her top if anyone’s late for lunch, even including Uncle Ben. But would you mind telling me your name before I go?” I asked shyly, “I would like to know, even if we never meet again, because of the picture and that.”

  “Why bless you, boy,” he turned a little pink, “what a nice thought, there’s not many who bother to ask. But since you have, most call me the Painter Man, and I would be right pleased for you to do the same.”

  “Painter Man,” I rolled the name round my tongue. “I like that, it suits you somehow.”