by R. J. Blacks
“I’ll remember that,” I say, as Fargo reaches for the door knob.
“Have to run. See you at five.”
He opens the door, and then, exits.
I peek out the window and watch him join the scouts. He says something to them and they all line up behind him. He leads them down a trail and into the woods. I watch until they are completely out of sight.
Will is sound asleep so I use the opportunity to get a shower. After the shower, I dry my hair, put on some makeup, and then slip into a pair of shorts and a tee shirt.
As I enter the kitchen, Will stirs in his makeshift bed. The eye patch had moved during the night and I can see the deep wound where his left eye would have been. It’s obvious why he wears the patch; it’s not the kind of thing you would want to display in public. It would skeeve people, drive them away.
Will sits up, still half asleep. He notices me staring at him and quickly realigns the eye patch.
“What time is it?” he asks.
I glance at the clock.
“Eight o’clock.”
“Wow, slept nine hours. Really needed it.”
Will stands up and shuffles to the bathroom. As he closes the door I hear a text message sound from my cellphone. I pick up the phone and see that it’s from Dr. Jessica Parker. She’s probably confirming our meeting for tomorrow, I think.
And then I read it; “Wednesday meeting cancelled. Something came up. Regards, Jessica.”
That’s it? I travel a thousand miles to meet with her, at her invitation, and that’s all I get, a brief text message and no explanation? It must be a mistake. My whole future depends on this meeting. My hand shakes. Will walks in and sees me staring at the screen.
“Something wrong?” he asks.
“She cancelled.”
“Who cancelled?”
“Dr. Parker.”
“Why?” he asks.
“Don’t know. She just said the meeting was cancelled.”
Will stands there, doesn’t move a muscle. He knows how much this meeting means to me; it’s the only reason I’m here. It’s the only reason I gave up my apartment, drove a thousand miles, and risked everything. It was all for this meeting.
“Well, you better call her,” he says.
“Should I?”
“Of course. It probably has something to do with the holidays. Ask her if you can reschedule.”
Will was right. I was probably reading more into this than there actually was. People get stressed around the holidays, do unexpected things, and Christmas was only three days away.
I walk out onto the porch to get some fresh air. The lake is much larger than I imagined and there are small grassy islands sprinkled all around. Some are large enough to have tall palm trees growing out of them.
A dense mist pervades the space directly above the water to a height of about twenty feet. It’s a phenomenon only seen this time of year I’m told. The water, heated by warm sand at the bottom of the lake, attempts to evaporate. But the cool northern air, which has descended upon us during the night, restrains it, and thus, prevents its normal ascent to the clouds. It gives the illusion of a thick blanket of vapor spread out endlessly in every direction. It’s something I have never seen before producing a unique and eerie effect.
At the water’s edge, several hundred yards away, I can clearly see the dock we were on last night. Tied to it are two airboats and on the other side, some rowboats. It’s obvious the dock has passed its better days and is in need of repair. The pylons are no longer vertical and parts of the boardwalk are rotted away. It’s not like it’s going to collapse anytime soon, but it appears that a couple of days of work could easily bring it back to its former glory. I wonder, is it because Fargo is just too busy, or doesn’t he care about it anymore?
I make myself comfortable in the wooden lounge chair and dial Dr. Parker’s number. It rings and rings and rings and I’m just about to hang up when a female voice answers. It’s her.
“Hello.”
“Oh, hello,” I blurt out. “This is Indigo Wells.”
She patiently waits for me to say something else, but I’m so nervous my brain shuts down.
“Did you get the message?” she asks.
“Yes, I did, and I was wondering if we could reschedule.”
“Look, I’m as disappointed as you are.”
There’s a long pause and then she adds: “I have to be honest; there’s a problem with your application.”
“Oh, what’s wrong?”
“Well, there’s nothing specifically wrong. I was just told by the front office, in no uncertain terms, not to hire you. I don’t know quite what to make of it.”
“Why would they say that?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen this before.”
The phone goes quiet for a moment and then she adds: “What in the world did you do?”
It all made sense now. The front office had called Dean Haas to check my application, as is the usual practice, and she told them everything. They’re keeping it confidential, but keeping Dr. Parker in the dark is not helping me. I decide I need to come clean and tell her everything.
“I was giving my dissertation and implicated a major corporation,” I say, and go on to tell her the whole convoluted story. How I had uncovered evidence that Farm-eXia had permeated freshwater basins causing behavioral changes in wildlife. And how Global World Industries had threatened to pull funding, a half-billion dollars, if the university didn’t shut me up.
“I never intended to cause them trouble. I just wanted to illuminate the issue, perhaps even embarrass them a little. Maybe I was naive, stupid even, but I thought they would empower their scientists to find a solution and I could assist them in doing it. I was hoping they would give me a job.”
The phone goes silent for a long time and then Dr. Parker says something I never expected.
“When I first got my PhD, I was just like you. I wanted to change the world, make it a better place. But then that letter arrived from their legal department. They wanted an apology from me and all copies of my research expunged from the library. I caved just like all the others. I had a career, and a house, and a new BMW, and I didn’t want to lose any of it. So I did what they wanted. A year’s worth of work and all the data and samples that went with it, destroyed. I wasn’t as brave as you Indigo, and I’m ashamed of it.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; she was opening up to me. And I didn’t know what to say.
“Why don’t we do lunch tomorrow,” she says. “I need to make up for all those years I was in denial.”
“Why yes, that would be nice. Shall I meet you at your office?”
“No, that would be too risky. I’ve already agreed not to have any contact with you. Let’s meet at a restaurant, at ten o’clock, before the lunch crowd gets there. Almost everyone has already left for the holidays, but I can’t risk running into a stray dean or someone in the department that is still hanging around. Does that work for you?” she asks.
“Yes, ten is fine,” I say.
“Okay, here’s the address...”
I copy it down and she proceeds to tell me how to get there. I hang up the phone without the prospect of a job, but at least I have a contact, and someone to confide in. Will joins me on the porch, sees me put the phone away.
“All set then, for tomorrow?” he asks.
“Well yes, and no.”
“Is that a joke?”
“Yes, I’m going tomorrow, but no she can’t give me a job.”
“Then what’s the point of going?”
“I don’t know. I just feel like I need to meet her.”
“Maybe she’ll have a change of heart.”
“It’s not up to her. The university at Gainesville blacklisted me. There’s nothing she can do.”
“Why would they do that?” he asks.
“Because Dean Haas told them to. She knows I’m here now, and she’s already making things difficult.”
“How can one person have influence down here, a thousand miles away?” he asks.
“Because they all feed from the same trough.”
“What do you mean?”
“They all get funds from the same source.”
“Oh, I see. And that source is GWI?”
I nod in agreement.
Will leans against the railing and gazes at the lake for a couple of minutes. Then he turns to face me.
“Race you to the dock,” he says.
“What?”
“I’ll race you to the dock.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Just figured you might want to look around a bit.”
“Sure. Say when.”
“Three, two, one, go!”
We scramble down the stairs, down the path, and onto the dock. I beat him by an arm’s length.
“Whew! Not bad. Did you race in college?” he asks.
“I got lucky this time,” I say.
“You know, I used to be the fastest one in the squadron. I guess age is catching up to me.”
“You’re still number one in my book.”
Will strolls down the dock pointing out the rotting boards for me to avoid. We make our way towards the airboats, stopping to look at the first one. He steps inside, and then, offers a hand to assist me. I take his hand and jump into the airboat.
The inside is much larger than I imagined. It has six rows of seats and a single seat on a platform in front of the fan for the pilot. The engine is massive and looks like it came from a light plane. I turn to Will.
“Why does Fargo have two?” I ask.
“Sometimes he gets a pretty large crowd. Like from company picnics, church outings, and nature groups.”
“Who drives the other one?” I say.
“Some local guy,” he says.
I climb into the captain’s chair to get a sense of what it would be like to pilot one of these monster machines. Will notices me staring at the controls so he points each one out, explains what it’s used for.
“That’s the choke, for starting the engine. That lever by the seat is the throttle. You use that for setting your speed. And the other lever is for steering.”
I imagine myself skimming across the water at sixty miles per hour, flying past the multitude of islands, some with sandy beaches, and others with tangled mangrove bushes right down to the waterline.
“Let’s go for a ride,” I say.
“Can’t. These are Fargo’s babies. He’d never forgive me if I took them out. But I’ll ask him to take us when he gets back. He likes to show off.”
The sun is now well above the horizon. The mist that made the lake seem so ominous early this morning has largely dissipated, burned off by the sun’s powerful rays. The warmth on my bare legs feels wonderful against the chill of the morning air. My mind wanders; I think about my meeting with Dr. Parker tomorrow, then realize I don’t have a place to stay tonight.
“Would Fargo let me stay another night?” I ask.
“Let me handle it,” he says. “If he balks, I’ll remind him about the diapers.” He’s referring to the times he would help his mother change his brother’s diapers after his father left and Fargo was born. It was obvious that Fargo respected his brother and was well aware how much Will had done for both him and his mother over the years.
We hop out of the airboat and leave the dock. Will takes me around, shows me the grounds. I see lots of birds and even an alligator cruising the lake near the shoreline looking for an easy meal.
“Don’t worry, we’re not food to him. Unless you insist on going in the water,” he says.
I wasn’t, so I satisfy my curiosity by taking some pictures as the alligator passes by.
We stroll past some unfinished construction that looks like a large pavilion. At each of the corners and along the sides I see large wooden poles, the size of tree trunks. And above that is an “A” frame roof assembled with smaller poles and covered with palm leaves. The palm leaves are woven together so tightly even rain couldn’t penetrate it. The whole thing is held together with generous amounts of rope giving it the look of an oversized Tiki hut.
“What is this?” I ask.
“It was my mother’s idea. She was always concerned with preserving the traditions of our people. She convinced Fargo to build her a meeting place, where members of the tribe could get together on a regular basis and discuss the issues which affected them. It was also to be a place where young people could be taught the skills of our ancestors, the skills they used to survive in the swamps. These skills had been in the tribe for thousands of years; they were the identity of our people. She was afraid they would be lost if they weren’t passed on to the younger generation. Fargo liked the idea, and did what she asked. But when she passed away, the idea died with her,” he says. “Fargo never touched the place after that.”
I glance at my watch and see it’s almost three-thirty. The day went so fast. There’s so much to do and so much to see. And I’m really starting to like the wilderness.
“Let’s head back,” I say. “I’ll throw something together for dinner.”
I know full well Fargo will be returning at five and appreciate a good meal after all that hiking. Perhaps it will soften his heart and he will allow me to stay longer.
Back at the kitchen I make a mental inventory of what I have available. The kitchen is poorly stocked, but I still have a couple of fish and a half-dozen apples. I could fry the fish and bake the apples, but I need more. I find some rice in the pantry, but I still need more. I see some bananas in the corner that are turning black, like someone forgot about them.
“Can I use these bananas?”
“They’re not bananas, they’re plantains. What do you want them for?”
“For dessert.”
“They’re not for dessert. Let me show you.”
Will picks up the plantains and places them on the cutting board.
“These are one of my favorite meals, if they’re done right. And the secret to getting them right is to make sure they’re ripe, very ripe.”
Will studies the plantains for a moment.
“I’d say these are about perfect.”
Will cuts off the ends then slits the skin from end to end. He removes the skin with his fingers.
“See how easy that was?”
Then he slices each plantain on a diagonal, creating slices about a half-inch thick.
“I need some cooking oil.”
“What kind of oil?” I ask.
“Palm or Canola.”
I hand him a half-empty bottle of Palm. He heats a cast-iron pan then pours a small amount of oil in it.
“Not too much. Just enough to barely cover the bottom.”
He places the slices into the pan and fries them for a couple of minutes. Then he flips them over and does the same to the other side, until both sides are a golden yellow. He takes them out and arranges them neatly into a dish.
“Here, try one,” he says, holding the dish in front of me. I pick one up with a fork and nibble at it. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.
“I’ve never seen a single person try one and not be hooked. And my mother’s were even better.”
“Did she show you how to cook?” I ask.
“I picked it up by watching her. Never really used any of it because the Navy provided us with K-Rations. All you had to do with K-Rations was to heat them up. And most of the time you ate them cold.”
He contemplates for a moment.
“I’ve forgotten most of what I learned from her. It was such a long time ago.”
I hear some voices outside and peek out the front door. The scouts have returned and are being loaded on the bus. The driver starts the engine and the roar of the damaged muffler disrupts the silence. Fargo waves to the scouts as the bus exits the parking lot. I see him strolling towards the cabin so I race back to my bedroom and dab on some perfume. I get back to the kitchen just seconds before he opens the front door and saunters i
n. I pretend not to notice and focus my attention on lighting the propane stove. The fish in the frying pan begins to crackle and pop giving off a nice aroma. Fargo wanders into the kitchen.
“Oh, you’re back,” I say nonchalantly. “Dinner will be ready in about five minutes.”
I can see he’s tired from the hike, probably because we kept him up later than his usual routine. I secretly hope the meal distracts him enough that he doesn’t hold it against us. He comes up behind me then peeks over my shoulder at the fish sizzling in the pan. He inhales deeply.
“Smells good.”
“Yes, fresh fish always has a great aroma,” I say.
“I was referring to your perfume,” he says, then wanders away. I’m amazed he even noticed. Up to now he’s been keeping his distance. Is this a change, or just some careless remark he blurted out without thinking?
I place the meal on the table and Will and I take seat. A few minutes later Fargo joins us.
“How’d it go?” I ask.
“Very well. Some of those kids have never been out of the inner city. The only trees they ever get to see are the ones in a park.”
“Do this often?” I ask.
“Every month, but a different troop each time. I was a scout myself. The other fathers took me under their wing and helped me get through some difficult times. I don’t know how much Will told you, but our father ran off before I was born. I feel the need to give back to those folks who are going through the same thing.”
It was obvious Fargo shared Will’s generosity. They probably picked it up from their mother in spite of all the hardships they endured. It makes me feel ashamed of the envy I used to feel for those that were better off than me. The one truth that life has taught me is that everyone has a cross to bear and some have more than one. But it’s never easy to bear it when you are the one that’s suffering.
Will shuffles over to the refrigerator and takes out two beers.
“Want one?” he says to me.
“No, I’m okay.”
Will returns and hands the beer to Fargo. He discretely waits until Fargo has finished his dinner then lays the question on him.
“Indigo has a little problem.”
