Frank silently departed in the direction from which he had come.
As night fell, Frank brooded by himself in his squad’s sleeping area. Around him, small warming fires illuminated the huddled groups of firefighters. He was enjoying the feeling of being alone, but he felt that somehow it wasn’t right to separate himself from his squad and that he should be closer to them just then. Part of him also yearned for the company of Alice, and he was finally ready to admit this to someone other than himself.
Just as Frank was about to get up, Alice, who had left the fire she had been sharing with Scott in search of an explanation for Frank’s absence, lowered herself beside him. Frank suddenly felt the air next to him become charged. He smiled and returned Alice’s greeting. Without too much prodding, Frank told her what was bothering him. He replayed actions he had taken that evening in opposing the men, making himself out to be more sure of his initial confrontational stance than he now was.
At an uncomfortable pause in the conversation, Frank reached behind Alice and pulled his Pulaski to him. He put on his gloves, which had been hanging from his belt, unsheathed the axe blade of his tool, and picked up a file.
“Frank, it’s not fair to judge those guys without looking at where they came from and the kind of mentality everyone has there. Believe me, I’ve been around it all my life. You’ve got to realize that. Somehow talking to you this past week has actually helped me understand that.”
“But I thought you hated these guys,” Frank said, feeling almost abandoned as he solidly stroked the blade now wedged stiffly between his legs.
“Yeah, well, hate is a pretty strong word. I sure as hell don’t want to have much to do with them, and I do want them to leave me alone.”
“Why? Aren’t their attitudes just par for the course where you’re from? The countryside, that is.” Frank shaved more metal off the gleaming blade.
“Maybe that’s true, but I just don’t want to deal with people who don’t validate me.”
“Yeah, so fuck ‘em altogether. I don’t want to try and relate to their shit either. How are we different?”
Though her face was hidden in darkness, Alice smiled and raised her eyebrows at Frank. She liked that he was developing an attitude. She realized that she didn’t care much if he related to Squad Two, and in some ways actually preferred that he didn’t. Her wish for him to understand that people were different where she came from was motivated by something other than she had supposed initially, she realized.
Frank prepared to wade a little deeper into the conversation, hoping to become a little more intimate with Alice. “Alice, you really taught me a lot about sticking up for what you believe in... and not compromising or backing down.”
“Well, thank you, Frank,” Alice said in a velvety voice.
Frank sensed she had warmed instantly to his words, and his whole body tingled, particularly in the groin area.
“That’s really sweet,” she added with unguided emotion, in the same alluring voice. She let her eyes linger on his face, and a pregnant silence developed.
Frank quickly reached a state of nervous ecstasy. Suddenly everything he could imagine wanting, desiring, seemed miraculously within reach.
“I sure feel like I compromise too fucking much, though,” Alice added.
“I don’t know. I don’t think I would have learned as much if you had compromised.” Frank almost choked on his words. He wanted to say more.
“Maybe so...” Alice said, and strayed from her tender feelings to become deeply thoughtful. She decided that Frank might have been right; by being so adamant on gender issues, perhaps she had taught him more. She had set up an ideal to strive for. It was there, like a carrot on a stick, compelling them to move forward, not a stick pushing him to it. Frank was certainly coming into her camp, and with strength in numbers, perhaps she could win her war someday -- maybe even with him at her side.
Frank gave his Pulaski a few more hard licks, took off his gloves, and ran his soft-skinned finger along the blade to test its sharpness. He broke the skin slightly, but no blood rose to the surface.
Alice studied Frank as he resheathed his tool. She took note of his soft young features, and his kind, compassionate face. She wanted him to stay near her. She realized she hadn’t liked it when he had tried to get along with Squad Two. She alone wanted to influence him. She wanted to take him away from the diseases that infected men.
She then found her switch, and quickly turned off her emotions before they overran her; but she couldn’t stop herself from reaching out and touching Frank’s knee, letting her hand rest there long enough to surprise herself. Was she trying to tell him something? Yes. She gave his leg a slight squeeze before she pulled her hand away. “Frank, I think I’ve got to get some rest. I feel like I’m getting sick or something.”
Frank looked up as Alice stood and stretched. This time he didn’t look away, nor did he feel embarrassed to be studying her supple body.
“Good night, Alice.”
“Good night, Frank.”
Frank watched her walk away, still feeling the touch of her fingers on his knee. He became flooded with a mixture of emotions and overwhelming need. He was excited but tormented. He could almost visualize her soft warmth, and still saw her smile beam at him through the darkness. But he also imagined that there existed parts of her that were cold and hard, impenetrable, forged by the elements of her environment. He had to know all of her, to have all of her, even if it meant giving up so much of himself in order to pacify her.
“What the fuck do you mean?”
“I mean that it’s just all so fuckin’ stupid, this shit!”
“What shit?”
“You know what I mean. It’s fuckin’ everywhere.”
“What’s everywhere?”
“Just this shit, man! I’m sick of hearing what we’re supposed to think next!”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“Like, fuck it!”
“Whoa, gettin’ hot there, aren’tcha?”
“Aw fuck off!”
“Yeah, fuck you.”
“Okay, when?”
“Not another one!”
“I take it any way I can get it.”
“I’ll tell you how you can get it. You can get it from behind by a nig named Bubba next time you do a fifteen-year-old.”
“Fifteen’ll get you twenty.”
“Nice, fresh, juicy fifteen-year-old...”
“Yeah, not a soggy prune like your ol’ lady.”
“The fruit may be a little old, but the flavor’s sweeter.”
“Yeah, if she lets you get a taste. I only go for the young juicy ones myself.”
“Too bad that when she finds out it’s only a little bean sprout, she’ll be askin’ me to come sample her fruit.”
“This bean sprout turns into a mighty vine.”
“Vine? I got the mighty oak, my man.”
“You say oak, but she says acorn.”
“She says, ‘gimme more’.”
“That’s ‘cause she don’t get enough.”
“You said it, I didn’t have to.”
“You got that right... You’d say he doesn’t get enough.”
“But he does... From you. You get out that economy- size jar of Vaseline, and have you a real good ‘catch the greased pig’ contest. Or piglet, sorry.”
“At least I’m not known as the champ at catchin’ ‘em like you are.”
“No, I guess you’re only good at catchin’ AIDS.” Jim turned away from George and, in a loud whisper, spoke in Randy’s direction, “No, that’s what he’s got, ‘long with some other stuff.”
“Yeah, that’s what I got, all right,” Randy said in repose, still staring into his squad’s fire. The flames lit his pallid face and made his features appear to change from one moment to the next. He enjoyed heari
ng the men’s banter. It relaxed him, told him that nothing had changed and that it never would. A ritualistic return to normalcy. But he realized that he was rarely involved in these exchanges, and was never the initiator. The other men spat these quips out effortlessly, thoughtlessly, and he found himself envying them a little.
“Least I got my disease from a woman. You guys keep givin’ ‘em to each other,” Randy offered, without looking up. He spat into the fire, hitting the burning log he’d aimed for. The spot turned black for a moment, and then glowed orange again. “I heard someone sayin’, ‘squeal like a pig’ from under your tarp there last night.”
“Naw, that was Jim and the bus driver,” George said.
“Shit, she’s more woman than even I’d know what to do with,” said Jim.
“She’s more woman than a tribe of cannibals’d know what to do with,” Roy added with a snicker.
Randy spoke again: “I can just see Jim rollin’ around all hot and sweaty in there, jumpin’ off one hilla fat to the next, lookin’ for that hidden valley.”
As Randy laughed to himself at his joke, the rest of Squad Two exchanged looks that playfully questioned their leader’s sanity.
“He’s lost it.”
“Yeah, I think so, but I’m not sure he ever had it.”
“Neither did his ol’ lady when she found him in the barn with the sheep.”
“Yeah, and you told me he wasn’t even doin’ the cutest one.”
“We know which one you think is cute. It’s the one sayin’: ‘Jaaaames, come baaaack.’”
The men’s conversation was now mixed with rolling laughter, though most of the quips were familiar. Randy, however laughed less than the rest. He risked fading out of the group’s banter entirely until he thought of something to say: “Single Oregon men exchangin’ love stories.” The joke served its purpose, silencing his friends for a moment and giving him a chance to laugh.
“Hey, Randy. How’d you get your ol’ lady to let you come out here with us?” Jim asked. Everyone sensed that a familiar taunting ritual was about to be performed.
“She probably kicked him out ‘cause he wouldn’t wear the maid’s uniform when her friends came over,” Roy added, to raise the stakes.
Randy, with a straight face, said, “Roy, remember we gave you that back? My ol’ lady said she wouldn’t wear it ‘cause the hole you cut in the rear made her ass cold.”
All five men laughed before the conversation died down unexpectedly. The men then sat in silence, staring at the hot red coals. Another stick was thrown in, and they felt secure watching the coals glow brighter until the wood succumbed to the heat and burst into flames.
Randy and Jim were the most pensive of the squad. Both felt uneasy at the uncertain state of their relations. Both, however, were still unwilling to open themselves up in an act of honest, communicative reconciliation. The rest of the squad had previously felt uneasy for the same reason, but now were increasingly more at peace as the campfire conversation worked its magic.
“Hey, you guys remember that all women’s crew last year?”
“Yeah, the Wenatchee snatchees?”
“Hell, yeah... every mornin’, all lined out like women at a wet T-shirt contest. Fuck, I’da liked to see ‘em give us a look at the hard bodies they were hidin’ under there.”
“No shit. It’d be hard to pick a winner from that line-up.”
“You mean you’d be hard... pickin’ a winner.”
“Remember that blonde one I was talkin’ to?” Roy asked, having almost forgotten by this point that he had only strategically asked her where she was from at the moment his friends had rounded the bend. “Fuck, she had a rack on her!”
Randy again found that he was interested in the conversation. Secretly, it disgusted him in some ways, yet the images put before him were more agreeable the more he thought about them in the company of friends. He vaguely remembered that the blonde had had large breasts. “Man, that’d be a crew for me. We wouldn’t have time to dig any line. Do a lotta bendin’ over, though,” Randy said, throwing his comment into the pot, and spat into the fire.
As he savored their laughter, Randy realized that he felt even more distant from his friends than usual. He wondered if it was because of the day’s altercation with Jim. Or was it just the inevitable result of spending too much time alone with his wife, and less time with them? He reclined in the dirt. His longing for his wife suddenly punctuated his loneliness. Usually, the company of these men filled the void created when he was apart from her, but tonight was one of those occasions that it just couldn’t.
Frank felt his euphoria waning, and grabbed a brown MRE bag. He stood and wandered over to Fast Horse. He found his hero holding a forked stick, on which was skewered a skinned section of rattlesnake. With a surgeon’s care, Fast Horse slowly rotated the meat, inches over the coals of his fire. Next to him, Derrick quietly and contentedly did the same.
“Have some snake, Frank!” Fast Horse thrust a bloody section of snake in Frank’s face as he sat down. The meat was attached to a stick similar to the one Fast Horse used.
Frank looked at the bloody snake meat and was immediately sickened. Then he remembered that his MRE consisted of “chicken loaf,” “bean component,” a couple of petrified crackers, and some peanut butter. He sat down and held the meat over the coals, inventing courage. Soon the adventure of the situation seized him. He had never eaten snake, and here he was cooking it over an open fire with real, live Indians. He tried not to let his enthusiasm show.
“So, they didn’t kill any more animals for you?” Frank asked.
“I figure they know they did enough killin’ for now.”
“Hope so.”
“Yeah, we all need help in different ways.” Fast Horse paused. “You know, Frank, I can’t be everywhere at once. That’s why we have three squad bosses who are supposed to be working together, not just with their squads.”
“Sure, makes sense to me.”
“You guys make the links of the chain stronger where I can’t always see they’re weak.”
Alaska’s form came into the field of Fast Horse’s peripheral vision. “Here’s one of your squad members now,” Fast Horse said, and then called out, “Hey, ‘Laska!”
“What?” Alaska asked, in a manner that Frank considered disrespectful. With reluctance, Alaska slowly approached the men.
“Come sit down and have some snake with us. It’s an Oregon tradition. Bet you haven’t had snake up there in Alaska.”
“No, that’s true... Don’t have any a them.” Alaska looked down and searched the faces of the two men. Fast Horse’s face was openly encouraging; Frank’s was conspicuously blank. “Naw, I still got stuff to get ready,” he finally said.
“Too bad, it’s gonna be good. Try a bite anyway.”
“Naw, that’s okay,” Alaska said and walked away. “Thanks, though,” he mumbled, when almost out of earshot.
Fast Horse’s eyes followed Alaska until they rested on Shroeder, who was fumbling with his sleeping bag and grumbling agitatedly to himself. “Hey Shroeder,” Fast Horse called out. “Want some rattlersnake?”
“No... no snake for me,” Shroeder said almost gruffly, without looking up.
Fast Horse shrugged. He then used one hand to fasten his headlamp to his head and examined his piece of meat with exaggerated satisfaction. “Looks pretty good,” he said, before dumping salt from his MRE pack on it. He gingerly took a bite of the hot, blackened snake and smiled. “You’re gonna like this snake, Frank. It’s a tender one!” Fast Horse figured that Frank hadn’t had much snake before, and was a little squeamish about eating it.
Frank cooked his snake a few more minutes, until Fast Horse told him it was done. Then he too sprinkled on some salt. He eyed the flesh warily and peeled a small piece from the bones with his fingers. He tried not to look at it too long before he
sitantly putting it in his mouth and chewing slowly. “Tastes like.. well, like chicken!” he then chimed happily and chewed with more vigor. He then examined the meat again, readying himself to take another bite.
“You know, folks always say that, but shit... that just ain’t fair to the snake. This here snake died so we could eat it; we gotta at least call a snake a snake and a chicken a chicken. Just ain’t right otherwise.” Fast Horse looked at Frank, suppressing a grin. “And besides, snake has a kind of... reptiley flavor you have to savor like one a them gourmets you city folks think are so smart. See... I’m kind of a gourmet myself. A bush gourmet.”
Frank warmed from the attention. He took another bite, trying to notice the reptile flavor, but at the same time hoping the second bite would taste no different than the first. Suddenly, he thought he tasted something in the meat that he hadn’t tasted before. He abruptly stopped chewing and suppressed the powerful urge to spit the meat out. He looked out of the corner of his eyes to see if Fast Horse had noticed.
Fast Horse read Frank’s face, and offered a loud hoot that shattered the quiet of the night. Derrick laughed almost as loudly, and rolled back onto the ground. Frank regained his composure and joined the men in laughing. He then stuffed a large chunk of charred snake in his mouth and happily licked his fingers afterwards, receiving a fatherly slap on the back from Fast Horse, who then wiped a tear out of his eye.
“Man, what crawled up there and died?”
“It’s those MREs, man.”
“Yeah, MealReadytoExplode in your ass.”
When a Fire Burns Hot Page 31
