River Boy

by Tim Bowler

What Alfred had told her made no sense, yet she was probably making a mystery out of nothing. Just because he hadn’t seen many backpackers around here didn’t mean there weren’t any. And this boy had probably not been alone; maybe he’d had his family nearby, just out of view from where she’d been standing. Perhaps, if she’d climbed up the rock face, she’d have seen them all walking over the hill. They might have been looking for the source, too.

  Yet he had looked nothing like a backpacker, standing in the stream itself and wearing —she was sure of it —only a pair of shorts; he couldn’t have walked far dressed like that, so either he and his family were living in or renting a place nearby —which wasn’t possible according to Alfred —or they’d driven here to take a walk.

  But there was only one road this way, the tiny lane that straggled over the valley peak to Braymouth. And she’d seen no car.

  She glanced across the kitchen table at Grandpa, slowly chewing his food as he sat slumped in the wheelchair. At least there were no more arguments about that now, though she knew what it cost him to have others push him around.

  Mom spoke. “You all right, Jess? You’re very quiet. ”

  She saw Grandpa’s eye flicker toward her. “I’m fine, ” she said quickly. “Just thinking. ”

  “OK. ”

  He held her gaze a moment longer, then turned back to his food.

  After supper they wheeled him through to the sitting room and watched television, but she could tell, as she glanced at him throughout the evening, that his mind was elsewhere. The unfinished picture sat in the corner of the room, propped against the wall, mutely speaking to her; and the fact that he’d turned his back to it and refused to give it his attention only proved to her how much he cared about it.

  Unlike him, she found herself gazing at it constantly, so much so that by the end of the evening, though part of her had somehow watched the television and even answered questions from Mom and Dad, it was as though her whole being had been centered in unbroken meditation upon the picture; and on the mystery of the river boy.

  By the time she went to bed, her belief in the boy up at the fall had faded; and only the mystery remained.

  CHAPTER NINE

  But in the night she saw him again.

  The river roused her from a restless sleep, and she rose and went over to the window and gazed out over the moonlit clearing.

  A figure was moving in the stream.

  She stiffened and stared. The features were smothered in darkness, but there was enough moonlight to show her what she needed to see.

  It was the boy from the fall.

  The river boy.

  She edged to the side of the window, but he did not glance her way. His attention was all on the stream. He walked slowly, clad, she now clearly saw, only in shorts, his head bowed as though he was studying the water.

  She stared, half in wonder, half in fear. Who was this boy? What was he doing out in the river in the middle of the night?

  He glanced toward the window.

  She drew back, out of sight, and waited for a few moments; then, unable to resist, she slowly peered around again in time to see him disappear from view around the side of the house as he followed the stream down toward the lower ground.

  Suddenly she was hurrying down the stairs. She had to settle this mystery once and for all, had to ask this boy who he was, what he was doing, why he was here. He didn’t look dangerous. There was no reason why she shouldn’t speak to him. But she would keep herself hidden until she was really sure of him.

  She struggled into her coat and fumbled with the key to the front door, hoping the sound would not carry. It turned at last, and she slipped out of the cottage and across the clearing toward the stream, clutching her nightgown around her knees.

  But there was no sign of the boy.

  She stared around her, breathing hard. This didn’t make sense. He couldn’t have walked more than a few yards in the time it had taken her to get here, and there was enough moonlight to see him by.

  But all she saw was the river flowing past her, giving no sign that anyone had ever traveled through it. She pulled her coat around her, feeling suddenly strangely vulnerable; then she tensed.

  A figure was walking toward her.

  But it was only Dad.

  To her surprise, she found herself running toward him.

  “Jess, ” he said softly.

  She threw her arms around him, and he held her, not speaking for some time, just stroking her hair. Then, after a few minutes, he kissed her head. “What’s going on? ”

  She drew back and looked up into his eyes. “I don’t know. I . . . I don’t understand what’s happening to me. It’s this place, I think. It’s like . . . ”

  “Like what? ”

  “I don’t know. Like there’s a presence here. I felt it when we first arrived. ”

  “A ghost, you mean? ”

  “I don’t know. Nothing nasty —I don’t mean that, but . . . ” She bit her lip, knowing she couldn’t mention the boy. Dad never had much time for what he called ’cranky ideas,’ by which he meant anything science had yet to explain. But he wasn’t making fun of her, and she was glad of that.

  “I know what’s really upsetting you, ” he said. “It’s Grandpa, isn’t it? ”

  That, at least, was partially true. She nodded and tried to look cheerful. “I’ll be all right now, Dad. ”

  “Let’s go inside. ”

  They walked back to the cottage, arm in arm.

  “What’s the betting your mom hasn’t woken up? ” he said.

  “She must have with all the noise I made jiggling the key, and then you coming out after me. ”

  “So what’s the betting? ”

  She stopped and thought for a moment. “You get me a decent desk lamp. ”

  “And if I win? ”

  She thought again. “I’ll clear my junk out of the utility room. ”

  “You’re supposed to have done that anyway. ”

  “Well, I really will do it. The moment I get home. ”

  “Done. ”

  They shook hands on it and went in, and at once there was a shout. But it was Grandpa calling from his room. “What’s going on? All that rushing about. ”

  “Nothing, ” called Dad. “Everything’s fine. You OK? ”

  Grandpa muttered something but didn’t speak again, and after waiting for a few more moments to make sure he was all right, they climbed the stairs. Dad put his head around the door to the main bedroom, then looked back at her. “The utility room. You owe me. ”

  “Evidence. ”

  He laughed and pushed the door open to reveal Mom lying fast asleep, as relaxed as a child, one arm dangling over the side of the bed.

  “Wish I could sleep as easily as that, ” he said. “And I wish you could, too, my love. ”

  “I’ll be all right now. ”

  “Well, come in and wake us if you find you’re still worrying, OK? ”

  “OK. ”

  Back in her room she tried to compose herself for sleep. But the image of the boy haunted her more than ever now, and after a couple of hours of struggle, realizing that rest was beyond her, she gave up, climbed out of bed, and wandered back to the window and leaned there, gazing out into the night.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was dawn before she lay down again and finally managed to sleep, her thoughts drowsily centered on Grandpa and the river boy. When she awoke, she found the sun streaming in through the window and Mom sitting on the bed.

  “Jess, Dad’s just told me about last night. What happened? ”

  Jess yawned, and Mom quickly spoke again. “Don’t tell me now if you’re still sleepy. We can talk later. ”

  “No, it’s all right. ”

  She rubbed her eyes, trying to think what to say. She was clear in her mind that she wasn’t going to mention the river boy to anyone, at least not until she knew more about him. Right now she wasn’t even sure he really existed. Besides, Mom and Dad had enou
gh to worry about with Grandpa; the last thing they needed was her causing concern as well.

  “I don’t really know what happened, ” she said finally. “It’s like I said to Dad —there’s something strange about this place. ”

  “Something spooky? ”

  “No, not spooky, just strange. I suppose it should feel spooky but it doesn’t. It just feels like — ”

  “Like time doesn’t exist. ”

  She sat up. “Yes. ”

  Mom nodded. “I’ve felt it, too. I know what you mean. It’s like we’re caught in a sort of time warp. Maybe it’s just us. We’re used to city life and we see change all the time. But this place probably hasn’t changed much for hundreds of years, certainly not since Pop was a boy. ”

  “He said it felt different. ”

  “Well, it probably does to him. I expect that’s because he last saw it as a boy and now he’s changed. His feelings about life will be different compared with then. I don’t suppose the place itself has changed much. That’s probably why it feels timeless to us. ”

  Jess lay back in bed again, thinking.

  ’Do you want to go home, darling? ” said Mom. “We can, you know. ”

  “No, we mustn’t. We’ve got to stay, for Grandpa’s sake. Anyway, I like it here. Really. ”

  Mom sighed. “Well, we did plan it for Pop’s sake, but if you really were unhappy, I’d put my foot down with him and take the consequences. And I know Dad would back me up. We both feel guilty enough as it is, being so bound up with Pop. You must think we’re neglecting you, and we probably are. ”

  “I don’t, and you’re not. We don’t need to go. I just had a . . . sort of . . . funny moment, that’s all. You don’t need to worry about me anymore. We’ve got to put Grandpa first. And please don’t tell him about last night if he asks you anything. He called out when we came back into the house, but I’m hoping he was half-asleep and won’t remember it. ”

  Mom squeezed her hand.

  “All right, we’ll stay, but if you do find this place makes you uneasy and you want to go home, we’ll pack up and go the same day. OK? ”

  “You won’t need to. ”

  “But is it OK? ”

  “Yes, Mom, it’s OK. ”

  “Anyway, since you mention Grandpa, there is something I wanted to talk to you about. ”

  “The picture. ”

  “Yes, and his health. You must have noticed how much worse he’s gotten during the last twenty-four hours. Well, while you were out walking yesterday, Dad and I tried to persuade him to let us take him home so that he could go back to the hospital. They know him there. ” Mom rolled her eyes. “My God, they know him. Anyway, we thought he’d be more comfortable in the hospital back home. It’s a nice place, and everyone’s very friendly. Well, he was having none of that, so we tried Plan B. ”

  “The hospital at Braymouth. ”

  “Right. It’s only small, so Alfred says, but at least it’s better than watching him waste away here, getting more and more fractious. Well, we got an even worse response with that suggestion. He doesn’t even want us to call a doctor. Says he’ll refuse to see anyone. ”

  “So what are you going to do? ”

  “I’ve told him we’ll give him another twenty-four hours, and if he’s no better, then I’m going to call a doctor out whether he likes it or not, though I don’t envy the poor devil who gets lumbered with the job of coming and having his head bitten off. Anyway, if Dad and I were a bit tense yesterday, that’s why ”

  So she’d been right. But they should have known Grandpa would fight against going into the hospital; and no doubt he didn’t want to see anyone because he knew the doctor would only argue the same way as Mom and Dad.

  “Then there’s this painting, ” Mom went on. “He’s so tense about it but he won’t tell us anything. I can see you know more about it than we do —as usual. I suppose I ought to feel jealous that he tells you things he won’t tell us, but I’m glad he trusts you. He needs to trust somebody. ”

  She shrugged.

  “Anyway, as I see it, considering the state he’s in, what matters now is that we give him every chance to finish the painting —if we can keep Alfred from driving him bananas first. If he can just finish the thing, maybe he’ll get some peace of mind. ” She frowned. “And be able to accept what has to come. ”

  Jess gazed up at the window and listened to the dancing stream.

  And maybe I will, too, she thought.

  She set Grandpa up by the river in the same spot as before, but this time in the wheelchair, which he now seemed to have accepted without complaint. Mom and Dad, as secretly agreed with her, were stationed out of sight above the cottage ready to interrupt Alfred on the lane and steer him to the kitchen for coffee.

  She made sure Grandpa had everything he needed, then wandered a few yards down the bank, keeping carefully in sight while she waited to find out whether he wanted her by him or just somewhere within hailing distance. Sometimes he liked to have her close by, but usually he was content just to know she was around as long as she didn’t move about too much and distract him.

  She hadn’t gone far when she heard him call. She turned at once and ran back toward him, trying to look cheerful. But it was hard: he looked so withered now, like a piece of flotsam thrown up on the beach; even the flame in his eyes had dimmed, as though during the night he had aged another twenty years. He sat hunched in the chair, as still as a sculpture, and the brightness of the sun served only to highlight the pallor of his cheeks.

  “Sit with me, will you? ” he said.

  She sat down in the usual spot, just in front of him and with her back to the easel so that he knew she couldn’t see the painting until he was ready to show it; and she waited for him to start.

  For some time she heard nothing. That was normal enough: sometimes he would gaze into space for several minutes, or sit there with his eyes closed, mulling over the vision he hoped to translate onto canvas; and that could take time. But this silence went on far too long, and she knew something was wrong.

  She looked around and saw him weeping soundlessly, tears teeming down his face. She knelt by his side and took his hand.

  “I can’t do it, ” he said. “I can’t do it. ”

  “You can, Grandpa. ”

  “I can see the picture in my head. It’s so clear. But I . . . I can’t . . . ”

  He was struggling to breathe and soon stopped trying to talk. She waited for a few minutes until he had calmed himself.

  “It’ll come, Grandpa, ” she said. “It always does. You know it often takes you a while to get started. Like that abstract you did, the one in the front room, remember? And the one of the old church. And what about the girl on horseback? It took you ages before you really got going on that one. ”

  He looked at her, his eyes still moist. “You don’t understand. It’s not my mind that’s the problem. ” He looked down. “It’s my hands. ”

  “Your hands? What is it? What can I —? ”

  “I can’t move them very well. It hurts me when I lift the brush. No, don’t get your mom and dad. Please, stay here with me. I’ll be all right in a minute. I just . . . I just don’t know how much strength I’ve got left in them, that’s all. I suppose I’ll have to put up with it and try my best. ”

  He breathed out hard, then glared at the picture. “Not that this load of trash deserves any more effort. It must be the worst thing I’ve ever done. ”

  She looked at the painting and once more felt her mind drawn into the mysterious waters he had conjured with such exquisite skill; and she found herself thinking of the river boy again —both the boy she had seen and the boy she yearned to see, here, before her eyes. She’d been hoping Grandpa would paint him in today; but that hope was fading.

  “I still like it, Grandpa, ” she said.

  “You would, ” he muttered, not unkindly, then slowly and painfully he reached for his brush again. “Go on, buzz off. ”

  “I thoug
ht you wanted me to stay with you. ”

  “Well, I don’t. Go on, I’m all right now. ”

  “I’m happy to stay, Grandpa. ”

  “No, you’re not. Your mind’s on swimming, and I don’t blame you. It’s good weather for a dip. Go on, get lost. I’ll shout if I need you. ”

  And without another glance at her, he started painting.

  She watched him for a moment. He wasn’t all right —he was anything but all right —and the exaggerated frown of concentration he had adopted in order to get rid of her was far from convincing. Yet he had certainly penetrated her thoughts: despite her concern for him and her preoccupation with the river boy, she had indeed been thinking of swimming.

  She wandered a few yards from him, then glanced back. The frown on his face was gone, his mouth had dropped open, his eyes were remote: he was truly absorbed at last.

  She smiled to herself. He was so easy to read, so easy to love —for all his faults. She tried not to wince as she saw how much the movement of the brush hurt him.

  “Aren’t you swimming yet? ” he called, not looking at her.

  He had spoken lightly, but she knew she was putting him off by hanging around.

  “I won’t be far away, Grandpa. ”

  He grunted something but didn’t speak. That was another good sign: he was getting more and more engrossed. Perhaps he would finish the painting today after all.

  He coughed suddenly.

  She knew what that meant, and there was no time to be lost. She pulled off her T-shirt, kicked off her shoes, straightened her swimsuit, and ran away.

  She followed the curve of the bank, searching for a spot where the water was deep and clear and good for diving. The river looked so different from here compared with yesterday when she had swum this stretch. Already the woodland was starting to cut her off from the water, though there was something of a path that tracked the meander of the river, albeit some feet back from the bank.

  She glanced to the right and saw, twisting among the trees above her, the little lane climbing up the side of the valley on its way to Braymouth. Somewhere over that brow was Alfred’s house, the one he had lived in all his life, and no doubt would never leave.