Into the Canyon

by Michael Neale

  “Thanks, man. I almost lost our dinner.” Jacob turned his attention to the others. “Okay, everyone . . . stew is ready!”

  They all gathered a few feet from the settled blaze and sat down in their canvas folding chairs. It was nearly dark and cooling off. The light from the fire flickered on the suntanned faces as they waited for Jacob. He joined them with a warm smile. He looked each one of them in the eye slowly. Then he held out his hands, palms up.

  “Maker, we are grateful for everything You have given. We are grateful for the waters that carry us to such a beautiful site. We are grateful for one another. We thank You for redemption. We thank You for food. We thank You for more than enough. We thank You for these moments.”

  Jacob turned his attention to the group.

  “Go ahead and take a bowl, guys. The corn bread is in the foil warming on the coals. It’s hot, so be careful. Then you can take a seat, and I’ll serve you the stew.”

  Jacob started with Sadie.

  “In The River with gratitude,” he said reverently as he dipped the tin ladle in the pot and gently emptied it in Sadie’s bowl.

  Sadie smiled peacefully.

  Each time Jacob poured the stew, he recited those words. Gabriel breathed in deeply, soaking up the sacred moment as well as the smell of broth filled with chunks of rib eye steak, carrots, potatoes, and garlic.

  “Dad, this is so good,” Tabitha commented.

  Everyone chimed in.

  “Amazing.”

  “Ridiculously good as always.”

  Around a mouthful of corn bread, Freddie added, “This is otherworldly, man. I’m serious . . . It’s like from another planet or somethin’. It’s way better than that pot Tabitha made last time.”

  “Uh, thanks a lot, Freddie!” Tabitha said.

  Freddie couldn’t stop. “Oh, come on. Everyone knows cooking isn’t your strong suit.” He chomped another bite of corn bread.

  “Okay, fine, but you don’t have to say it.”

  Everyone laughed at the hot water Freddie was getting into.

  Jacob tilted his head back and focused his eyes on the starlight canopy overhead.

  “You’re actually not that far off, Freddie. About ‘otherworldly,’ that is.”

  “Really?”

  Everyone looked at each other and wondered where Jacob was going with this.

  “The world . . . the world out there has its own agenda, its own ideas of what is good and meaningful.”

  Jacob paused.

  Gabriel jumped in. “What do you mean?”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “Dad never just answers the question. There’s always another question,” Tabitha announced with a touch of frustration in her voice.

  Jacob didn’t respond. He smiled.

  Sadie piped up. “Yeah, Dad! Sometimes we just want to know the answer.”

  “Sometimes . . . we just need to think.” He paused for a second. “Sometimes when we ask more questions and dig in for ourselves, the answers carry more weight, more richness. Sometimes it’s about the process of learning.”

  After a few moments of silence Freddie remarked with his impeccable timing, “I’m lost.”

  Everybody erupted.

  Gabriel said, “I think it means that what might be important to most people in the world is not really important at all in the grand scheme of things. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Jacob responded with another question. “What do you think is important . . . you know, to go after . . . to set your sights on in this life?”

  “A good woman!” Freddie broke them up again.

  “Yes, we are well aware of your quest, Freddie.” Jacob rolled his eyes. “Do I need to throw you in The River to cool off? Seriously. What about you, Samuel?”

  Freddie grinned and looked at Samuel.

  “Happiness and good friends,” the veteran guide said decisively.

  “Making great memories,” Sadie said as she stared at the fire.

  “Love. We should set our sights on love.” Gabriel liked Tabitha’s response.

  “What about you?” Jacob turned the conversation to Gabriel.

  “Hang on a second.”

  Gabriel got up and went over to his tent. He came back with The Journal.

  “Most of you have seen me with this.” He held up the book. “My mom gave it to me before I moved here. It’s a collection of writings, journal entries from my father and grandfather, and others, I’m finding out. I just read this the other day. It’s a very old entry; I’m not even sure who wrote it.”

  He turned so the light of the fire illuminated the pages. He read in his low, gruff voice, accompanied by the sound of the sizzling embers.

  The ways of The River are pure. The River life keeps me about the right things. Away from The River, it’s a lifeless desert to me. Away from The River, I hear, “Climb! Power! More power!” while The River life whispers, “Kneel. Help. Serve.” Away from The River, I try to control, but in The River, open hands are the answer. Away from The River, I hear, “Repay! Revenge!” and The River life proclaims, “Let go and be free!” Come to The River. In The River, there is always more than enough.

  A hush came over the group as Gabriel finished. He closed the antique leather-bound collection of writings.

  “I don’t think I am anywhere close to this yet. But it seems like a great place to be.”

  “Wow. I don’t think I could say it any better.”

  Jacob got up and went over to the remembrance monument and took out the parchment paper he had placed there before dinner.

  “Everyone gets two sheets of paper.”

  He walked around the fire passing them out. Then he went back over and picked up the cans and the brushes. He passed them out without saying a word. When he was finished, he stood in front of the monument facing the team and the fire.

  “The story goes like this. In the late seventeenth century, a beautiful and radiant Cherokee Indian woman named Ama-Woya, which means ‘Water Dove,’ was taken by a group of ruthless and violent men. Plucked from her tribe in what is now the Carolinas, this young woman made the trek all the way to Colorado as a slave to these three depraved settlers. They abused her in every deplorable way.

  “One night at their camp, as the men were in a drunken stupor, she managed to escape by way of The River. She made her way along the water’s edge with only the moonlight and the sound of the waters to guide her.”

  Gabriel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes intent on Jacob.

  “She was willing to risk everything, even her own life, to taste freedom. She lived off the land for days. Day and night, night and day, she trekked through the wild terrain, and at one point could only traverse a part of the canyon by giving herself over to The River. She surrendered to the current that night. It took her through huge rapids and over treacherous waterfalls. Miraculously, she survived. Gashed by a river rock, she was left with a deep scar on her right shoulder.”

  Jacob made his way over and knelt down at the corner of the monument. He put his hand on the etching that Gabriel was asking Samuel about before.

  “Gabriel, this is the image of the scar of Ama-Woya.”

  Gabriel’s thoughts whirled. This is unbelievable. How did this symbol get to that tree at Splashfire where my dad died? Or to his gravestone? To this monument?

  “This crude marking, this squiggly line, this is a symbol of The River.”

  Jacob ran his finger in the etched crevice. His tone became more hushed and reverent.

  “Ama-Woya used this symbol to remember that The River was her only way out of slavery. She would carve this symbol everywhere she could to declare The River had saved her. The River set her free.”

  Gabriel sat silent as he churned on the deep memories of his father’s death. The fact that his father died saving the storyteller in front of him was something he was still working through. Day by day, wrestling through his respect and love for Jacob, yet dealing with the anger he carried for so
long. Then it entered Gabriel’s mind just as Jacob spoke up.

  “Strangely familiar, isn’t it?” Jacob pulled up his sleeve, showing the horrific scar he suffered on that fateful day.

  It looks just like the etchings . . . the symbol of Ama-Woya!

  Gabriel stared in disbelief.

  Jacob lightly ran his fingers over his healed wound.

  “Remember, this scar has a name . . . Mercy. The River had mercy on me that day. It had mercy on me in my stupidity and arrogance. It had mercy on me through your dad, Gabriel.”

  For once, Gabriel couldn’t meet Jacob’s eyes as his filled with tears.

  “One day, a few months after the accident, I went back to visit the site where it all happened. I found this rock on the side of the mountain just above the falls at Splashfire.” Jacob pointed to the cornerstone with the etching. “Most people would say this needs to be in a museum, but I think it needs to be right here.” He continued, “I showed it to Ezra. He actually knew the story of Ama-Woya. Every year for the past seventeen years I have brought a stone here, to honor the memory of your father and to honor The River. I call it The Stones of Remembrance because I don’t ever want to forget what was done for me. I don’t ever want to forget what I live for. The scar was a symbol of freedom for Ama-Woya, and these stones are a symbol of freedom for me.”

  Jacob’s voice quivered as he looked the stack of stones up and down, running his hands over them.

  “Storms have come and the water has risen, but surprisingly, it’s never been washed away.”

  Gabriel had so many questions flying through his mind. Before he could choose which one to ask, Jacob turned the conversation over to Tabitha.

  “Tabby, why don’t you explain what’s next.”

  “Okay, guys, it’s time for us to each add a stone of remembrance ourselves. Take a minute to find a rock, at least this size.” She held out her hands about the size of a loaf of bread.

  “Go on.” She motioned to get them moving. “Come back here when you’ve found your rock.”

  After a few minutes they all settled back around the fire with their rocks. Freddie had one he could barely carry.

  “As we all know, it’s Gabriel’s year, he’s the rookie. Each one of you will go to the monument with your rock. Take the brush and dip it into the can of red paint. On the rock, each of us will paint one word, a description of something that we see in Gabriel.”

  Gabriel took a deep breath. Tabitha went on.

  “These words are meant to speak of the life we see in Gabriel. Then place the rock of remembrance on the wall as a symbol of his life in The River.”

  She looked into Gabriel’s eyes with deep intensity.

  “Gabriel, when we are finished, you paint your word to The River and place it on top.”

  Over the next several minutes, one by one, each team member painted, and the rocks went up.

  Tabitha went first.

  Courage

  Sadie . . .

  Rescuer

  Freddie . . .

  Friend

  Samuel . . .

  Guide

  As the firelight flickered against their faces and on the monument, Gabriel’s eyes welled as he took in these words. It was as if they were painted on his soul. Jacob was the only one left to go. He painted slowly and then hoisted his large rock on top of the others. The smack of the rock echoed in the canyon. Jacob dusted his hands off and then wiped his tears on his sleeve. His swollen, wet eyes met Gabriel’s focused stare. Nothing was said. Jacob walked back over to his place by the fire. Gabriel stared at the word, feeling unworthy.

  Hero

  “That is who you are.” Jacob sat down.

  “I don’t know what to say, guys. I mean . . .” Gabriel shook his head, overwhelmed by their kindness. For the first time in a long time, he felt hope for the future lifting him over his sadness from the past.

  “It’s all in you, Gabriel. It’s all in you . . . because The River is in you,” Jacob said.

  Gabriel took his rock up to the monument, his hand shaking as he dipped the brush in the thick red paint. He inscribed in big bold letters . . .

  G R A T E F U L

  5

  Bones

  Lying on his back, zipped up in his sleeping bag to his scruffy, bearded chin, Gabriel awakened slowly to an arresting aroma floating past his nostrils. The smell of syrup and bacon was the very best way to wake up. Enjoying the fact that there was no set time to start the day, he turned over to his side and fluffed his makeshift pillow of two old sweatshirts. While trying to doze back into his blissful state, he heard a familiar voice humming by the fire. His curiosity got the best of him, so he unzipped his tent, propped up on his elbows, and poked his head out to a wonderful surprise.

  “Hungry?” The white-haired, dark-skinned elder raised his eyebrows as he lowered the large iron skillet on the coals.

  Rio jumped up from his slumber and came over to give Gabriel a good-morning face lick. Gabriel was unphased as he pushed Rio’s snout to the side.

  “Ezra! What are you doing here?” Gabriel smiled.

  “I’m cookin’,” Ezra said matter-of-factly.

  “How’d you get over here?”

  Gabriel got out of the tent in his faded, navy-hooded sweatshirt and stumbled as he shoehorned his hiking boots on with his fingers.

  “I have my ways.”

  Ezra, from the very beginning of Gabriel’s journey back to The River, was a light for Gabriel’s path. Talking to Ezra, for Gabriel, was a window into his dimly lit childhood. A great friend to his grandfather and a mentor to his father, Ezra knew The River well. His wisdom helped Gabriel continually wrestle and untangle the grief and fear that shaped his broken childhood.

  “What are you cooking? It smells amazing.” Gabriel leaned over the skillet and fanned the air up to his nose.

  “Caramel apple skillet bread with a side of sugar-cured bacon and some coffee.”

  Ezra stayed busy laying strips of thick-cut bacon on another iron skillet that rested on the cooking grate. He pulled his hand away quickly each time as they sizzled and popped spitting grease into the air.

  Gabriel got a towel and used it to grab the coffeepot from off the grate. He poured a cup of the steaming black brew. He settled back into his canvas chair.

  “Last night was amazing, Ezra.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “We talked about The Stones of Remembrance. I heard about Ama-Woya. I think that was her name. I want to know more about her . . . and the symbol. Something tells me you’ve got more scenes to that story in you.”

  Gabriel pointed to the stones with the painted words.

  “And up there, that was incredible. I’ve never felt anything like that before. I could barely sleep thinking about it all.”

  “It’s good to remember what’s good to remember.” He smiled gently as he commented through his low, Southern Louisiana gait, “New stories now, Gabriel. New stories.” He stayed focused on flipping the bacon.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The pen is in your hand. Every conversation, every adventure, every relationship . . . That’s right . . . new stories. And now that you’re at The River, your story is going to come alive in new ways. Every day is a blank page. You can choose to keep writing the past or you can write something new. That’s what The River gives us, new blank pages and the backdrop for the extraordinary to happen.”

  Ezra looked up and squinted as the sky brightened by the second.

  “I just don’t want to screw it up . . . I’m not much of a writer and there’re lots of pages that have already been written. It’s kind of easy to write what’s already been . . . and then read it over and over and over.” Gabriel stayed with the metaphor as he rotated his hand in a circle.

  “It’s worth the risk. I could have made my famous cinnamon rolls and that would have been good, right?” Gabriel nodded. “But you got to step out.” Ezra reached down and scooped out a piece of the caramel apple bread.
“Here, try this.”

  Gabriel took the spoon. He blew on it to cool it off.

  “Oh. My. Gosh. That is heaven.” Gabriel mumbled through his chewing.

  “See, a new story.”

  “Hey, save me some!” Tabitha’s voice behind them startled Gabriel.

  She leaned over and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His heart raced, surprised by her open display of affection.

  “Not a chance.” Gabriel took another lick of the spoon.

  As her hair fell on his cheek, Gabriel caught a whiff of cinnamon. At that moment, he wanted to sweep her up, carry her away, and spend the day together. Instead, he lightly squeezed her arms in return.

  She stood up, walked over to Ezra, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “How’s my favorite chef in the whole world?”

  “Better now,” the old man chimed.

  One by one the others woke and joined them by the fire. After eating their fill of breakfast, they packed up the rafts. Jacob and Ezra headed out first. Everyone but Gabriel was in the raft.

  “Gabriel, you coming?” Freddie yelled out.

  “Be right there.”

  Gabriel stood at The Stones of Remembrance one last time. He bowed his head for a few silent moments. He put his ball cap on, his dirty-blond hair pouring out of it. He walked back to the raft slowly with a sense of great peace. Freddie patted Gabriel on the shoulder as he approached the raft.

  “Five bucks says I catch more fish than you today.”

  “Oh really?” Gabriel chuckled.

  Freddie kept going. “I hope you were praying up at the stones just now . . . praying for fish. ’Cause you’re gonna need it.”

  Rio was the last to jump in the raft as they pushed off the island and into the gentle current. Samuel piped up as he sat on his lead guide perch on the back tube of the raft. “Freddie, have you even caught a fish here before?”

  “Tons! You watch.”

  Tabitha turned to Gabriel. “Ezra always catches the most fish. I don’t know how he does it, but he does . . . every time.”