Downriver

by Will Hobbs

  “Living like kings,” Adam chanted, fairly exploding with the image.

  “Here he goes,” said Rita appreciatively. “This guy’s too much.”

  “Yes, my friends,” Adam whispered wistfully. “We’ll be living like kings . . . living in a tile-floored hacienda by the sea, with the trade winds blowing gentle breezes through the palms. Accordions playing, soft guitars strumming, castanets clicking, iguanas patrolling the rooftops. . . . We bathe in the sea, we rest in our hammocks, we sip piña coladas served by sandaled servants who always wear white and have big hats. The stirrers in our drinks are hand-carved from native plastic in the image of Aztec gods. Parrots warble romantic music and the servants add the harmony parts if you ask them to. There’s fruit on all sides, all the fruit you can eat—papayas, mangos, and pineapples—and endless supplies of limes and tequila. Salt, naturally, and fresh fish—red snapper, sea bass, mahi-mahi—”

  “We got the picture,” Troy said impatiently, ignoring the possibility that Adam was putting him on. Or was it all in my tequila-fired imagination?

  Anyway I was laughing, and Troy was saying, “Seriously—you guys don’t understand what that rate of exchange means. You don’t go to a big international resort—you go to a remote village on the beach, you rent one of those open-air houses, and you live off the local economy.”

  Great, I thought. Spend the rest of my life as a fugitive from justice, with Troy, in Mexico. “It must cost something,” I objected, trying to keep a straight face.

  Troy’s eyes scanned us, and he said, “Hey, I got money, okay? Money’s not the problem. Does anybody have a better idea? I’m not joking—I’m going to Mexico and you’re all invited.”

  “Livin’ like kings,” Pug said.

  Troy was looking around for his support. “We can do it.”

  “I know,” Adam said. “I’ve been down there before. People are nice too. And if you get away from where the gringos are, everything costs next to nothing, it’s true. Not to mention we’d be escaping justice, as they say. . . .”

  “On to Mexico,” Pug sang.

  Adam waved the empty bottle. “Viva Mexico!”

  Now I was all confused. Maybe Adam would do that. . . . It would be just like him.

  “Rita,” Troy said excitedly, “give me that river map. I got an idea.”

  Troy started flipping through the pages. “That other group mentioned a hiking trail that goes out Havasu Creek through some Indian village. Remember, Al is expecting us to go all the way through the canyon and take out where everyone else does, either Diamond Creek or Lake Mead. Here it is—we’ll hit Havasu Creek tomorrow.”

  “Look who’s all into the mile-by-mile guide,” Star said, and pointed at Troy. She said it loud and clear. Tipsy, but loud and clear. She was getting really spunky.

  Troy looked up, astonished to realize that Star, of all people, was making fun of him.

  “Hey, I know why we’re working on a new plan,” Rita shouted, tickled with some great insight of her own. “Troy’s afraid of Lava. Troy’s afraid to run Lava Falls after the flip in Crystal! That’s why he wants to go out Havasu Creek! Didn’t like that spin in the washing machine, eh, Troy?”

  Troy lost it. He jumped up and stood in front of Rita, who was rapidly scrambling to her feet. “Maniac,” she said, “can’t you take a joke?”

  Troy pushed her suddenly, and she went sprawling down into the sand, catching herself on her hands.

  Rita was scrambling to her feet again, and so was everybody else, trying to back up and get out of the way.

  “Party’s over,” Freddy said, stepping forward. “Let’s call it a night.”

  “Who says it’s over?” Troy snarled. “Nothing’s over till I say it’s over.”

  “Yeah,” Pug said, swaggering into the clearing. “Who says it’s over? Freddy?” He drew his knife from its sheath, and said, “From now on, you’re going to do whatever Troy tells you to do. Got it, punk?”

  Pug was waving the big knife back and forth for emphasis, swaying a little from the tequila. Just that quick Freddy struck, and the knife went flying. In a few seconds, as we watched with our mouths open, Pug lay wheezing on the ground. Nobody reached for the knife, certainly not Troy. He’d backed away, and there was more moonlight than firelight on his face.

  Hurt and drunk, Pug was having a hard time picking himself up. Freddy picked up the knife, took a few steps, held it by the tip of the blade, and sent it flying end over end into the river. Everyone could hear the splash. Freddy said, “I’m tired of looking at that thing.”

  Troy grabbed Adam’s walking stick away from him. He was watching Freddy and Pug both, trying to gauge how soon his Goliath was going to recover. Rita reached down for a rock, grabbed a second one, and handed it to me.

  Pug was back on his feet, but he didn’t look much like a warrior. Troy threw the staff down and muttered, “Such a bunch of losers I never saw in my life.”

  Troy and Pug went down to the beach together and were carrying on quite a discussion, plotting their revenge, no doubt. Some tough guys, I thought. I’m not impressed. I thought we should get away from them a little, where we could talk among ourselves. We started to walk up the creek. “My foot’s hurtin’ too bad,” Adam said. “I’m going back to the fire.”

  “I’ll stay with Adam,” Rita said.

  We sat on the slickrock by a little pool along the creek, just the three of us again. For a long while, we didn’t speak. The nearly full moon lit up the canyon walls and the river and our faces. It was a cold moon, and I was afraid.

  “Freddy,” Star said finally, “you have to watch out for those guys. There’s no telling what they might do.”

  “I’m not afraid of guys like that.”

  “It’s Troy,” she said, all serious. “He really has it in for you.”

  “If those two hike out Havasu Creek tomorrow,” I said, “it’s none too soon for me.”

  “Maybe we should all go out Havasu Creek,” Star suggested. “Give them a head start, so we won’t have to be with them, and then go up ourselves. Adam’s hurt . . . we’re just putting off the inevitable.”

  “You mean, turning ourselves in,” I said.

  “What else are we going to do?”

  I could see that Freddy wasn’t so sure about leaving the canyon just yet. But he held back, and kept his thoughts to himself.

  • • •

  Back in camp Star and I were just about asleep when I became aware of someone outside our tent, calling my name. It was Freddy. I struggled to my elbows and unzipped the tent. I parted the door and saw Freddy’s face in the moonlight. He was in agony. “I got stung,” he said. “Couple of times.”

  “Stung?”

  “In my sleeping bag.”

  Poor Freddy. The thought of him being hurt had never entered my mind. I’d always thought of him as impervious to pain. He knelt on one knee, with one hand behind his back.

  “What was it?” Star asked. “What stung you?”

  “I don’t know . . . ,” he said, his voice thick and choking in his throat. “It got me more than once—I think it must have been a scorpion.”

  “Oh my God,” I said. “Freddy, get in here.”

  With our flashlights we located the stings. There were two of them, tiny bumps along Freddy’s spine in the small of his back. “Star,” I said, “would you get the first aid kit off the boat, and pull out the book?”

  Troy did this, I thought, I know it.

  I had Freddy crawl into Star’s sleeping bag, while I scrambled out of my own. I pulled on my jeans and a sweater. Freddy’s breathing was in short gasps now. “Tell me what it feels like,” I asked him.

  He was writhing around in the bag. I felt his forehead; he had quite a fever.

  “It hurts like crazy where I was stung. . . . My throat is dry. I need a drink of water.”

  I handed him my water bottle, and he managed to sit up on one elbow and take a few sips. “Where’s Star? What’s taking her so long?” he
asked.

  “She’ll be right here.”

  Parting the door, I saw Star with the flashlight in her teeth, stumbling toward us with the heavy first aid rocket box in her arms.

  Back inside she was pulling on more clothes, while I was reading what the first aid book had to say about scorpion stings. It wasn’t going to be much help about what to actually do, I could see right away. Treat for shock, it said, and get the victim to the hospital.

  “What’s it say?” Freddy rasped.

  “It says babies are in the most trouble, because of their low body weight.”

  “Jessie, please read me the whole thing. I need to know.”

  I looked at Star, and then I read. “‘Of the twenty known species of scorpion in the Southwest, only one, the slender scorpion, is considered lethal. It is found mostly in southern Arizona and in the bottom of the Grand Canyon. The sting of other scorpions causes local swelling, while that of the slender scorpion is systemic, with intense pain at the site of the sting which may not abate for up to twelve hours. Small children and infants are at greatest risk due to low body weight. Multiple stings, especially around the neck or spine, can prove lethal for adults as well. Reactions vary considerably from person to person. Respiratory distress, shock, and exhaustion can lead to death. Keep the victim calm. Treat with ice at the site of the sting, treat for shock, hospitalize if possible. Several Arizona hospitals have antivenin.’”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s it,” I said helplessly.

  “Freddy,” Star said, “you’re not going to die. I know it.”

  Freddy grinned through his pain. “I’m not planning on it. . . . I keep thinking about something my mother told me. The Hopis get bit sometimes when they do the snake dance. I asked her why those rattlesnake bites don’t make ’em sick or kill ’em. She said”—Freddy’s hand emerged from the bag and pointed to his head—“the answer’s up here.”

  “That’s it,” I said. “Whistle through your teeth and spit, Freddy. Like your dad always used to say.”

  We sat beside him into the endless night. No more talking, it was too hard on him. We had no ice to put on the stings. I kept my hand on his forehead, and our eyes met often. His breathing came more and more labored as his pulse raced, and he tossed and turned with all his muscles contracting. He had retreated deep into himself, and was drawing strength from places only he knew. Sometime after the moon went down, though, it all started to back off, and eventually he was able to fall asleep. Star and I were so thankful. We kept watching him to make sure he was still breathing. I looked to Star. “He’s gonna make it, Star,” I whispered.

  “Jessie, I think we should wake Adam and Rita. We need to tell them what’s happened. I think we need to do something. We need to get away from these guys before something worse happens. I’ve seen people like Troy before. You have to get away from them.”

  The four of us gathered just outside the tent, whispering. “I already checked,” Adam said first thing. “That scorpion in my blue soap dish—it’s not there. They could have killed Freddy.”

  We were all of one mind: We had to leave as quickly as possible, and we had to take both boats so they couldn’t follow us. The first light of dawn was already starting to show. We would have to be quick and very quiet. “Take your sleeping bags and clothes,” I said. “There’s food on the gear boat. Leave everything else behind. We can make it to Havasu Creek by this evening.”

  We carried Freddy, inside the sleeping bag, and slipped away onto the river.

  // 17

  “Headin’ for Havasu,” I sang softly. “We are headin’ for Havasu Creek, Freddy. Home stretch.”

  He couldn’t hear me. He was asleep, lying in the sleeping bag on top of the cooler in front of me. I was rowing the gear boat and trying to avoid any waves that would splash him. Fortunately we had no big water to run until Upset.

  Upset. The name was working on me. It was down there waiting, seven miles short of Havasu. As we floated through the slow and chilly hours of the morning, I thought about what was coming. Counting me, we had only three able-bodied paddlers, and with only three paddles in the water, we wouldn’t have a prayer in a major rapid like Upset. We’d all have to run it in the gear boat.

  It was going to be up to me to get us through Upset. I was the only one of us who’d handled the oars. We’d deflate the paddle raft, fold it up, and leave it at Upset. Then I’d row them all through. Portaging was out. It was a twenty-three-mile day to Havasu Creek. We had to get there today. It was going to be up to me.

  We rounded a bend and came into the sunshine at last. Within moments I was warm. I felt good, I felt strong. I can do it, I told myself. Blue skies ahead; it won’t be the kind of day we had at Crystal. I’ll scout the rapid and I’ll find the way and I’ll bring them through to Havasu. Ten miles up the trail to the Supai village.

  Freddy was stirring. Maybe it was the warmth that was bringing him around. He was trying to lift his head, and was having trouble clearing his eyes. “Easy, Freddy.” I cushioned his head with my daypack. “Take your time.”

  A few more attempts and he was seeing me, right there, a girl with oars in her hands and the sun on her face and her heart singing like a canyon wren.

  He propped himself up on an elbow.

  “Welcome back, Freddy. Sure is good to see you.”

  “Me too,” he said feebly. “I mean, it’s good to see you too.”

  He was looking around. I could tell he was better—he wanted to look at the light on the passing canyon walls.

  “Blue skies,” I said. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve been beat with a stick. But the pain is gone. I never guessed there was anything like that. You wouldn’t think that much pain could come out of something so little.”

  I handed him my water bottle and he slowly drank from it. “When you carried me—got us on the river—that was good. I remember you telling me to keep quiet.”

  “We don’t have to worry about them anymore. We left them behind for good.”

  I was turning the page in the river guide.

  “Where are we, Jessie?”

  “From here it’s only about seventeen miles to Havasu Creek. I’ve been thinking about Upset a lot. I can run it. We can put everybody in this boat, and I can run it.”

  He sat up some more, and I could see he was thinking it through for himself. “You’re right,” he said finally. “You can do it. I know you can, but what’s this about Havasu? Hiking out? You can run Lava too . . . we could see the rest of the canyon. . . .”

  “You would, wouldn’t you? You’d keep right on going.”

  “Sure. When are we going to get another chance?”

  “You’re unbelievable. You’d go the rest of the way on a piece of driftwood. We could tie you down and let you float right on through Lava Falls all the way to Lake Mead.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “I read in the guide about a woman back in the 1940s who ran sixty miles of the river down below Lava in just her life jacket.”

  “Toss me overboard,” Freddy said with a chuckle.

  “Sorry, you’re stuck with us, and we have this thing about eating. We’re three-quarters starved and we had to leave the stoves and the pots and pans behind.”

  “Darn.”

  “I hate to get serious, but I’m worried about Adam’s foot—about gangrene. And I’m thinking that maybe you should still get some medicine, the sooner the better.”

  He was sitting up straight now, and the other boat had seen him. They shouted and came paddling hard. I pulled into an eddy so they could catch up.

  We held the boats together and basked in each other’s company. I expected Rita would be shouting to the canyon rims, but this morning she was more like Star, quietly celebrating Freddy’s return. We shared a feeling at this moment that was inseparable from the water and the light and the canyon. I thought about how, not so long ago, I’d thought of my future as a black tunnel. Now it was all light
, with the promise of living in this kind of light.

  How close we’d become. We were all looking to each other, realizing the same thing. I was taking each of them in and savoring the moment. Adam, so full of life. Freddy, born for the wild places. Rita, the irrepressible. Star, my sister.

  It was Adam who put the feeling into words, as the five of us floated down the river with one heart: “I love you guys.”

  “Me too,” Rita said. “I want to take you all back to New York.”

  “Hold the garlic,” Adam said. “Definitely hold the garlic.”

  I looked across to Star, and our eyes met. She was looking a little lost, and I had an idea she was thinking how it was all coming to an end real soon.

  “Hey, you guys,” Rita said. “We just figured out it’s November already. Can you believe that?”

  Using the guide, we counted off every side canyon marking our approach to Upset. When we first heard the River Thunder, and started into the pooled-up water behind the rapid, my heart raced. Then I felt a calm lifting me up, and I knew I wouldn’t go brain dead when the test came, the way I did on Storm King. I’d come too far. I had a vision of a piece of safe water, to the side of that big hole in Upset, and I was going to reach it.

  I never found out if I could have. There’ll be other tests as important for me, maybe not as physical, but I’ll recognize them when I see them and apply my Upset strategy.

  “Helicopter,” Star said, pointing.

  Yes, there it was, a metal dragonfly on a ledge on river right. At the landing for the scout, two men stood waiting.

  We pulled our boats together and let them drift silently with the slow current, and we cried our tears.

  “It’s been nice,” Rita said finally. “I’m never going to forget it, that’s for sure.”

  One of the two men was Al. The pilot wore a Park Service uniform.

  The boats bumped the shore side by side, our last landing. Al and the park ranger stood back as Star and Rita tied up the boats. Adam hopped ashore and I stuck close to Freddy as he tried out his legs.