Tumbleweed Logic

by ZaneDoe

  Chapter Eight

  Gypsies by the Lake

  “Start yelling. See if Charlie can hear us.” Jose cupped his hands around his mouth in preparation.

  “Wait, what if that kid is still around, and we start yelling.” Scout worried the kid was waiting in the wings, still roaming the back roads trying to find his way to Mexico.

  “Don’t worry.” Jose began blasting Charlie’s name into the air.

  “He could have slept in the car. We attract his attention and he may come shooting.”

  Jose called out to Charlie while Scout scoured the area as far as she could see for signs of the kid.

  “With a handgun, don’t worry, start yelling.” Jose continued to shout, “Charlie! Charlie! Hey! Charlie….”

  They decided to follow the sounds of the mules and Charlie’s whistle as best and as fast as they could. However, the acoustics made it a challenge to determine Charlie’s exact location. The harsh vegetation didn’t make their pursuit any easier. The sounds came from among the trees so obviously Charlie wasn’t on the main road holding up traffic or being a tourist attraction. They hoped he was camped out somewhere, making it easy to catch up with him.

  He was and they did.

  Charlie’s camp looked like a scene out of the Old West with Charlie as the old sourdough.

  “Charlie!” Jose yelled, relieved.

  Charlie turned in his usual lackadaisical manner, rising from a stooped position.

  “Aye there, Jose,” Charlie yelled back with a smile.

  “Thank God.” Scout exhaled.

  They both rushed down to Charlie’s camp with the mules reacting more to their presence than Charlie.

  “Ah, whatchya wearin’ there, Jose?” Charlie raised his eyebrows and furrowed his brow at Jose.

  “We were carjacked at gunpoint. The punk ditched our clothes,” Jose answered, “and this fucking jacket is all I have to cover up with.”

  “Bulls fan are ya?” Charlie joked.

  Scout jumped in with a more explicit explanation as she held the tee shirt in place. “I was being carjacked and Jose happened to show up, unfortunately for him, fortunately for me, and got in the middle of it. It was this teenage wacko with a gun; that’s his coat.” Charlie gave her his full attention. “He made us toss our clothes except for the tee shirt and the kid’s coat.” Scout shrugged her shoulders. “I guess he thought if we didn’t have clothes we were more compliant victims.”

  “He jacked your car with you in it?” Charlie asked as he offered his guests a seat and sat down himself. “That’s kidnapping.”

  “Well, right, I guess we were kidnapped and he stole my car, I mean truck.”

  “You have a truck, Scout?” Before she could answer, Charlie continued, “Kidnapped, carjacked and had your clothes stolen. Not a nice way to start the day. Hungry?”

  “Yes. Thirsty actually. It happened yesterday. We had to sleep out on a rock last night,” Scout kept on explaining their circumstances.

  “We heard you whistling, Charlie. And the mules.” Jose glanced into the pot Charlie was using to cook something that he couldn’t identify. Scout was also eyeing the concoction in the pot. They were both quite hungry but the hygienic quality of Charlie’s setup prevented them from making an immediate commitment to partake in the campfire cuisine. Dolly, Charlie’s oldest and favorite mule, came to nudge Jose. He patted her head while she took a few steps closer to the campfire and the grub boiling in the cast iron pot, some kind of mush that had mule appeal.

  “Get on, Dolly!” Charlie shouted. “She’ll go for that and burn her snout. Get! Get!” Dolly turned and continued lazily nibbling at the ground.

  “Oatmeal?” Scout leaned over and looked at the bubbling contents in Charlie’s pot.“Part,” he answered, which amused Jose.

  The three sat, staring at Charlie’s brewing breakfast as it bubbled and popped in the pot then Scout told Charlie her story about the kid before Jose arrived, leaving out the scene on the edge of the cliff. Jose took over where he rode up to Scout’s abandoned car on his bicycle. He decided to wait for her return. After relieving himself out of view, he returned to encounter the kid with the Scout standing by her truck.

  “I wondered what you were doing up there. I thought maybe the lake was up in that direction and you were coming back; I forgot to ask you,” Scout interjected.

  “You been to the lake, Scout?” Charlie asked between bites of steaming mush mix.

  “No, never did find it. I had spent hours searching for that lake with Burt’s map. I was heading back when my car started having problems.”

  “We’re going to the lake.” “We” meant Charlie and his family of mules.

  Jose continued explaining the series of events that led to them sitting half naked around Charlie’s camp. Charlie got a good laugh out of the mystery of the two gas tanks. He said he thought he had heard gunshots the day before, assumed it was a rancher shooting at a coyote or prairie dogs or “sumthin’.”

  Charlie’s custom goo cooking in the dirty pot began to look more appetizing as their options looked more nonexistent.

  “Charlie, if you have an extra bowl and spoon I’ll nab some of your mush here, if you don’t mind.” Scout figured she could pick out the random items bubbling within the mush.

  “Yeah, I’ll join ya too.” The blackened and soiled pot aside, Jose was hungry.

  Charlie handed them old thick-plastic bowls and semi-clean spoons and offered them each a prepackaged sugar. When Charlie turned his back, Scout quickly wiped off the spoon and bowl with Jose’s tee shirt then helped herself to the bubbling brew. The sugar helped make the mush tastier though Scout wished she had a lot more of the sugar.

  Conversations stopped as the three partook in the steaming concoction. The mules meandered about and a slight breeze stirred the sweet scent of sage.

  “Charlie, do you have any extra clothes I, we, could borrow?” Jose asked.

  Scout wasn’t uncomfortable in Jose’s tee shirt, in fact, it was perfect for the weather but Jose wanted to shed the kid’s coat.

  Charlie looked at Scout instead of Jose and said, “Ya might find sumthin’ in the wagon; go head, go look.” He waved her on.

  “Thanks, Charlie, appreciate it.” She flashed a smile at Jose. “I’ll see if I can find you something, Jose.” Scout pulled the tee shirt down and maneuvered across the prickly ground then held the tee shirt between her legs as she climbed into Charlie’s wooden shelter. She hadn’t seen the inside of Charlie’s wagon before. The inside of his gypsy-style home was so very personal, donned with affects like a museum of Charlie’s life and she felt like an intruder. Respectfully, she began her search but felt too uncomfortable rummaging through his belongings. She stuck her head out the door and yelled out to Jose, “Jose, maybe you should come look with me.”

  “Yeah, you go get yourself sumthin’ to wear, Jose, geezus, yer embarrassin’ me,” Charlie insisted and Jose got up to join her.

  Jose had the same reaction once inside Charlie’s wooden house on wheels. He looked around at the array of telltale personal effects hanging from the walls and he too felt like a trespasser in Charlie’s private world.

  “Pretty tight in here.”

  Scout sat down on a wood box and responded, “Where do you think he keeps his clothes?”

  “You’re probably sitting on it.”

  She got up and opened the box; Jose was right. She pulled out a yellowed pair of long johns and tucked them under her arm before continuing her search. She held tight to the long johns since they were looking like the best wearable prospect. She found a pair of socks. “Okay, I found my outfit. Good luck, sir.” Scout backed away from the box while Jose began his search.

  “Look.” He pulled a clear plastic blanket bag from the box. Inside was Charlie’s prized clown suit.

  “This really feels like an invasion of his privacy, don’t you think?” Scout commented as Jose pulled out the oversi
zed clown shoes.

  “This is it.” Jose looked up at Scout. “You think he has clothes somewhere else in here?”

  “You mean there’s no other clothes but the clown suit? Nothing?” She bit down on her lip to stop herself; the thought of Jose relegated to wearing a clown suit with oversized shoes made it hard to keep a straight face.

  “Nothing is right,” Jose responded and knew Scout was enjoying the fact.

  “Hmmm, sorry Jose, the Armani suit must be at the cleaners.” She held even tighter to the long johns and socks. “Anyway, you can’t wear his clown suit, though I would love to see it; they’re his work clothes, special, like a business suit. I don’t think you should wear it.” She paused. “Do you?”

  Jose eyed the long johns under Scout’s arm and she quickly reacted, “Don’t even think it!” She quickly exited the wagon heading for the trees to change. Scout got a closer look at the yellow-tan, once white, long johns; though various stains adorned the front and back, they were relatively clean. They were loose and comfortable. Scout was happy. She rolled a cuff at the bottom of each leg then tied the socks around her waist like a belt.

  Jose yelled to Charlie from the wagon to ask if he had another pair of coveralls or long johns. Charlie told him he had a clean pair in the clothes box. Jose feared he was referring to the ones Scout had absconded with and emerged from the trees proudly wearing. She stood by Charlie with a face-stretching grin as Jose asked if Scout was wearing “the clean pair.” Charlie turned to look at her, and yelled back, “Yep!”

  “You want me to surrender my skivvies to ya, Jose?” Charlie kidded.

  “Charlie, all I see here to wear is the clown outfit, your work clothes,” Jose hollered and stuck the pair of oversized clown shoes out the door of the wagon.

  Charlie gazed at them for several seconds before answering, “Go ahead, if it’s all I got, wear em.” The suit was his professional identity--the attire that got him positive attention, laughs, acceptance and a unique style of respect. Letting another don his clown suit was like sharing a tattoo. It was a dubious honor for Jose.

  Charlie put the remaining mush into a plastic container then instructed Scout to soothe her feet in the same pot, which he had filled with warm water and a few leafy additives. She lay back atop one of the mule’s blankets and soaked her feet in the pot as Charlie had instructed and in doing so missed Jose’s awkward exit from the wagon. He high-stepped to her side and sat down, stretched out his legs and crossed the big bulbous toes of Charlie’s clown shoes. He tapped them like Dorothy repeating “take me home, take me home” for Scout’s entertainment but she got comfortable and was already fast asleep.

  Jose groaned his disappointment then leaned back to relax himself. He watched Charlie as he tended to his routine of whistling and moving about at an untroubled pace. Charlie petted and praised his mules at every passing, moving about as if Scout and Jose were not there. He conversed with his mules and made plans aloud. He was as appropriate as one must be in public but Charlie was in his own world now. He was free to talk and laugh with his memories and unseen friends. He threw his head back at one point, laughing as though he had just heard something hilarious then waved his hand at the air as if to say “enough, enough” as his laughter wound down. Charlie checked the wheels on his wagon then disappeared inside it.

  Jose felt unusually calm and at peace. Though uncertain, he attributed it to his relief at finding Charlie. He wanted to bask in this unfamiliar feeling while it lasted.

  All was quiet.

  After a short time passed, Charlie exited his wooden home and announced, “I’m still headin’ for the lake.” He stood like a king by his wagon, proud and in control of his destiny.

  “You’re what, Charlie?” Jose reached his big shoe over to jostle Scout.

  “The lake, I’m going to the lake. You are welcome to join me.” Charlie walked off towards Dolly.

  “Hey, we’re going to the lake.” Jose kidded with Scout as she pulled her feet from the pot and sat up.

  He clicked the big red shoes together and whispered, “Take me home, take me home!” and got the laugh he originally was going for.

  Scout got her first look at Jose in the clown suit and fell back in laughter. “This was worth it all. If I only had a camera!”

  Jose stood up and danced like the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz.

  “If I only had a camera.” Scout wiped the tears from laughter from her cheeks.

  “You two goin’ with me?” Charlie yelled with Dolly by his side.

  “Going where?” Scout queried Jose.

  “Da lake, da infamous lake,” he responded with lifted eyebrows and a silly grin.

  “Do we have much choice?” She wondered what their options were.

  “You want to hitch home in these outfits, that’s if Charlie will loan me his clown suit.”

  “But we have to get back. How long do you think he is going to stay there? Is he going back to Pista?”

  “That’s where they’ll look for us, Scout, at the lake. What else are we going to do at this point?”

  “I can see us making good time with you wearing those shoes.”

  Again Charlie shouted, “You goin’ with me?”

  “The lake, I’ll finally get to see it.” She stood up and yelled back, “Yes, we’ll join you and thanks Charlie.”

  “You need some help getting the mules ready?” Jose headed for the wagon taking extraordinarily high steps so the big shoes wouldn’t scrape the ground.

  The sight was a prize and Scout yelled, “Charlie.”

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “Do you have a camera, with film?”

  “I do, somewhere in my wagon.”

  “Great! Can I use it? Just one picture will do?”

  “You find it, you go ahead an’ use it.”

  “I can find it.” Determined, she rooted through the wagon and came out with the camera to record this moment in time.

  Charlie stood with his arm around Dolly’s neck and Jose leaned against Dolly from the other side, one shoe up and an open mouth smile from ear to ear. Scout snapped the picture.

  When Charlie is ready to go, he is ready to go and without verbal warning. Jose and Scout scurried to hop onto his wooden RV. Off they went, rocking and bumping down the aged dirt road that once carried similar wagons, maybe also on their way to the lake. All three sat in front on the unpadded wooden bench style seat.

  About a half an hour into the ride, mostly to break the silence, Scout asked, “How far to the lake?”

  “Not far” was as exact as Charlie was going to get. He wasn’t in one of his talking or story-telling moods.

  Charlie was an old hand at this, he sat rather stationary as Jose and Scout bounced, rocked, swayed and tilted. They were two buoys on rough seas. The mules stopped periodically for no reason that Scout could determine except maybe to rest. At one of those stops, Charlie got off the wagon to relieve himself, which gave Scout and Jose a chance to whine out of earshot.

  “My butt is killing me! My God, how does Charlie do it?” Scout complained and sat on her hands for cushioning.

  “My back.” Jose commiserated.

  She looked down at Jose’s shoes and her whining turned to laughter. She joked as Jose clicked them in Dorothy fashion and smiled. Realizing he didn’t need them while riding, he pulled them off and respectfully placed them on his lap.

  “Give em to me.” Charlie reached up for the shoes. He walked back and climbed into the wagon to put them away.

  “You think he heard me laughing and I offended him?” Scout whispered to Jose, worried.

  “They’re clown shoes, you’re supposed to laugh. You didn’t offend him. He’s just putting them away since I’m not wearing them. Don’t worry.” Jose patted her head as one would pat a puppy. Charlie climbed back onto the wagon seat and they continued on their way.

  Charlie was silent as if he were riding alone, how he wa
s used to riding. Scout attempted to make friendly conversation and Charlie gave minimal responses. Eventually, Charlie and Jose began talking about fishing. While they talked fish, Scout sat on her hands and absorbed herself in the scenery. She assumed Charlie was heading toward a main road regularly used by cars, a smooth road that would be rather level and infinitely more comfortable but after a few hours she gave up hope. He had been around the area for so long he knew every old rarely used road to get him where he needed to go.

  The fishing stories were lively and both Charlie and Jose were enjoying themselves. The topic held little interest for Scout; she was aching and wanted to lie down cushioned by a blanket or two.

  “Charlie,” Scout interrupted.

  “Yep, young lady.”

  “Would you mind if I climbed into the back, get in the wagon. I really would like to lie down if that’s okay.”

  “You going back to sleep again?” Jose commented.

  “Suuuuuure,” Charlie said in a lighthearted manner and brought the snail-paced mules to a stop. Charlie continued with his fish story, paying little attention to Scout as she descended from the front seat and climbed into the wagon. Before she could gather up the blankets, the mules started on their way rocking the wagon and knocking her to the floor. She grabbed a blanket for a pillow and remained where she landed.

  The rough ride kept Scout wide-awake. She thought about Pepper, feeling assured Bella or Penny was taking good care of him. She listened to bits and pieces of the conversations between Jose and Charlie, amused at times. It felt like hours though Scout was uncertain just how much time had passed but they were finally approaching the lake. Charlie stopped to give the mules an extended rest and Jose climbed into the back of the wagon to check on Scout.

  “Ya hungry?” Jose asked.

  “You have something? Like chocolate, maybe?” She smiled and wisecracked, “Or an eight-foot bass?”

  “I don’t know what Charlie has but he must have something in here.” Jose surveyed the inside of the wagon. Scout also looked around at the cluttered interior with thoughts that nothing edible could possibly be fresh.

  “We should be at the lake in a few---“ before he could finish his comment Scout moaned and dropped her head back down on the blanket and asked what time it was.

  “I don’t know, before dark,” Jose answered then continued his original comment. “We should be at the lake in about twenty minutes. I’m hoping we can catch some fish for dinner.”

  “What kind of fish are in that lake?”

  “Why, are you going to be picky?” He shook his head, “Radio active mutant fish from the runoff at Los Alamos labs; how’s that sound?”

  “Oh yeah, add Charlie’s mystery mush and we have a gourmet feast.” With hope she added, “Maybe we’ll run into some campers at the lake.”

  “Don’t count on it; it’s not a well-known place.”

  “The ‘Mystery Lake’. With Burt handing out maps its location will certainly remain a mystery.”

  Without a word from Charlie, the wagon started up and Jose remained in the back with Scout. They fantasized a dinner, each adding their favorites. They discussed nineteenth century travel, which segued to the Donner Party. That led to amusing themselves with Donner Party dinner favorites, using individuals from the campground as the main dish such as “leg of Lester” and “Bobby tartar” and how they would taste. They made up bizarre desserts until Charlie interrupted to announce they were almost to the lake. “You can see it!” Charlie shouted back to them. They popped their heads out of the door, though they couldn’t see the lake, they could smell it--that scent of a body of water that’s discernible but near impossible to describe. The rocking had both bashing into each other and the doorframe so they retreated into the wagon until Charlie came to a full stop.

  Various pine and cedar trees encircled the small lake with a road leading to its edge just wide enough to welcome Charlie’s home on wheels. The mules began calling out for Charlie to release them; they were eager to roam and graze. He stretched, took in an enormous breath of air and hopped down to tend to his mules.

  Scout and Jose wasted no time getting to the lake and soon Charlie joined them as they sat on a rock that was about as comfortable as Charlie’s wagon-seat and dangled their sore feet in the cold water. They were the only people at the lake, which squashed Scout’s prayers for a possible normal meal.

  “Well, we fishin’ Jose?”

  “You have poles?” Jose asked; he hadn’t seen any in the wagon.

  “Have poles?” Charlie was indignant. Charlie was prepared to fish at any given moment.

  “You’re going to fish with us, right?” Jose asked Scout; he didn’t want to leave her alone though he suspected she had no desire to fish.

  “No, you guys go ahead.”

  “I don’t want to leave you here alone, come with us,” Jose said with uncharacteristic sincerity.

  Charlie had no comment; he just wanted to get fishing.

  “I’m fine. You guys go.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay alone here?” Jose asked.

  “I’m fine here. The kid’s probably in Ontario, Mexico by now so I’m safe.”

  “You sure?” Jose asked again while Charlie, eager to fish, started for the wagon to retrieve the fishing gear.

  “Yeah, go ahead. If I get uncomfortable I’ll come find you guys or yell, you’ll hear me.”

  “You’re sure?” He asked one more time.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Aren’t you afraid of getting the clown suit dirty?”

  “Did you want to donate your long johns?” Jose reached over and tugged at them. “Come on.”

  “You won’t give them back; I know that. Wear the kids coat and stink it up with fish guts, maybe they’ll catch him and I can return it smelling like dead fish. That would be my pleasure.”

  “I will, if Charlie doesn’t object to fishing with a half-naked man.” Again, he asked, “You sure you don’t want to come?”

  “Yes, more than sure. Now go. Catch lots of mutants. I really want to swim, i.e.” she lowered her voice, “take a bath, alone.”

  “Let’s fish,” shouted Charlie. He was standing by the wagon with two poles and a tackle box in hand, waiting.

  “Go, go. Charlie is waiting.” She gave him a gentle shove.

  Halfway to the wagon she yelled out, “Jose.” He turned. “Try to catch trout if you can, I’ve had that and liked it.” He saluted and went on his way. He changed into the kid’s coat and Scout watched the talkative two walk along the edge of the lake until they disappeared out of view.

  Scout sat alone on the huge rock wishing Pepper was there with her. This would be a bit like the ocean for him. She hugged her knees to her chest and the musty scent of Charlie’s long johns seemed stronger than before. She considered jumping into the water with the long johns on and creating her own gentle cycle but she feared they would take forever to dry, and she might lose them to Jose during the drying process.

  Such an environment naturally brought Lauren to mind. If she had been with Lauren they would have disrobed and jumped in the lake without hesitation. Those were different times but in honor of those times, Scout unbuttoned the top buttons and the long johns slid off. She jumped. It had been such a long time since jumping into an ice-cold lake that her body and psyche were definitely not used to or prepared for it. The cold water was a shock, one she was determined to get over quickly. She dove under water, soon distracted from the cold and captivated by the sensations. Scout floated on her back facing the sun filtering through the treetops and the cold turned to cool and enjoyable. She and Lauren had enjoyed this same feeling together so many times in their youthful past.

 

  They hiked their way to the large pool of water fed by the runoff of a small waterfall. Lauren immediately pulled off her clothes and jumped in.

  “Come on, Geezer, jump!” Lauren wasted no time.

  Lena was hopping on one fo
ot trying to get her other shoe off. She jumped in behind Lauren and touched bottom only to quickly surface, wide-eyed and yelling, “It’s all slime!” They bobbed and floated in the water while discussing their plans for the weekend and the musical talents of their mutual friend, David. They didn’t know that he played the piano much less had a great talent for it until his unexpected visit to Lauren’s the weekend prior. Lauren wanted him to accompany her when she performed in Santa Barbara however she already had a piano player, but not one as creative as David. The resolve was to put together a whole new backup band in the future and invite David to be a part of the process. Lauren and Lena did a lot of their decision making under such outdoor conditions.

  Lena swam to the side making sure her feet didn’t touch bottom. Lauren followed. They grabbed their clothes, ran like two nymphs through the trees to an outcrop of rocks where they could lie in the warm sun to dry off. Once dry, warm and ready to go, they pulled on the clothing that had become their uniforms--jeans, denim shirts and hiking boots. The two hiked back to where they parked the Volkswagen, the little Beetle they drove like a 4 x 4. (Scout laughed aloud as she remembered the high security of that era: car keys were kept “hidden” under the front seat; everyone’s house key was “hidden” under their front doormat. What were we thinking?)

  The daylight was fading and their previous route through the woods was not so apparent, to either of them. The Beetle looked like a prehistoric critter wandering the woods with two lost souls within its belly as they forged ahead, making their way using the logic that if they could avoid hitting a tree and continue progressing upward that they would eventually find their way to a main road.

  “Shit, we are lost and we’re running out of light and probably gas too.”

  “You have headlights,” Lauren reminded then asked with a laugh, “Don’t you?”

  “Have you seen these headlights?” Lena raised her eyebrows. “May as well tape two pen lights on the hood, you’d get more light.”

  Lauren rolled open the sunroof, stood on the seat and made like a sea captain--guiding and shouting directions while enduring an occasional swat from a branch. They drove, got stuck, got unstuck, drove over objects not previously thought possible and the two explorers made their way to a road, though an unfamiliar one, and all to the harmony of Lauren singing, “ Take me home, country road….”

  Dusk turned to dark, and the humor of the event turned to mild paranoia.

  “Into the abyss,” Lena remarked as she held onto the steering wheel and leaned up to the windshield to get the best view possible. This wasn’t the vehicle to take out in unlighted areas.

  Lauren pulled her guitar from the back seat and started strumming “Old Blue,” a song that was special to Lena. They both sang out loudly to replace the scary silence of being lost in the dark back roads--Lauren with a blessed voice, Lena with twisted tones.

  “Look, a light.” Lena pointed. There was a light on in a cabin at the end of a long very steep driveway. She drove the Beetle to the edge of the driveway.

  “Oh no, this driveway looks like a ski slope, Geezer.”

  “I think I can get down but can I get back up?” Lena craned to see the driveway as best she could. “Maybe we should walk down there.”

  “Go for it. Drive down.” Lauren encouraged Lena to take the dive and continued to play the guitar, humming a song she had been working on but playfully changing the words to “two women lost in the woods.” Lena ignored her, concentrating on her driving as she inched her way down the steep dirt drive to the lighted cabin.

  “Think she’ll shoot us for trespassing,” Lena said to draw Lauren’s attention to the solemn looking old woman in the window. She was sitting in a high back chair and still as if sleeping though she was staring forward. She appeared oblivious to their arrival. Lauren looked over at Lena with the I-shouldn’t-laugh expression, one Lena knew well.

  “What?” Lena waited for her to comment while she came to a stop.

  “Think she’s dead? Maybe she’s dead, Geezer. Go knock on the window.”

  “Oh of course, Lauren.‘Excuse me, but are you dead? My friend wants to know’.”

  “Can I help you?” asked an unexpected voice, scaring the two out of their seats. They turned, in unison, to an extraordinarily handsome man leaning towards the driver’s side window. Lauren nudged Lena with her guitar.

  “I bet you’re getting out now,” she mumbled.

  Lauren popped up through the sunroof and informed the handsome stranger, “We’re lost.”

  He asked in a gentle, welcoming voice, “Do you need directions or would you like to use the phone?”

  “We just need directions to a main road,” Lena responded. She grabbed and tugged on Lauren’s jeans; when she got her attention, she nodded towards the now darkened window where the old woman had been.

  Lauren sat back onto the passenger seat. The man leaned closer to the open window. For a silent few seconds, the stranger’s looks captivated both Lauren and Lena.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Crazy, and tired.” Lauren smiled.

  Lena rolled her eyes and apologized, “Her jokes get worse as the night goes on.”

  “You’re welcome to come in for a cup of coffee and I can jot down directions for you,” he offered and before Lena could respond with a polite no thank you, Lauren accepted.

  He walked off towards the cabin and Lena quickly grabbed Lauren before she exited the car; she didn’t think it was a good idea and emphasized the disappearing old woman.

  “The light’s off, Geezer. Did you expect her to glow in the dark?”

  “No, she was gone before the light turned off, chair and all. I’m serious.”

  “I think you’re tireder than I am, Geezer. Come on. I can use some coffee.”

  “Geez, Lauren, maybe we’re at the fucking cabin version of the Bates Hotel here.”

  “Oh come on.” Lauren laughed and got out of the car. The trusting hippy still lived in Lauren.

  “And that doesn’t bother you?” Lena raised her voice slightly as Lauren proceeded to the cabin.

  The stranger’s name was John. Besides being handsome, the dark-hair man had the unique feature of one blue eye and one green eye. That area of California was a sea of blondes. Lena had black hair and blue eyes; Lauren had black hair and green eyes and this stranger had the combination. No significance, Lena thought to herself, but different and interesting. He was extremely likable. Lauren had him brewing coffee and talking like an old friend from the get-go. They moved to his back deck and sat among the treetops, sipped their hot coffee and continuing their conversations.

  John was a photographer and enthusiastically discussed his work. The conversations were inviting, interesting and comfortable. He offered to make them his special vegetarian omelet, which Lauren and Lena appreciatively accepted. They ate, talked and discovered that they frequented some of the same places and knew some of the same people. The time passed quickly without notice and the sun was rising as they were still talking on the deck. Lena and Lauren knew that the night would catch up to them soon so they needed to be on their way. Promising to keep in touch, the three stretched and left the deck for the kitchen where John drew a map to the main road. He offered to drive his truck to lead them but they felt his map would suffice.

  “I hope we didn’t keep your mother awake.” Lena apologized to John if she and Lauren were a bit too loud with their laughter in the late night hours.

  “My mother?” John questioned, perplexed by the statement.

  “Your grandmother?” she responded but he still looked perplexed.

  “Your girlfriend?” Lauren added.

  “I live here alone.”

  “Bates,” Lena whispered to the air.

  “What?” asked John, confused by their comments.

  “The woman in the window last night?” Lena shot a quick glance at Lauren.

  “A woman in the wi
ndow, here?” He seemed sincere which alarmed them both.

  “When we drove up there was an o---,” she started to say old but changed it to, “elderly woman sitting in a chair staring out the window, in that room.” Lauren pointed to the door to the room.

  John’s bewilderment turned to coy recognition.

  “You saw an old woman in that room last night, looking out the window?” he asked shifting his eyes from Lauren to Lena. They both nodded yes and Lena added that the light was on in the room, hadn’t he noticed that? Lena waited for a response while Lauren was taking slow steps to the kitchen door. “We aren’t making it up; we saw a woman sitting in a chair looking out the window when we drove up but she was gone by the time we started walking to your cabin.”

  “No, you’re not making it up.” He paused. “You saw a spirit, the ghost of the woman who once owned this cabin.”

  “I told you she was dead, Geezer.”

  “Geezer?” John looked at Lena.

  “Dumb nickname.” Lena brushed it off and focused back on the ghost. “Tell us about the ghost.”

  Lauren marched right over to the room where they saw the old lady. She opened the door without hesitation. The room was empty except for a few boxes. No high back chair. No old woman.

  “Are you joking with us or are you serious?” Lauren asked adamantly.

  “I’m serious. I don’t use that room; it’s hers.”

  Lauren promptly slammed the door shut, walked into the kitchen, grabbed the map and said she would meet Lena in the car.

  Lauren’s reaction was so terribly unexpected that Lena was pie-eyed and silent but then had to laugh aloud. Both John and Lena looked out the screen door to watch Lauren as she hurried to the Volkswagen.

  “You really scared her, John.” Lena looked up at him. “That’s not typical of Lauren in the least, not at all.”

  “I’m sorry I frightened you but you saw her yourselves. What could I say?”

  “You didn’t frighten me, you frighten Lauren. I better go, though I am very curious.” She thanked him for his hospitality, and thanked him on behalf of Lauren. He interrupted with the explanation of the old woman.

  “The woman, who owned this cabin, was an elderly lady,” he began.

  Lena peeked out the kitchen window to see Lauren waving for her to hurry up but she decided to hear out the story.

  “I was renting this cabin from her. She passed away and left me the cabin and the land, to the objection of her family; they weren’t too happy about it to say the least. I’ve seen her spirit here. I’ve seen her looking out the front window just where you saw her. My brother has too but no one else that I know of, until you two showed up. That’s why I wasn’t sure what or who you were both talking about.” He paused a second. “It freaked me out some at first. If you go in the room, the room has a cold feel to it.”

  “That’s okay, but thanks for the offer.” Lena smiled.

  “I just use it for storage, good place to store my camera stuff.”

  “Keeps the film cool.” Lena joked though believed the practicality.

  “She lived here a long time until she got too old. I guess she’s still attached to this place. I don’t blame her; it’s a great cabin but the view is better off the back deck than from that front room, not sure why she stares out that window.”

  “You think she is looking for someone or waiting for someone?”

  John looked quizzically at her.

  “It’s the front of the cabin, the entrance, like she is waiting for someone to arrive,” she explained.

  “I hadn’t thought of that. Could be, could very well be.”

  “She’s your greeter,” Lena said while heading to the door.

  John laughed.

  “I had better go. Thanks again.” She turned to him and said with a smile, “It was nice meeting you and thank you for breakfast.” Lena reached out to shake John’s hand goodbye.

  “Wait.” John jotted down his first and last name and phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “You guys don’t be strangers. You’re welcome back anytime.”

  “I wouldn’t mind picking your brain about photography some time, if you don’t mind?”

  “Anytime, just give me a call.”

  On their long winding ride home through the woods Lena discovered the reason behind Lauren’s atypical exit. For Lauren, talking about spirits or ghosts was thrilling, always had been. Actually seeing one had an unforeseen effect: the real encounter, particularly after her joking about the woman in the window being dead, truly frightened Lauren. Her previous show of interest in the paranormal was merely academic. Lauren believed the longer she lingered at that cabin the more she increased her chances of encountering the old woman again, hence her desire for an immediate exit. Lena responded to her explanation by pretending, with horror, that she saw the old woman in the rearview mirror propped up in the backseat. To which Lauren near shot through the sunroof, then returned with a hard punch to Lena’s arm.

  Several weeks later Lena called John. (Lauren wanted nothing to do with that cabin and its resident elderly ghost.) Lena discovered the richness of the mountains from a photographer’s perspective. They often sat in the front room and talked to the old woman with hope that she would appear; she never did though the room temperature significantly changed when doing so.

  John had a way of explaining events in life that made the incomprehensible make a certain degree of sense. John, like Lauren, was gone.

  The memory of both Lauren and John left Scout feeling empty. She decided to get out of the water that was feeling quite cold again. Scout slipped back into the stained long johns that were warm from hanging in the sun as if just pulled from a dryer, they even seemed to have a more pleasing scent. She lay back onto the platform rock and watched the clouds hurry across the light-blue sky. The faint voices of Charlie and Jose played in the background as they made their way back. They were truly enjoying each other’s company. Scout sat up to watch them. Jose waved, lifting high his bounty. Charlie kept right on talking paying no attention to Scout’s whereabouts. She grabbed the heavy socks, tied them back around her waist and on her sore bare feet made her way to meet them at the wagon.

  “The great hunter caught four good ones, know how to clean em and cook em?” Jose asked Scout.

  “I can try.” Scout was willing to give it her best shot.

  “I’ll cook em,” Charlie shouted to Jose from the wagon.

  “Is the lake water safe to drink, do you think?”

  “Charlie has water, do you want me to get you a cup?”

  “I worry about the cup.” She grimaced.

  “We can wash it out.”

  Jose’s abrupt, acerbic edge was retracting. He walked up to the wood box attached to the outside of the wagon and returned with a plastic gallon of water and a dirty cup. Scout took the cup to the lake to wash and Jose began cleaning the fish. She ended up hauling all of Charlie’s cookware down to the lake and gave them a good cleaning.

  The camp was set up to Charlie’s standards. Scout made a fire with Jose’s help. Charlie tended to his mules. Thoughts or desires about getting back to Broken Arrow were set aside for the evening. They boiled Charlie’s petrified noodles to softness, fried Jose’s catch and Charlie told them where he hid his “booty” of edibles, inviting them to go into the wagon to take out whatever they wanted to complete the meal. Buried behind built-in boxes was an array of canned fruits and vegetables in mason jars. The ingredients were readily recognizable on most.

  “I could finish off a couple of these jars myself.” Scout held back, aware Charlie’s stock needed to last him through his next destination, wherever that may be--hopefully Pista. Charlie refused to hunt except for fish; he did not believe in “whacking” wildlife. These jars would need to sustain him. They found sauces in the unlabeled glass jars that appeared to be homemade. They could have been gifts from Charlie’s friends and fans but Charlie made
many of his own concoctions, and not in the most sanitary of conditions so they left those and grabbed a few mason jars with fruits or vegetables.

  “Didn’t ya find the sauces for the noodles?” Charlie asked after checking out the jars they retrieved from his hiding place.

  “This should be plenty.” Jose then looked at Scout. “Unless, you want sauce on your noodles, Scout?” Jose asked with excessive politeness and a glint in his eyes.

  “No, no, this is fine. Unless you wanted sauce on your noodles, Charlie?”

  “Naaah.” He looked as though he was thinking for a few seconds then continued, “Well, yeah, I think I do want sauce on my noodles…” and he left to pick a desired sauce.

  “Don’t you dare put any of that sauce on my food or I’ll pay you back. You have to sleep sometime,” she warned.

  Jose smiled that devilish smile that indicated to Scout that he would certainly pour whatever concoction Charlie brought out onto her noodles.

  Charlie returned with a jar of liquid green and handed it to Jose. Lena doused her noodles with salt. Jose pretended to pour the substance onto her noodles but stopped just in time to bravely pour Charlie’s chunky green sauce onto his own noodles. His bowl looked like a polluted ocean with albino seaweed. Scout pointed out what looked like cactus needles floating in his sea of noodles. Jose plucked them out, amused. Charlie poured the same green needle filled sauce over his noodles but leaving the needles.

  Before they finished eating their main course, Charlie asked Scout to get a jar of apples from the wagon. She gladly took on the hunt. She found jars of peaches, cherries, green beans, yellow beans, peppers, and a few jars that she could make no reasonable guess. Finally, she found one that looked like regurgitated apples. She held the jar out the door for confirmation.

  “Those are them, I think, hell, bring em on down here,” Charlie shouted then made another request. “Get the jar of rye too.” Again, she rummaged around to find his request.

  “So rye is this kind of dark liquid in the jar, right Charlie?” she hollered. Charlie nodded without looking up. She walked delicately on her bare feet back to the campfire.

  The air cooled as the evening progressed. Charlie and Jose were keeping warm with rye and animated conversation while Scout pulled the socks over her feet and grabbed a blanket to ward off the chill. Time passed in a mirthful way for Jose and Charlie, enhanced by Charlie’s rye. Scout remained the silent third party. She was relaxing but not sleeping or even sleepy. Yet, Charlie and Jose assumed she was asleep, which seemed to free up the topics of their conversation. They shared personal stories that Scout doubted they would even broach in her conscious company. When Jose called her name to check if she was still asleep, Lena didn’t answer; she believed she had already heard too much for their comfort. She felt it was best to pretend that she was still sleeping. Anyway, her interest was piqued and she was intrigued by the now animated, verbose Jose. The composed cynic from the campground had disappeared; he was alive with conversation and spoke without reserve. She also heard Jose stutter for the first time, but only when he spoke passionately about a subject. Jose hurried through the stutter and the conversation didn’t skip a beat.

  Charlie had one tour in Vietnam under his belt to Jose’s two. Their Vietnam dialogue initially sounded like two men describing high school days, then more like a football game with strategies, wins and losses. The double trip down memory lane intensified into chronicles of torture and morbidly recognized triumphs. All that Burt tried to extract from Jose without success had been liberated in front of a campfire with Charlie. Scout felt as though she was violating the assumed confidentiality of the confessors; she was hearing the gut and soul of two relative strangers without their permission. She heard answers about the war to questions previously unimagined. Scout’s toes curled when Charlie spoke of how his feet rotted and the skin peeled off his foot like layers on an onion, among other personal discomforts. Jose spoke openly of sufferings braved, the inconceivable surroundings and situations endured--all a somber surprise to Scout. There was no mention of the intention of the war beyond survival. Their conversation eventually turned to fishing stories. Scout pretended to awaken. She excused herself and moved to the wagon for the night where she could hear only spurts of recognizable words. Occasionally Jose would shout something and each time Charlie roared with laughter. She thought about Pepper and fell into a warm and cozy deep sleep.

  Scout awoke quite early the next morning to stereophonic snoring--Jose was curled up above her and Charlie sprawled out below her. She quietly climbed out of the wagon and with her feet still sore, and now very cold, she walked down to the edge of the lake. The cool crisp air was fragrant with the smell of cedar. She wrapped the blanket around her and enjoyed the sanctity of the environment. Ravens clicked out calls across the treetops and blue jays squawked as they flew from branch to branch. Charlie’s mules wandered about loose, nibbling at the ground. The “mystery” lake was a wonderful find.

  Charlie emerged from the wagon first. He stretched, then disappeared into the trees. Soon Jose climbed down from the wagon in the clown suit. Scout couldn’t hold back her ear-to-ear smile as she watched Jose take giant clown steps to join her. She splashed the cold water on her face and swished a mouthful to suffice for a morning brushing.

  “Nice isn’t it?” Jose said as he looked out over the lake.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this, forgot how much I miss it,” she responded in almost a whisper. She’d rather hear the sounds of nature than the sound of her own voice. “Where’d Charlie go?”

  “To use the restroom.”

  “They have a restroom here?” Her volume increased with excitement.

  “Natural restroom.”

  “With natural toilet paper?”

  “I’ll ask Charlie if he has anything in that category for you,” Jose offered then pulled a portion of Scout’s blanket over so he could sit and save the clown suit from the moist soil. “You should’ve had some of Charlie’s rye with us.”

  “You guys had the advantage of that green stuff to coat your stomach.”

  “Green stuff?”

  “Sauce, the mystery sauce with the needles in it?”

  “You don’t drink?”

  “No, or rarely.”

  She changed the subject. “Pepper would love it here, wish he was with me.”

  “You should have had Pepper with you in the first place then you would have avoided the encounter with the kid.”

  “Maybe, maybe not—“

  “Morning, morning!” It was a gleeful shout from Charlie. They hollered good morning back and Charlie was off to tend to the mules.

  “It was too hot to bring him anyway,” Scout continued. “The kid had a gun so I am glad Pepper wasn’t with me. He could have shot him.” She changed the subject again and with apology said, “I heard parts of your conversation with Charlie last night. I’m sorry I intruded on your private lives like that; I didn’t know how to excuse myself once you guys got started.”

  Jose said nothing.

  “It was hard hearing what you both went through; it really was.”

  “I volunteered to go back a second tour,” Jose said without regret as he watched a bird swoop down and fly across the lake.

  “They made you go back?” she asked, respectful but perplexed.

  “I volunteered to go back.” Jose’s eyes followed the bird up to where it perched on a high branch.

  “But why? Why volunteer to go back? Sense of duty? Revenge? Self-destructive death wish of some kind? What would make you want to go back to that if you didn’t have to, at least after what I heard last night?”

  Jose responded with half a laugh and nothing more.

  “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. Okay, change of subject. Is Charlie planning on heading back to Pista today?”

  “I didn’t ask him. We’re his guests. He has his own ways, his own routines, his own plans.
I don’t want to push him.” Jose was savoring the unfamiliar feeling of ease and contentment and was in no hurry to get back.

  “They’re going to worry about you at the campground, Mr. Jose.” She imitated Marianne’s voice when saying his name.

  “A little.”

  “A lot!”

  “I’m a big boy, Scout--“

  “You’re a big Boyscout.”

  Jose rolled his eyes. “They know I can take care of myself. They are going to be worried about you. They probably have the sheriff out looking for you as we speak.”

  “Wouldn’t they look here first? You know, maybe I drowned or got injured here and couldn’t leave.” She added, “I hope someone remembered to feed Pepper this morning.”

  Jose reassured her. “With all those women, and Eric, he’s getting spoiled.”

  “That’s a pleasant thought.” She added, “You know Jarred, he wants to get a dog same as Eric.”

  “He’s a strange one.”

  “I don’t think so; I think he’s interesting. Do you know him very well?”

  “Do you?” He asked with an obvious innuendo that Scout ignored.

  “Well enough.”

  “What’s so interesting about Mr. High-tech?” Jose shifted to get in a more comfortable position.

  “It’s interesting how he ended up at Broken Arrow.” She saw Jose respond with a big grin. “Okay, most ending up at Broken Arrow have an interesting story but his really is quite different.”

  Jose lost interest in the Jarred topic quickly. He was basking in the serenity of his surroundings and campground residents were far from his state of mind.

  “Shall we eat?” Charlie yelled down then began his whistling without waiting for an answer.

  “I better get up there and wash the pots and stuff from last night before he starts cooking in them.” Scout scurried to the campsite leaving her blanket for Jose.