Sundog

by Jim Harrison

  Marshall stopped by the next morning after I had bribed the lovely desk clerk into going out for coffee. He had brought the dog for me and wanted to say good-bye. The dog seemed content in her new surroundings, jumping on the bed for a quick nap.

  “You don't think he's dead, do you?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Would you share your reasons?”

  “No. You're too powerful and that would tip you off. It's obvious that he wanted to get away from all of us and this is the only way he could manage it.” I was looking out the window at a police car that held the driver, Doctor Evelyn, and the spiffy aide.

  “That's true. You must know him as well as anyone by now. If you hear from him, we can send his checks through you. I looked at his account books last night and he's given everything away to wives, children, students, organizations. He wasn't very worldly.”

  “I think he probably was.”

  Marshall laughed then, and began to leave. “I'm the only one who doesn't think it's your fault. Give me a ring in Florida.”

  “I will.”

  * * *

  Driving south out of town that evening I tried to imagine what it would be like to swim down a large river at night, but couldn't quite make it. You had to see the dam or work on it yourself to really understand it: There was less than a half-moon and dew on the grass. You would shiver involuntarily when you took off your clothes. The water would be cold, but not the bitter cold of June, and the grease would insulate you for the first few miles. Then the scramble over the log-jam, and back into the current. Since you couldn't see what you were doing, you would seek the strongest part of the current for speed of travel, guiding yourself with strokes of your arms, your legs, twin rudders. You would aim by sight into versions of black. On corners you would run the inside banks in the chutes, then strike across where the power of the river made its swirling turn. You might hear the wolves a trapper said lived in the delta. You would see trout rise, perhaps disturb a family of otters, hear an owl's call above the rush of water. The fatigue would be sweet when you saw the light diffused upward in a bright haze downstream. Your son and Eulia would help you from the water.