River's Rising

by Dan McNeill

  "What, you big Wookie?"

  "Po forgot his guys!"

  Before Raymond could say a word, Po had jumped to his feet and was already barreling up the hill, back to their cottage. In the process of weaving around their fenced off vegetable garden, the big oaf nearly knocked over the jug of water Raymond had filled this morning from the pump at the Laughing Well.

  A few minutes later, Raymond heard the back door slam as Po made his hasty return. Sprinting back to the fishing hole, Raymond knew there was a problem. Po didn't like being alone. When Po was alone, Po got scared. And when Po was scared, Po was a runner.

  "Slow down!" Raymond yelled out. "You're coming in hot!"

  But it was too late. The leaves on the sugar maple had already started to fall. Slick with moisture from the morning dew, Po took one step onto a golden patch and was sent flying out of control. It didn't help that his hands were full. Po hit the leaves and, for a moment, appeared to be skiing. He held his own past the vegetable garden but came crashing hard into the cedar picnic table. Miraculously, the four action figures he clutched in his ruddy hands were still there. But the jug of water Raymond had filled a few hours earlier wasn't as lucky.

  "Sowwy Waymond," Po said. Wiping the wet leaves off his behind, he looked down at the now empty water jug and frowned.

  Sorry Raymond. Raymond wondered how often during the course of a normal day Po uttered those words. Not that many days were really normal anymore. Nothing was normal since the Rap. The fact that he and Po were even still alive after three years on their own was a testament to Po's optimism and Raymond's resourcefulness. Resourcefulness that Raymond attributed solely on his mom. Of course Raymond's dad would have called their survival a miracle.

  But not Raymond. Raymond was a born-again atheist. God, church, miracles. Raymond didn’t believe in any of the things his father's faith swore would protect them. There was only one protector that Raymond put his faith into these days. Remmy. That was the name he gave to the Remington 750 semi-automatic rifle that found Raymond in the weeks after the Rapture. Raymond considered Remmy a silent brother.

  Moseying down the hill while ignoring the wet leaves plastered on his behind, Po was in deep conversation with Superman, his favorite of the old Mego action figures he carried with him everywhere he went. The doll that their mom had bought Po at a Chicago ComicCon was presently being placed on the lookout tower of the Fortress of Solitude - an old Barbie penthouse play set Raymond found and spray painted silver.

  “All right Waymond!" Po remarked, picking up his pole again as he sat down by the willow tree. "Po's weady to catch a wally!”

  Raymond hadn’t seen walleye in Lake Como for years. But it didn’t matter. To Po, most all fish were walleye. Usually Po caught carp. “Sure, who knows?" Raymond said, brushing aside his hair again. "Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to catch Mighty Musky.”

  Po let out a deep belly laugh. “That's wight Waymond! Po's gonna get him!” He smiled at his brother, giving him a hearty pat on the back. "Tonight, dinner's gonna be on Po!"

  Raymond looked back at him with a grin, humorously shaking his head. “Well,” he said, "You could have started with dinner by re-filling the jug of water you knocked over you big walking carpet!”

  “Po was gonna do that Waymond,” he squawked, his chubby cheeks turning a cherry red, “but then Superman told him about bad guys wunning around the place!” Po glared at Raymond for a moment, as if attempting to declare his innocence before kneeling down next to Rowdy to continue his conversation with Superman. With a hesitant cringe, he looked back at Raymond and frowned.

  “Po knows Waymond,” he said dejectedly. “Po needs to use his R’s.”

  Raymond shook his head again. He had stopped trying to remind Po to use his “R’s” a long time ago. That was something their asshole brother Abe always harped on - the one who ran away. Or their dad (who ran away too when everything went to shit). Raymond could care less. In the end, the only two people that judged Po the harshest were the ones that ran off while their family decomposed. Raymond often wondered how their God would judge that.

  Clearing his throat, Raymond forced out a smile. “Don't worry about it Chewie. We'll go out together and fill it later.”

  Po beamed back a wide grin as Raymond slapped him on the back. Raymond knew to teach Po the truly important things. Things like picking berries that wouldn’t make him sick, starting a fire, and fishing without giving up. Those were the things that would help Po survive - just in case Raymond had to go away for a while. Not that he ever intended to do so.

  With his head looking down at his big feet, Po turned with a shy grin, resting his big head on Raymond’s shoulder.

  “Waymond?” he asked in a hesitant whisper.

  “Yes Po?”

  “Can you read Po The Wizard of Oz?”

  Raymond cringed. Not that he didn’t like reading to Po, because of course he did. He just really hated this book. This horrible book. The faded old picture book of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

  It wasn't always that way. The book was a graphic novel version of the Wizard of Oz. A comic book. The old book was their mom's favorite and one she would take out from a laundry shoot back at their old house in Chicago before bedtime. Huddling close together while she hummed some Beatles tune, she’d assign them all parts to read.

  Po was, by choice, the Scarecrow. Though Raymond never thought the part quite fit him. To Raymond, Po was always the lion. The cool cat that roamed around the house, acting out scenes from Raymond’s favorite movies while stealing cookies when mom pretended not to look. Occasionally he’d hear mom or dad whisper the words "Down syndrome", though Raymond had no idea what that was or what that label would eventually grow to mean to Po.

  Raymond was the Tin Man. All Raymond knew was that it wasn’t Dorothy. That part went to mom. Raymond later learned that the reason mom gave him that part was because it required less reading.

  The part of the Cowardly Lion went to Abe. That was a part that Raymond whole-heartedly agreed with. But, as it turned out, mom didn’t give Abe the part of the Cowardly Lion because she thought Abe a coward.

  Their mom had assigned Abe the part of the Cowardly Lion as an inspired lesson. A lesson to Abe that he could compete with Raymond in all ways that mattered. For while Raymond and Abe were twins, there wasn’t much they had in common. Abe was as weak and sickly as Raymond was strong and agile. But during the readings, Mom was sure to point out to Abe that true bravery was more than brute strength and a loud growl.

  For Raymond, it was the parts that Po read that inspired him the most. The true miracle of the reading was that Po couldn’t read. In fact, he could barely talk at the time. But he had a helluva memory. And even though Po’s recitations came off more sounding more like a series of grunts and giggles, Raymond understood everything he was trying to say and loved it. Eventually, Raymond would break into happy hysterics just from Po holding the book. Before long, the comic book was no longer just the Wonderful Wizard of Oz. It was the "Giggly Book".

  “Of course buddy," Raymond finally answered. "Any reason?”

  “No, no reason Waymond. Po just wanna hear it. Po wanna know the words.” Po stared at him grinning, his face beaming like the sunrise.

  “Fine Po,” Raymond sighed. “But let's say we catch something first, ok?”

  With an understanding nod, Po reached inside his partially zipped lime-green windbreaker and felt around. “Uh oh. Sowwy Waymond, Po musta forgot it.”

  “Of course you did," Raymond said with a grin soaked in fake annoyance. "Why don’t you walk - not run- back up to the house and get it."

  “Thanks Waymond!”

  Po started to dash back up to the house. But before he got a few steps out, Raymond noticed the guard on the painted penthouse. “Hey, you forgot Supes!” he shouted.

  Superman was Po’s security blanket. Po never wanted to go too far without Raymond. If Raymond didn't want Po to have another spill on his way back down to the lake, bri
nging Superman with him was the next best thing (although, as was the case this morning, having a wandering imagination was what usually got Po into trouble in the first place).

  Po turned around as Raymond tossed him his courage. The rising sun illuminated his older brother’s round angelic face as he fumbled to catch it and failed.

  “Dumb sun!” Po laughed. He picked up his doll, tucked him inside his lime-green windbreaker, and started off back towards the cottage.

  Raymond watched Po as he flew Superman through the air, generally in the direction of the house. Superman was shouting motivational one-liners to Po like, “All clear Po!” or, “Don’t be a cowardly lion Po-Po!” As he watched his older brother pass by the fire pit, he smiled thinking about what sort of curious story Po might tell on this night.

  Rowdy, their lazy Irish setter, was tracking Po too. Seeing that Po had safely made it back inside, he got up, stretched and made an uncharacteristically quick dash up the hill past their cottage. With his snout to the ground, he sprinted around the tall grasses in search of a chipmunk, a rabbit, or if he got really lucky, Roxy.

  Roxy was the name Po gave to the old cat who lived in the Castle. Somehow, the fat feline had managed to elude the grasp of Rowdy's lazy paw these past three years. As far as Raymond knew, Roxy was the sole occupant living in the eccentric brick lake home that resembled a medieval castle - complete with a black-shingled conical spire that rested atop a three-story tower (and the stone-enclosed hot tub that the neighbors used to call, the “Dungeon”. Raymond never asked why). Raymond was quite sure that the chase between the two adversaries had become a game. If Rowdy ever did catch the cat, he'd probably just let him go.

  Because the cat was not a threat. If it was, it would have been in Rowdy's belly years ago. Rowdy, more than Raymond or Remmy or anything else, was their true protector. He knew how to keep Po and Raymond alive. The dog was infinitely more devoted to them than their father ever was. Rowdy was always the first into the fray and the last to leave it. Whether it was sniffing out a bear or howling when wolves were nearby, without Rowdy, they would never have made it this long. Po liked to call Rowdy his third brother. But Raymond knew better. Abraham was no brother. And comparing him to Rowdy was an insult to a braver comrade.

  Raymond could see Rowdy now scampering up by the edge of the trees next to their house, his snout still sniffing excitedly over the ground. The animals they chased away last night must have left quite a scent. Rowdy froze in his tracks, his ears perking up to the sounds of something Raymond couldn’t catch. He shot up over the grassy hill by the eastern shore and was soon out of site.

  Raymond craned his neck to see where the old dog had shot off to but couldn't spot him. A mild breeze blowing off the lake once again blew his hair over his eyes. With a huff, Raymond tugged on his line while Po made his way back down to the lake, Superman calmly leading the way.

  Placing Supes back on lookout, Po sat down and recast his line. Po didn’t even need Raymond’s help these days. Other than getting distracted easily, Po had become quite the fisherman. Their dad would have been surprised at what Po could accomplish. Raymond wasn’t.

  Without warning, Raymond felt a tug at his line. Slowly, he began to reel it in. But the fish on the other end wasn’t giving up easily.

  Raymond stood up to get a better handle on it. The fish was about a yard away now, struggling so much that Raymond was afraid it might tear the line. Raymond gripped the pole tightly, stepping back onto the gravely shoreline to cement his feet into the sand for balance. The fish was huge - huge enough to fill them well tonight. It darted sharply from side to side, making it difficult to identify, but by the white spots dotting its body, Raymond thought it could be a Northern pike - a bony fish, but one that would taste delicious grilled over the flames.

  Raymond had him now, reeling it the rest of the way in. He grabbed the line and brought the fish onto the shore. It had to be nearly two feet long, its pale olive scales glistening in the sun. Raymond held it down firmly to remove the hook. As he did, the sleek-nosed fish made one last incredible flip landing right besides Po.

  But Po was taking an unexpected break. With his fishing pole lying beside him, he was busily conferring with his Aquaman doll on some secret mission while the fish frantically flipped itself over Po's lap. The last Raymond saw of their dinner was the gleam on its shiny white belly as the fish danced freely back into the placid Lake Como waters.

  “Goddammit Po!” Raymond shouted. “Why didn't you grab it?”

  Po shot a look back, his thin blue eyes crossed in a scowl. “Waymond!”

  But Raymond was too pissed to worry about offending Po’s law against cussing. Throwing down his pole, he punched the side of the willow tree. “That fish wasn't make-believe!"

  “Sowwy Waymond," he said, looking bashfully down at his dolls. His face was glowing bright red.

  Raymond cussed something more under his breath, picking up his pole from the swamp weeds before he'd say something else he'd regret. Or, wiping the blood from his fist, doing any more damage to his hands. Remmy might be their protector but it was Raymond's hands that made him work his miracles.

  The next half an hour was icy silent. The fish that Po let get away must have warned his friends because nothing was biting. While Raymond stewed, the water remained still. Eventually Po broke the logjam of stubborn silence, once again removing two dolls from his lime green windbreaker.

  “What’s your problem Po?” the Hulk asked Po. “Why did you go and scare away all the fishies you big dummy? Don't you know the bad guys are coming? How's Aquaman gonna fight off Black Manta without help from the fishies?”

  Raymond was still fuming, but knew that it didn't matter. What's done is done. Holding a grudge against the only person left in the world would be just plain ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as punching a tree. Raymond sighed out the anger, turning slowly towards his brother. “What are you doing?”

  “Po sorry Po can’t fish Waymond. Po's friends tell him the bad guys are gonna get us now. We're done for.” Po continued to chat up Hulk and Superman. Raymond lost it.

  “There are no bad guys Po!” Raymond barked. “And we’re not done for! The only way we are gonna be done for is if we don’t catch anything! We don’t fish, we don’t eat. We don’t eat, we die! It’s simple really, even for you!” Raymond winced at the last words, wishing immediately that he could take them back.

  “No Waymond,” Po replied. Lowering his head in a glum expression of guilt, Po stuffed all of his action figures back into the lining of his lime green windbreaker.

  “No what?”

  “We won’t die Waymond. Everyone else dies Waymond. All of Po’s friends die. Po’s momma died. But Po don’t die.”

  He was right of course. By some biological quirk, the virus spared them. Po liked to attribute it to faith and prayed his thanks to God every night (sometimes more than once). But the fact that any god would also have spared a prick like Abraham dismissed the existence of such a thing out right.

  Raymond looked back at Po calmly. The best way to approach a serious conversation with Po was to back into it with a slice of make-believe. “We’ve been through this before Superman. Our super-powers may have saved us from the Doomsday, but we still need to eat right? We get our powers from the sun, remember?”

  “And the sun hits the lake and the wallys eat the sun," Po repeated like a kid being lectured to. "Po knows all that Waymond. Po’s sowwy.”

  “No Po, don’t be sorry. Just do your best.” He reached over, yanked off Po's baseball cap and rubbed his messy brown hair. “And don’t you ever let me catch you doubting yourself again, got that?”

  Po let out a shy giggle. "Yeah," Po laughed, "Po get that Waymond."

  "What's so funny dorkus?"

  Po's simple giggle erupted into a goose-like roaring laugh. "You sounded just like Grandpa Loo!"

  Grandpa Lou was their dad's dad and a real stick in the mud. He was also more than a little senile which meant he
was prone to repeating the boring things he said three times during the same conversation. Slowly. They all loved him, but the man was, as Abe used to put it, more of a snorefest than an afternoon watching grass grow at the opera while reading Emily Dickinson. Raymond never dug Abe's pretentious humor, but he got the point.

  "Grandpa Lou, huh? Well at least he had teeth!"

  "Oh Waymond!" Po said, wagging his finger. "Don't you make fun of Auntie Connie! That's Po's Godmother now jocko!"

  "Hey, you started it tough guy!" he said, giving him a gentle jab on the shoulder.

  Po beamed, letting out a timid chortle. "Wemember," he chuckled, forgetting to use his R's, "when she tried to eat your birthday cake?"

  Raymond looked out at the even ripples on the lake with a melancholy grin. "I don't know what was more memorable, her false teeth getting stuck in the frosting or the face she made when she took a sip of the spiked punch." Of course the real reason Raymond remembered his eighteenth birthday was because it was the last one before the virus.

  "Wemember Po's story Waymond?"

  Raymond nodded. "Sure, of course I do." He stared into the clear Lake Como waters, letting its clear tranquility wash away the shit of dark memories.

  "You and Abe never laughed so hard in your lives!"

  That was probably true. Sitting around the campfire with their entire extended family that night, Po's story was one for the ages. Resurrecting his "giggly book" glory, this story was interactive, actually involving Raymond and Abraham. As Po got to certain points in his made up story, Raymond and Abraham were expected to fill in the plot. While Raymond thought he was too cool to take part at first, by the end, he and Abe were having a ball. A brief respite in their eternal feud.

  "Po sure misses them Waymond. Po misses all of them. Grandpa Loo, Auntie Connie, Grandpa Frank. And mom and dad Waymond, Po miss them most of all." Po paused for a second, looking down. "And Abey too Waymond. Po want them back so we can tell stories by the fire and catch lightning bugs in the dark."

  "I know buddy, I want that all back too," he said, knowing that at least most of that were true. Raymond looked up at the position of the sun, realizing that the morning was slipping away. "I'll bet they'd be impressed if you brought back a big fish for dinner tonight?"