The Wildman

Chapter SEVEN

Cruisin’





Lunch consisted of cold roast beef sandwiches, potato chips, pickles, and beer—lots of beer. After lunch, Jeff was feeling so bloated all he could think about was how nice it would be to take a short nap … especially after not sleeping much last night. He never saw an opportunity to tell Evan that he didn’t want to go for the boat ride, so the five of them headed down to the beach where the boat was moored. They were all wearing winter coats, hats, and gloves, but the cold wind cut like a knife into Jeff’s face. At the risk of being called a p-ssy, he suggested it was too cold, at least for him, and he’d just as soon sit this one out, but Evan and the others pressured him to go.

Throughout lunch, he’d kept watching Evan carefully, looking for some hint that he knew Jeff knew he was up to something, but Jeff had no idea what he was suspicious of. He couldn’t very well confront him and say he had a “bad feeling.” He wanted to figure it out, to get a handle on what was bothering him.

He needed something tangible.

Still, he couldn’t stop wondering why he was so suspicious. He told himself he should just relax and enjoy this time catching up with old friends. At the very least, he should try to get through the weekend with minimal upset. Come Sunday, they’d all go their separate ways, and if Evan or anyone else attempted to stay in touch, he could let e-mails and phone calls go unanswered until they finally stopped trying. Soon enough, he’d be back into his routine, and this weekend—like his time here as a camper—would be a fading memory.

As they walked down to the boat, Tyler was yattering on about how he’d read an article in some magazine or newspaper about how it wasn’t really necessary to wait an hour after eating before going swimming. The whole justification for “quiet hour” in the tent, he said, was bullshit.

“So if one of us falls in and has to swim,” Mike said, “he won’t get cramps?”

“You would,” Fred said at the same time Tyler said, “Absolutely.”

Jeff was only half-listening to them, treating their banter like a conversation going on in another room with thin walls. He was unengaged and felt more than a little alienated. For him, this whole “reminiscing thing” had run its course. It bothered him that none of his old friends seemed to want to—or seemed able to—discuss their current lives and what they that concerned them now.

Maybe, he thought, just below the surface they’re just as miserable as I am … or maybe they see what a pathetic looser I am and don’t want to rub it in.

Maybe that’s it … Our lives have become so boring … so empty and meaningless, all we can do is carry on about shit that happened thirty-five years ago.

If that was all he was going to get out of this weekend, he wished all the more he’d stayed home. If he wanted some time off, he would have been better off driving out to Ithaca for the weekend and seeing how Matt was doing.

When they got to the boat, Jeff realized something else was bothering him a lot more than he realized, and certainly more than he cared to admit.

No matter what he did, no matter where he went or what he said, he couldn’t stop thinking about Jimmy Foster.

A sour churning filled the pit of his stomach when he realized the boat was tied up close to where the old swimming docks had been … close to where they had pulled Jimmy’s body out of the water. As they got the boat ready, Jeff’s teeth were chattering, and he knew it wasn’t just from the cold as he looked up and down the deserted beach.

The wind was blowing hard, and far out on the water, gray waves were laced with whitecaps. Jeff’s memory of the lake was of warm, inviting blue water with a trace of algae bloom that turned it green in the sheltered cove. Even on rainy days, the lake water was always “piss warm,” as they used to say out of earshot of their counselor.

With winter fast approaching, the lake had changed. It looked cold and dangerous. Jeff shivered as a mental image rose up of Jimmy’s ghost, haunting the beach as ice sheathed the lake, and snow blew in blinding gusts across the land.

“You even listening?” Tyler said so suddenly it snapped Jeff back to attention like the crack of a bullwhip.

Jeff shook his head, dazed. “Huh?”

“I asked if you brought a bottle of rum along. It might be a nice warm-up once we’re out on the water.”

It still took a moment for Tyler’s question to sink in. Then Jeff shook his head and said, “Ahh—no. I didn’t think to.” He looked back at the dining hall. “Want me to go get some?”

“Well, duh,” Tyler said.

Evan and Tyler exchanged looks of amusement or thinly veiled irritation that made Jeff think they were up to something. If this had been thirty-five years ago, he would suspect they were going to ditch him and take off in the boat by themselves.

But what sense would that make now?

Truth was, it would work in Jeff’s favor, because all he could think about was going back to the infirmary and checking it out to see what—if anything—was going on out there.

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Evan said as he slapping his arms to ward off the cold. “It’s a bit nippier than I expected.”

“I told you we should have waited ‘till spring,” Jeff said through chattering teeth.

This was his chance to back out, but if he did, probably some or all of them would think better of it, too. That would defeat what he wanted to do, so he was going to have to figure out a way to take off by himself without anyone else knowing where he was going or what he was up to. It was beginning to look like that opportunity wouldn’t come until later … maybe not until tonight, once the rest of them were asleep.

Leaving the others to monkey around getting the boat ready, Jeff dashed back up the beach to the dining hall. It wasn’t far, but by the time he got there, he was more winded than he thought he should be. Sweat was running down the inside of his shirt, and he was sure that would make him more uncomfortable out on the water.

Inside the dining hall, out of the wind, Jeff felt somewhat relieved. He inhaled the smell of wood smoke and looked at the inviting fire, which was blazing away on the hearth. But being alone in the dining hall jacked up his nerves, if anything, and he had a weird feeling that someone was nearby, watching him.

Stop being so goddamned paranoid, he told himself.

But he couldn’t stop the feeling as he walked over to his supplies, fished around in one of the bags, and grabbed an unopened bottle of Myers. Gripping it tightly with his gloved hand, he turned to leave, but he suddenly froze. The feeling of being watched was even stronger. He shivered at the thought that somehow … as crazy and impossible as it seemed … Jimmy Foster was close by, keeping a watchful eye on him and everyone else on the island.

Maybe he’s like Hobomock, Jeff thought with a deep shiver, and he wondered if, when Evan’s development was finished and people were living out here, anyone would sense Jimmy’s … or something’s … presence.

Was the island really haunted by something more than their memories of summers past?

Jeff was still bundled up against the cold and, not wanting to get too warm, he left the dining hall and started back to the beach, moving at a much slower pace. When he was about halfway there, a loud sputtering sound came from the beach as Evan started up the engine. It took a few tries, but as Jeff walked down onto the sand, the engine caught. A huge blue cloud of exhaust billowed out across the water and was swept away by the wind.

“A little sluggish from being so cold overnight,” Evan said as Jeff joined the other guys at the water’s edge.

All of them watched as Evan gunned the engine a few times and then cast off. Once out on the open water, he gunned the engine a few times before taking off. The boat bounced and skipped over the choppy gray waves, leaving a wide wake before finally leveling out. A huge fan of spray rose from the side of the boat as Evan steered a wide, sweeping arc. His expression was frozen, and he looked like he was terrified, not enjoying himself.

“Is he gonna come back for us?” Mike asked as the motor roared, and the boat skipped across the choppy water.

“He’s just blowing off the stink,” Fred said.

After swerving around a bit, Evan guided the boat back to the shore. Cutting the engine, he rode it up onto the sandy beach where the hull crunched on the sand.

“That can’t be good for the boat,” Fred said.

“Someone’s gonna get wet shoving us off,” Evan called out. His face was pale with bright red splotches on the cheeks. As he shivered against the cold, Jeff questioned the wisdom of taking a boat ride today, but he smiled with contentment and patted the bottle of rum in his jacket pocket. He’d be fine, he told himself.

“I got it,” Tyler said as he grabbed the rope Evan tossed to him. He stood back and let the others scramble on board. The boat was barely big enough to hold all of them, and Jeff worried that, with the water as rough as it was, they might not be safe.

Talk about taking a swim just after eating.

Now—if ever—it was time to back out, but he knew Evan and the others would insist he come with them, so he clambered aboard with the others and settled on one of the hard, wooden seats.

Once everyone else was settled, Tyler pushed the boat away from the shore. The engine was still chugging away, sending up a thinner cloud of exhaust that smelled like the fuel mixture was too rich. Ignoring the cold, Tyler waded out into the lake until the keel was free of the sand and then heaved himself up over the gunwales. He was wet halfway up to his knees, and his teeth were chattering as he settled on the seat next to Jeff.

“I’ll take a slug of that rum now,” he said, leaning close to Jeff.

Before Jeff did anything, Evan gunned the engine, starting out maybe a bit too fast. Tyler almost fell over backwards, and whatever he said was lost beneath the roar of the engine. Jeff was sure he read Tyler’s lips correctly. Once he was seated securely, Tyler turned to Jeff and held his hand out to him.

“Rum … Now!”

Jeff handed him the bottle and watched as he twisted off the plastic cap, breaking the seal. The skin on Tyler’s hands was so pale it was almost translucent as he toasted Jeff before tilting his head back and taking a huge, gulp.

“Save some for the rest of us,” Fred said with a tight smile. He was hugging his arms to himself and shivering as Evan steered the boat out of the small cove and onto the open water.

Once they were out of the shelter of the cove, it was much colder than Jeff had expected. Within seconds, his face went numb, and the inside of his nose started stinging. The speed of the boat heading into the wind made the wind chill feel like it was twenty below.

Spray rose from the bow as the boat bounced across the choppy water. Every now and then, a particularly strong gust of wind would blow whitewater over the passengers, drenching them. Seated in the bow, Mike and Fred looked positively miserable, but Tyler was smiling. Maybe it was the rum. In the stern, Evan was grinning like an idiot when he got Jeff’s attention and said something. Whatever he said, it was lost beneath the wind and the roar of the engine. Jeff shrugged and pointed to his ears, indicating he couldn’t hear a damned thing, so Evan concentrated on piloting the boat.

In spite of the cold, Jeff had to admit that the island and lake had a certain raw beauty, in a Northern kind of way. Dark green slashes of pine swayed against the sky. Off to the west, a line of dark clouds was building up, promising more bad weather.

There weren’t many camps along the shore, and Jeff tried to imagine how, over the next several years, this whole area would be utterly transformed. It wouldn’t be long before it was unrecognizable.

Once again, a sad nostalgia for everything swept over him, and he mourned for what was going to be lost in the name of progress. Men and machines would chop down trees and rip up and remold the earth, bringing “civilization” and destroying the wild forest forever.

It didn’t seem right, but what could he or anyone else do to stop it?

It wasn’t his business, anyway. Evan and anyone else with enough money could come out here and do whatever the hell they wanted. Just because he’d spent a couple of summers here as a kid, that didn’t give him any special privilege or claim to the place.

Moving carefully and steadying himself against the pounding the boat took from the waves, Tyler got up and made his way back to Evan. They leaned their heads close together so they could talk. Jeff glanced at them and wondered what they were talking about, but then shifted his gaze, content to look at the wilderness in respectful silence.

When he was a camper, Jeff had taken a canoe out for a paddle every now and then. He and his friends—usually Evan—would pretend they were Indians, scouting the shoreline for enemies. But other than the boat ride to and from the island with his luggage each summer, he had never been far out on the lake like this. With the icy wind biting his face and working its frigid fingers inside his collar, he was sure it was an experience he wasn’t going to repeat in the near future.

Evan took the boat around the north end of Sheep’s Head Island. Once they were in the lee of the island with the wind blocked, the air felt almost pleasant. The engine was running smoothly, and the cloud of exhaust was gone.

Jeff watched as they came closer to the shoreline. Savoring the moment, he took the bottle of rum from his pocket and took a long pull. The he tapped Fred on the shoulder and passed it to him. Fred smiled widely as he took a drink before passing it along to Mike who handed it to Tyler and then to Evan.

As the bottle made the rounds, with the rum burning like a warm coal in the pit of his stomach, Jeff felt a moment of contentment. His eyes were watering from the cold wind, but he wiped his tears away with his jacket sleeve. In spite of the natural beauty surrounding them, though, all he could think about was getting back to the dining hall so he could warm up.

“Hey!” Mike called out, giving Jeff a nudge on the shoulder. “There’s the Pulpit.”

“The what?” Jeff shouted so he could be heard above the roar of the engine.

“The Pulpit! Don’t tell me you don’t remember the Pulpit.”

Jeff thought about it and then shook his head. As far as he could remember, he had never heard about such a place.

“We used to come down here and fish,” Mike said. There was a distant, wistful look in his eyes as he stared at the chunk of gray granite that stood out on the end of the island. It was angled over the water and was squared off at the top. Jeff could see how it had come to be called “The Pulpit,” but he had never come fishing out here so far from camp. He and his friends used to catch “sunnies” and the occasional baby bass off the dock, but that was about it.

“When’d you ever come down here?” Fred asked, leaning close so he could be heard. He held his hand out to Jeff for the rum bottle. When Jeff gave it to him, he took a quick sip and passed it to Mike.

“Mark and I used to come out here,” Mike said.

A disturbing thought occurred to Jeff, but he didn’t voice it. In all his years at Camp Tapiola, he had never heard about going fishing at “The Pulpit.” It struck him as a bit odd that their counselor or any other staff member would take one of the campers out here … alone and unsupervised so far from the campgrounds. Jeff wondered if, even back then, Mike knew he was gay, but had Mark been gay, too?

Had coming out here been Mike’s initiation?

Was that why he remembered the place so fondly?

Jeff pushed such thoughts away, not wanting to speculate about anyone else’s personal life.

“Gonna be bitchly cold once we come around the point,” Fred said, nodding to where the waves were smashing against “The Pulpit.” The water was much rougher on the windward side of the island. Jeff was tempted to suggest they turn back, but he knew Evan well enough to know he would never turn back. It wasn’t his style. So Jeff tightened his collar around his neck and shrank into himself, bracing for the blast of cold that would hit once they got out of the shelter of the island.

But as they passed within fifty feet of “The Pulpit,” the engine made a funny clunking sound. It kicked once so hard it made the boat shiver and then sputtered.

“F*ck!” Evan shouted, loud enough to be heard by everyone. He revved the engine, but the sputtering only got worse. The engine chugged, and the boat lurched so hard everyone was knocked off balance. Jeff would have fallen overboard if he hadn’t been clinging to the gunwales.

“Shit! What’s the matter?” Fred shouted, but Evan ignored him as he worked the controls. The chugging sound got steadily louder and then, with one last, loud thunk, the engine ceased up and died. There was the sound of metal grinding against metal as a huge cloud of thick, black smoke shot out from under the engine cowling. Then all was silence except for the shrill wind and the steady slapping of waves against the side of the boat.

“What the f*ck?” Mike said with a scowl.

Evan looked at them with a tight, worried expression. His lips were nearly bloodless, and his eyes were glistening and wide.

“Please don’t tell me the engine just died,” Tyler said, leaning close to Jeff.

“’Fraid so,” Jeff said. “I thought the way it was smoking the mix was off.”

His grip on the rum bottle tightened, and he watched as the boat, carried by the current, started drifting away from the island. Once it was back in the wind, it came around so the bow was heading into the wind.

“What the f*ck are we gonna do?” Mike asked, sounding angry, but Evan ignored him as he flipped the ignition switch on the engine several times. The only result was a steady click-click-click that lasted as long as he held the ignition on.

“Are we f*cked or what?” Fred asked as he looked at the shoreline, which was rapidly receding as the wind carried the boat further out onto the water. The frightened note in his voice made it easy for Jeff to imagine Fred had reverted to a terrified twelve-year-old boy.

Jeff took a quick glance over his shoulder at where they were headed. The mainland looked like it was at least two miles away in the direction they were going. To port and starboard, the shore was much closer, but it didn’t do them much good without an engine.

“Break out the oars,” Evan said simply.

Jeff noticed the oarlocks on the sides of the boat and the two oars, gray and splintered with age, on the floor underneath their seats. Without a word, he handed the rum to Mike and positioned himself on the center seat. Leaning down, he grabbed the oars and pulled them out. After fumbling the oarlocks into place, he positioned the oars and, gripping them tightly, bent his back and started rowing.

“You want me to take one of those?” Tyler said, tapping Jeff on the shoulder.

“I think I … got it,” Jeff said.

It had been a long time since he had rowed a boat, and he was finding it difficult to get a steady rhythm going. With just about every other stroke, one or the other oar would pop out of the oarlock and clatter against the gunwales.

The wind was blowing so hard and steady at his back that it felt like someone was behind him, pushing him with steadily increasing pressure. He didn’t want to look over his shoulder at the island to see how close it was. He knew he’d get discouraged when he saw how far he had to row. The wind was picking up strength, and the clouds were closed in. It wasn’t long before Jeff was tired and started thinking about letting someone else take over, but he doubted even two of them rowing together could make much headway.

“Think we should … head to … the mainland … and see … if we can find … someone with a … a motorboat who can … bring us … back to the island?” Jeff asked, grunting with every stroke.

“I doubt anyone’s around this late in the year,” Evan said, shading his eyes with his hand as he scanned the distant shoreline. After a moment, he came forward and pushed Jeff to one side and sat down next to him. Without a word, he took the oar on the starboard side from Jeff, and the two started rowing, synchronizing their strokes. Before long, they developed a steady rhythm.

“Just like the old days … in the whaling boats … huh?” Evan said, smiling a wide, toothy grin. The wind tousled his hair, and his eyes held a wild, almost crazy light. He looked like he was actually having fun, but Jeff was sure there was no way he could be enjoying this.

“More like … galley slaves … in Ben Hur,” Jeff replied, bending with each stroke.

“You know … The Romans … never … used slaves to … row their … galleys.”

“Really? … I’ll keep that in mind … next time I’m on Jeopardy.”

Jeff was smiling, but not as much as Evan. The truth was, he scolded himself for not seeing this coming. He’d had a bad feeling about this weekend, and now here they were, adrift on the lake in near-freezing conditions with rain or snow threatening, and no help in sight.

Yeah … Some fun!

But in a way, Jeff felt like a little kid again, too. He and his best friend from summer camp were doing something together that was fun and adventuresome and dangerous and—yes, maybe even a little crazy, but wasn’t that part of the fun? It was the kind of thing they would laugh their asses off about once it was over.

But it wasn’t over yet.

Before Jeff allowed himself to enjoy it too much, something else occurred to him that deflated any sense of fun or adventure.

What about tomorrow … when we’re all packed up and ready to leave? … How are we gonna get off the island if the goddamned motorboat’s defunct?

In spite of the cold wind, sweat ringed his neck and shoulders, tickling as it ran down his sides from his armpits. His shoulders and arms were going to be screaming with pain once this was over, but—just like when they were kids—he and Evan were the leaders of the group. They were the ones everyone depended on. He may not see it in their eyes now, but he knew Tyler, Fred, and Mike were counting on them to bring them safely to shore.

“Man! … This is a bitch!” Evan shouted as he leaned into it, grunting with each stroke. His good humor was replaced by grimness as the seriousness of their situation sank in.

“Piece of … cake,” Jeff said, but he was also beginning to lose hope.

How humiliating was this going to be if they had to put in to shore and then walk however far to find someone who could help them get back out to the island?

“How we … doing?” Evan asked, not looking up as he rowed.

From the bow of the boat, Tyler shouted, “You’re doing great. We’re gaining on it.”

What you mean ‘we,’ Kimosabe? Jeff thought.

Evan shot Jeff a look he found impossible to read. His eyes still held a glow of childlike amusement, but his mouth was set in one of the grimmest smiles Jeff had ever seen. He tried not to think about what Evan might be thinking as he put all his strength into rowing.

“If the water was any warmer, I’d dive in and pull the boat in,” Mike said, but Jeff scowled and shook his head. There was no way even someone as strong as Mike would be able to challenge this headwind.

“F*ck it!” Jeff suddenly shouted when his oar popped out of the oarlock and clattered against the side of the boat. He was pulling back hard and ended up punching himself in the gut hard enough to know the wind out of him. As he was repositioning the oar, he saw the watery swelling on the palm of his hand—the beginnings of a blister that would probably be the least of what he would suffer from this.

If only he had stayed back at the camp and let everyone else go for their little ride.

Maybe the extra weight of so many people on the boat had strained the motor and made it conk out.

But this was no time for recriminations or to stew about what he should or shouldn’t have done. He had to bend his back into the rowing and get himself and his friends out of this jam. Then he could deal with blisters and aching bones and muscles.

“Wanna another swig?” Mike asked as he held the rum bottle out to Jeff.

Jeff nodded, and Mike shifted forward so he was kneeling in front of Jeff where he could hold the bottle up to his mouth and pour some in.

Jeff’s eyes started watering all the more as the rum exploded in his mouth, warming his throat and belly. That was something they wouldn’t have had if this had happened when they were kids. With the alcohol warming him, he redoubled his efforts. He purposely didn’t pay any attention to how close they were to the island. He just kept rowing as if it was the only thing he knew. By now he and Evan had developed a steady rhythm. The boat cut through the water almost as swiftly as if it had a motor.

Without warning, the wind blowing at Jeff’s back cut off so abruptly it was as if someone had turned off a huge fan that was blowing across the lake. It the sudden calm, Jeff knew they had to be close to shore. He hadn’t realized how fast they had been rowing, but he didn’t break the pace he and Evan had developed.

“We’re in the … lee of … the island,” Evan said, grunting with each stroke. Whatever anger or concern had clouded his face before, it was gone now, replaced by that sappy grin of his as he glanced at Jeff.

Without speaking a word, they let up and rowed easily. The boat skimmed across the unruffled surface of the water where long, wavering reflections of dark pines rippled on the surface like huge spikes. Jeff sighed with relief when he looked over the side and saw the rocky lake bottom.

I can’t f*cking believe we made it, he thought, and with that thought came the deep muscle aches he knew would come. He stopped rowing and got up from the seat, letting the oar clatter onto the floor. Keeping one hand on the gunwales, he made his way to the stern of the boat and sat down.

“Someone else can row,” he said as he took the rum bottle from Mike and took a huge gulp. The alcohol hadn’t started to affect him yet, but this swig sent his head reeling.

Evan stopped rowing shortly after Jeff did and, leaning back, groaned.

“Mother f*cker that was a bitch!” he said as he held his hand out to Jeff for the bottle.

Mike and Tyler took their places at the oars and began rowing. It took them a while to develop any kind of rhythm. In spite of himself, Jeff couldn’t help but feel resentful that they got to row on the calmer part of the lake, once they were safely out of the wind.

They passed “The Pulpit” and, hugging close to shore, made their way back to the beach in front of the dining hall. By the time the keel hissed up onto the sand, Jeff’s muscles were screaming with agony. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost two o’clock. After not sleeping much—if at all—last night, he was going to need a nap.

And that, he thought, might work in his favor because even after the boat ride, he was determined to find a way to get away from everyone else and investigate the old infirmary.

If only the plumbing was working and he could take a long, hot shower. That would minimize the pains he was going to feel from such unaccustomed exercise. He noticed that the rum bottle was empty and threw it into the woods, where it frightened a squirrel who scampered away with a shrill warning cry.

He had things to do, but first … first, he needed some rest.