Jewelweed (34 page)

“It's one of the most significant events in human history,” explained August. “We need to camp out tonight and go over there after it gets dark.”

“Let's set up the tent,” suggested Ivan, “and put it by that dam we built.”

“Good idea,” August said, and they went downstairs.

The women were gone, and so were the coffee and the rolls. August and Ivan decided they must have carried them out to the garden.

Ivan led the way.

Sure enough, they were over by the fountain, at the little table. Winnie had opened the umbrella, and they were sitting under it, talking and talking.

“Whoa,” said August, stopping and looking over the tops of the giant-headed flowers. Ivan looked too, but he was distracted by the sound
of the bees and other insects. That was the thing about nature, he thought: wherever you looked something was happening.

“Whoa what?” he asked.

“They're so different,” August said, pointing at the three women.

He was right. They were as different as they could possibly be. Ivan's brown mother, who'd been complaining about hot weather all week, had on those ridiculous new bright red shorts of hers, a blazing yellow harness top that didn't reach her waist, a white baseball hat, white tennis shoes, and no socks. Directly beside her, Amy Roebuck's wide, sunburned face was the color of a tomato. Her hair was perfectly arranged, light-brown and curly, and she wore a cream-colored blouse, dark green puddle-hoppers chopped off below the knee, anklebone-length green socks, and greenish-brown wooden clogs. And then there was August's chalk-white mom, taking up only half the width of her chair, with straight hair, a black shirt, and a plain gray skirt that would have covered her black loafers and black socks had she been standing.

They looked like three pieces from three different puzzles. But that didn't keep them from getting along, which they were doing quite well. They all jabbered at once, stopping only to take quick breaths. As they talked on, they shifted positions, crossed their legs, folded their arms, made shapes with their hands, pointed with their fingers, leaned on the tabletop, stood up, drank coffee, and tore pieces of rolls out of the pan, sticking them in their mouths whenever the staccato exchange provided a rare opportunity.

Ivan watched August approach these women. With his hands folded behind his back and in his preacher's-son voice, he said, “Hi, Mom. Hello, Ms. Workhouse and Mrs. Roebuck.”

The women froze. They stared at August as if he were a burning fuse leading up to a truck bomb. Ivan smiled. August often had that effect on people. There was something about him they were never quite prepared for. “Hi, August,” said Dart.

“Is it all right if Ivan and I camp out tonight?” he asked.

“If it's all right with Ivan's mother,” said Winnie.

Dart simply nodded. August took a couple of rolls. On the other side of the garden he handed one to Ivan and they went back to the house to pack the things they needed for the night ahead.

They filled a duffel bag with flashlights, a knife, some rope, August's new bat detector, two water bottles, a snakebite kit, a waterproof container with matches, gifts for the hermit and the Wild Boy, and a handful of candy bars. The hermit would also need reading material, August added, and the Wild Boy would need nutrients to supplement his sporadic intake of honey, insects, herbs, and roots.

“This is a story about a pet dragon,” Ivan said, staring at the book's cover. “You really think the hermit will want it?”

“It has an uplifting ending,” August said. “And Mr. Mortal, I'm afraid, is in danger of losing his faith.”

“In what?”

“Mankind.”

“What's this?” asked Ivan.

“A jar of strawberry jam.”

It took them the rest of the afternoon to set up camp beside the creek. They put August's tent right next to the dam, and built a ring of firestones not far from the entrance.

The pool of water seemed as deep as ever. “Hey,” called Ivan, “there's something down there.”

August came over and looked. “You're right,” he said. Something glimmered on the bottom.

“I'm going to get it,” he said. Then he dropped to his knees and stuck his arm in up to the shoulder.

“I'd go easy with that,” said Ivan. “Could be a snapper down there.”

When his arm came up, August had a big hunk of crystal on the end of it.

“What is it?” asked Ivan.

“Quartz.”

“We didn't put that in there,” Ivan said. “No way.”

“It was the Wild Boy,” said August.

“Why would he do that?”

“I don't know. And I also don't know where he possibly found such a large piece.”

“Let me hold it.”

August was right. It was as big as a loaf of bread and stunningly clear.

“We better put it back,” Ivan said, and they did.

When August's dad came home they went in for supper. A prayer was said by August's mom, and they ate vegetables, soup, cheese, and grainy bread. There was a lot of talk about the ex-prisoner working for Jacob. He'd recently moved in to a run-down farmhouse outside Words. Winnie was worried about him.

“He'll be fine,” Jacob said.

“I hope so,” said Winnie. “That house hasn't been lived in for years. It's in terrible condition.”

“Blake needs a place of his own. His motorcycle is running now and he's feeling fairly good about everything. Nate took a load of furniture out for him. They've got a couple rooms set up.”

“There's no central heat, for goodness' sake.”

“Blake won't miss it any more than July did.”

Mrs. Helm paused, closed her eyes for a moment, and continued: “I don't know how you could bring yourself to go out there, Jacob. Every time I decide to go I get no farther than the drive. It's too hard to go back.”

“It wasn't so bad this time.”

“And you went inside the house?”

“Blake didn't want to go in alone.”

“What was it like?”

“Time had settled everything, but I could still almost imagine July walking out of one of the rooms.”

“Don't talk like that, Jacob. It betrays your superstitious nature. Ivan, don't listen to him. Apart from several extremely rare examples of theophany—where a divine image of God appears to someone in less-fortunate countries—there are no ghosts.”

“I know,” replied Ivan.

“I thought you were going to invite him over for supper,” she said to her husband.

“I was, but he and his father were going somewhere to eat smelt. Nate found a restaurant he hadn't been to before and he was bringing his cousin along—someone named Bee. She wanted to ride there on the back of Blake's motorcycle.”

Winnie looked disappointed.

“I'll bring him another time.”

“Could we be excused?” asked August.

“I suppose,” said Mrs. Helm, looking from her lap to her uneaten plate of food and then back to Ivan. “Ivan, are you sure you've had enough to eat?”

“I'm sure,” replied Ivan, and the two boys went off.

Later that night, the full moon lit up the campsite. The air was hot, and loud with the sounds of insects and other creatures. They made a fire out of the best wood they could find.

“What time is it?” asked August.

“Time to leave,” Ivan said, and then they both heard something coming toward them out of the darkness.

Jacob sat down next and stirred the fire with a stick. “Are you and Ivan thinking of going anywhere tonight?” he asked August.

When August didn't answer, he said, “I just wanted to let you know that I spoke with Lester a couple days ago. He mentioned that you might be coming over. I told him that would be all right with me and your mother.”

“So it's okay?” asked August.

“Yes. Lester's a good man. Some of the things he does are a little different, but you don't need to be afraid of him as long as you remember to be respectful.”

“Of course,” said August.

“If you're not back before midnight, I'll come looking for you,” he said. Then, after stirring the fire again, he threw the stick in and walked back to the house.

A
ugust and Ivan sat by the fire and discussed which path they should take over the ridge. One of them had bigger trees, less underbrush, and less light. The other path was more in the open, weedier but longer. They decided in favor of the former route and walked away from the campsite. Somewhere far in the distance a band of coyotes began yapping, a sound that cut through the steady drone of insects. After a little while they took out the flashlights and split one of the emergency candy bars. Ivan burned the wrapper so they wouldn't leave behind any signs.

Milton seemed glad to have August and Ivan outdoors at night. He was at home in the darkness, and he swooped around catching insects, making clipping sounds when his leather wings snapped together. Every so often he'd fly off for a while, but he never stayed away too long.

“Can we can trust this hermit guy?” Ivan asked.

“Absolutely,” said August.

“How can you be sure?”

“It's hard to explain. When you meet him, you'll know.”

“Other people meet him and they don't know. They think he's nuts.”

“You'll know,” said August.

On the other side of the ridge, on the bottom of the first valley, they found a path littered with bottles and cans that winked with moonlit eyes. An owl hooted and something else made an even creepier sound. Milton came flapping back and lit on August's shoulder.

“What does that mean?” asked Ivan, shining his light into the bat's eyes.

“What?”

“Him on your shoulder.”

“It doesn't mean anything.”

“Everything means something,” said Ivan.

“It doesn't mean anything important.”

“There's someone else here. I can feel it. Someone is watching us.”

“You're just imagining things,” said August, and they continued along the path.

Ivan was trying to watch where he was going, but he stepped on an empty bottle. It didn't break, but the lumpy hardness under his shoe was a really bad feeling. And before he got over it, there they were—on the edge of the melon field. Everywhere were melons with moon shadows beside them.

“I don't want to go out there,” Ivan said. “Is there another way?”

“There isn't,” said August. “And if we went another way he'd know that too.”

“How?”

“I think he has trip wires, detectors, and even tunnels leading away from his hut.”

“Let's rest a minute, this bag is getting heavy.”

“I'll carry it,” said August.

“No you won't,” Ivan said, and shifted it to his other shoulder.

“Let's go across,” August said, and started through the field.

They were about halfway across when a flame shot up on the edge of the trees on the other side.

“What's that?”

“A torch,” whispered August. “Keep your voice down, he can hear you.”

“Cripes,” whispered Ivan. “I wasn't counting on a torch.”

The bushy orange flame burned brightly, illuminating a furry form beneath it.

“Come on ahead,” said a gruff voice.

“We're coming as rapidly as possible under the circumstances,” replied August. “It's not easy walking through these melons.”

“It's not supposed to be,” said the voice. “Who you got with you, August?”

“I told you, my friend Ivan. And Milton is here as well.”

“I was hoping to see him again,” said the voice. “What's your friend carrying?”

“Our stuff,” said Ivan, testing his own voice. “Rope and matches, a knife, stuff like that. And candy bars—three of them.”

“In truth, we could use a good rope.”

August had already described Lester Mortal to Ivan, but in the torchlight the hermit looked like a bear dressed in army clothes.

Then he laughed suddenly, in a crazy way.

“What's so funny?” asked August.

“Your flashlights bobbing along look like boats on a bumpy sea.”

“Well, take whatever pleasure you find,” said August. “That's what my mom says—so long as it comes free and clear. Ivan and I don't mind being laughed at.”

“I wasn't laughing at you. I was afraid you wouldn't come,” said Lester.

“I said I would,” said August. “I wasn't sure Ivan could make it, but nothing would stop me.”