Spider Lake (11 page)

Ben looked over at the old man and it was then he noticed Sam’s injured hand. Sam was still holding the pole, still looking down at the water and smiling, and through his closed fist the blood was running in-between his fingers and down the fishing rod. It looked as if Sam had no idea he was even injured.

“Sam! Are you okay?”

Sam looked at Ben with a bewildered expression. He had no idea what the boy was talking about.

“Sam, your hand!”

Sam looked down and then he understood. The line in-between his fingers had sliced him so quickly, he didn’t even feel it. He knew by the volume of blood that it was probably deep. A small cut always hurt, but with this injury he felt no pain— until he opened his hand. “Not a good idea.” He thought to himself, and he closed his hand as tightly as he could. Ben’s face was turning white at the sight of Sam’s blood.

“You had better sit down my boy. I would hate for you to fall over the side! That fish might still be around and take a bite out of you! I may need a stitch or two when we get on shore, so when you are up to it we better get moving. What a sight that fish was! A fresh-water leviathan! No reason to feel bad about that one not being landed! No sir! That fish was bested in every way by you Ben. You played her perfectly. You had her plum tired, and with a double-sized net you would have landed her for sure!”

Sam tore off a bit of his shirt sleeve and wrapped it around his injured hand. Ben rowed as fast as he could and before long they were back ashore. As it turned out, Sam did need a couple stitches in each finger. He complained about going to the doctor, but Allie would not allow him to stitch it up himself.

That night at the screen-porch cocktail party, the two had great fun telling and re-telling the story to every ear that would listen. Sam was so animated that he even allowed himself one scotch and water. The next morning the guests of each cabin had a renewed enthusiasm for fishing, and looking at them all rowing towards the western end of the lake, reminded Sam of the seventh fleet as it headed out on maneuvers.

Ben had a new respect for the old man. Each time he thought about the whole fishing experience, his thoughts kept coming back to the fact that Sam seemed to know exactly when the fish was going to strike. He thought about all the possible ways Sam might have known. He supposed that Sam must have seen his line twitch, that he had been watching Ben’s line at the time. Ben had to convince himself that Sam was just lucky in his guess.

The next couple of days Sam stayed mostly in his cabin. Ben delivered his meals as usual, but breakfast and lunch were left mostly uneaten. One evening Sam walked to the main house and knocked on the screen door. Allie answered the door.

“Hello Sam, how is the hand?”

“Oh, it is alright Mrs. Fisher. Just a little sore. I’ve had worse.”

“What can I do for you Sam?”

“I came to square up with you Mrs. Fisher.”

“Sam, there is no need for you to—”

Sam held up his good hand and stopped Allie mid sentence. With his bandaged hand he reached into his vest pocket, and much to Allie’s surprise, he produced four shiny one-ounce gold coins. “Mrs. Fisher, I want to tell you that I appreciate your hospitality.”

“Oh Sam no. You don’t have—”

Sam held his hand up again just as before.

“Mrs. Fisher, if you please, let me finish. I have made the acquaintance of all sorts of people in my life. Some were good and some bad. Mostly they were neither good or bad, just sort of in the middle. I am a person who often gets judged by my shabby appearance. People sight-qualify me before they ever even get to know me. I know by all appearances, I look to be a bum, but the fact is, I am a man of simple needs Mrs. Fisher. I am comfortable in these old clothes. What I’m getting at is you and your husband and your boy could have judged me by my appearance, but you didn’t. You took me in, never asked for a thing. You fed me. Your boy showed me all the respect I could ask for. You even took me to your family saw-bones and got me bandaged up. For all your kindnesses I am grateful. It gives me a renewed faith in humanity. It makes me happy to know there are still good people like you in the world. Lastly, I am sorry for not letting on about having the wherewithal to pay my way. If you remember, I promised to square up with you. I am a man of my word.”

He handed her the coins. Allie just stood there open mouthed. She didn’t know what to say. “Sam, this is too much. You may need this money.” Was all she could say.

“Mrs. Fisher, I assure you. I have more than enough. Please do not ask me to take it back. I do have one more favor to ask you.”

“Sure Sam, what is it you want?”

Sam reached once again into his pocket and pulled out another gold coin. “I would like you to give this to Ben as a tip if you think it would be appropriate.”

“Okay Sam, I will— and thank you.”

“Oh, and I almost forgot Mrs. Fisher. These coins are worth about thirty-five dollars apiece. Don’t let anyone take advantage of you by paying the twenty dollar face value.” And with that, Sam turned around and shuffled back across the clearing to his cabin. Allie watched him as he walked, and thought it odd that the old man, so shabbily dressed, could produce five shiny gold coins from his vest pocket as if it were small change.
 

The following morning as Ben was opening the screen porch door, he was surprised to see the monkey on the porch steps. The animal was clearly agitated, and as Ben made his way through the door the monkey snarled and streaked towards cabin six. Ben instinctively felt that something was wrong. When he got to the cabin he knocked on the door. No answer. Morris, now on the cabin roof was sneering at Ben, and was pacing back and forth the length of the cabin. Ben knocked again. Still no answer. He called, “Sam! Are you in there?”

No answer.

“Sam! Are you okay?”

Nothing.

Ben dropped the plate of food and ran back to the house. His parents were at the kitchen table eating their breakfast when he burst in. “I think there is something wrong with Sam! He isn’t answering his door. The monkey is freaking out.”

John grabbed the spare key to cabin six and made his way quickly across the clearing. Morris was still pacing back and forth atop the cabin and it shrieked at John as he knocked on the door.

“Sam, are you in there? Sam, this is John. I am going to open the door.”

John turned the key and opened the door. Morris shrieked as he ran through John’s legs and made a bee-line to the cabin bedroom. John called out once again to Sam. “Sam, are you all right? May I come in?”

John peered cautiously into the bedroom. Sam was laying on the bed with his back to John and the door. Morris was at the foot of the bed, still shrieking. John gently shook the old man’s shoulder, and through the pajamas John could feel that Sam was cold to the touch. He quickly felt the old man’s neck for a pulse and found none. He shuddered as he looked at Sam’s pallid face. Sam was dead.

John went to Allie and Sam who were waiting at the cabin door. His expression gave them the news even before he spoke;
 
“Sam has passed on Allie. We need to call the sheriff.”

“Are you sure John?”

“Yes Allie, I’m positive. He has no pulse and he— is cold.”

Ben was shocked at the revelation of Sam’s passing, and he could think of nothing at all to say. His thoughts seemed to be in a state of slow-motion. His jaw felt as though it had unhinged, leaving his mouth dry. He sat down at the picnic table.

Allie fought back the urge to cry. She had really liked the old man. “I’ll go make the call John.” She headed for the main house as if she were in a dream.

Later that day, after the sheriff and the paramedics had gone, Allie and John began cleaning the cabin. It was then that they had found hiding under the bed, a package, neatly wrapped in plain brown butcher’s paper. Taped to the package was an envelope addressed to Allie Fisher. She opened the envelope, and read the hand-written note inside;

Dear Mrs. Fisher,

If you are reading this note, it means I have moved on down the road. I’ve never been one for long good-byes. This package contains the little project I have been keeping myself busy with this past week. Please pass it along to Ben with my warmest regards as a sort of thank-you.

All the best,

Sam

Allie was not sure what to think of the peculiar note. Apparently Sam had planned on leaving the resort, but had died in his sleep instead. The note gave her an odd feeling that somehow Sam might have known he was going to pass on, the note being a more permanent kind of good-bye. She put the thought out of her mind. “Don’t be silly Allie. Nobody can predict when they will die.” she thought to herself. She called to Ben from across the clearing.

“Ben, can you come here please?”

She handed her son the package and the hand-written note. “Poor Mister Regola left you this Ben.”

Ben read the note that Sam had left to his mother. He didn’t feel much like getting a thank-you, see you in the sweet by and by, gift from a dead man. Ben liked Sam, and would have gladly opened the package had Sam still been alive, but the whole idea of opening the dead man’s package made him very uneasy. “Mom, it creeps me out to open this package.”

“Ben, it is never easy when someone you know passes away. Mr. Regola liked you, and he left you something to remember him by, that’s all. He couldn’t have known that he was going to pass on during the night. I am sure he would want you to keep the gift regardless of the circumstances. Let’s see what he made you Ben.”

Ben tore open the plain brown wrapping paper. Inside was a neatly framed painting of the Rule estate as viewed from the lake. Prominent in the foreground was the old wooden water tower and boat house. Much smaller in the background stood the three story Victorian mansion. The painting was signed on the lower right. The first line read; “Regola” and below that “egg tempera 1968” On the reverse side of the panel the same brown butcher’s paper had been glued to the frame and used as a backing. Written on it in Sam’s handwriting were the words:

Ben, Look within for the answers that you seek.

Ben glanced up at his mother with a puzzled look on his face. He shrugged his shoulders.

“What does Sam mean Ben? What answers are you seeking?”

“Mom, I have no clue. Maybe it is an ancient proverb or something Confucius might have said.”

“What an odd painting.” Allie said as she looked over the primitive artwork. “Why would Sam make the water-tower the focal point?”

“Mom, do I have to keep it?”

Ben had been trying to forget all about the incident earlier that summer at the Rule estate. The thought of having a painting to remind him each and every day of his narrow escape from the Hell-hound did not appeal to him at all. “I really don’t like it all that much.”

“Ben, Sam made this for you. Why would you not want to keep it?”

Ben had to think fast.“Mom, it just kind of creeps me out— you know, because he died here.”

“I have an idea Ben. How about we hang it up here in cabin six to honor Sam’s memory?”

Ben loved the idea, and so the painting of the water tower was permanently hung in cabin six as a tribute, and in the memory of, Sam Regola.

octor Levine paged his receptionist via the intercom. “Cathy, could you please bring Mister Fisher and I some tea? Thank you. Ben, in your dream, the monkey shows up two times. First it is climbing a water tower, and then it is on the mansion grounds where you and your friend Matt are taking shelter beneath the boat during the bad storm. Does the monkey menace you in any way?”

“What do you mean by menace?”

“Does the monkey threaten you?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that he threatens me, but the little bugger bares his teeth and scares the crap out of Matt and I.”

“Why do you think the monkey is climbing the water tower?”

“Doctor, this is very frustrating. I have no idea why a monkey would be climbing a water tower, other than the fact that he is a monkey, and the water tower looks like a giant jungle gym.”

“Humor me Ben. You have told me that the monkey ruined your family’s resort business. The monkey signifies a menacing presence from your past. I am merely trying to ascertain whether or not the water tower menaces you as well.”

“How on earth could a water tower be a menace to me?”

“Let me ask you this Ben. Are you afraid of heights?”

There was a quiet knock on the office door. Doctor Levine opened it and in walked Cathy with a silver tray with a decorative ceramic Chinese pot and matching tea cups. She set the tray down on the coffee table and began to pour tea.

“Hello Mister Fisher. How is your head?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but continued pouring. “Do you use cream or sugar?”

“I will take some cream, thanks, and my head is doing just fine.”

Ben felt like a pure-bred, bona fide idiot and wished he could take back what he had just said. He wished that he could think more quickly and actually say something marginally witty now and then.