The Naked Gardener (8 page)

Finally we could all see the tarpon coming closer to the boat.

“A monster,” Buddy said. “A cow if I ever saw one. Must be a hundred and forty pounds if he’s an ounce. If you can boat that one, my hat’s off to you.”

I pulled up on the rod again and reeled the fish closer. Buddy got out the gaff hook. He leaned over the side, getting into position to hook the fish and haul it in for a picture.

As he held the hook over the water, I walked toward him, pulled the line alongside the boat, steering the fish in for the final catch. The fish came within six feet of the boat and then it leapt into the air completely clearing the water with a huge splash that soaked all three of us. The huge fish thrashed its silver body back and forth and with one last swipe of its tail and fling of its head, spit out the hook, plopped back down into the water and took off like a torpedo. Just when you think you’re in the clear, you’re looking down at an empty hand.

* * *

By the time we had eaten and cleaned up, doused the fire and repacked the canoes, the afternoon sun had cleared the trees and was full on us. I had put my pants and T-shirt back on when I emerged from the water and now even my underwear was dry.

“It’s so hot,” Valerie rubbed her forearm against her face. “I’m dripping.” Her blue pants were sweat stained in the back and there were large patches of dark stain under the arms of her pale blue shirt. She took off her hat and wiped sweat from her forehead.

“Me too,” Hope said.

They both looked at the water as if they had the same idea at the same time.

Roz shrugged her shoulders. “There’s nobody around for miles.” She pulled off her creek shoes and pulled her shirt over her head as the rest of us watched.

“What’s the big deal?”

“Yeah,” Charlene nodded. “No biggie.”

She stripped down leaving only Erica and me still dressed.

“What about you?” Hope asked me.

“Oh, it’s fine with me but I can tell you it will feel better later if you get out of your underwear too.”

I began to undress again, then Charlene decided it was her duty to direct even Erica.

“If you do not disrobe with the rest of us we’ll throw you in fully dressed.”

“I want to,” said Erica. “I really do. But … ”

“Come on. It’ll be fun,” Hope said, patting her arm. “If I can do it, you can do it.”

“You all go in first and I’ll follow. But you can’t look at me.” Erica folded her arms.

The sun was blasting hot. No breeze stirred the willows at this time of day. We stripped bare and ran naked to the water. With squeals, we hit the cold water and ran splashing like puppies until we reached the deeper part and dipped down beneath the surface where we swam and swam. We all headed for the rock ledges and soon Erica was behind us doggie paddling her way across the narrow channel.

I led them to the spot where there was a handhold. I hauled myself out first and helped the others, dripping and scrambling. Erica was the last.

She reached up and took my hand.

“I never felt so free in my whole life,” she said. A big smile lit up her face. Her hair hung in wet strands grazing her shoulders. “What if you can’t pull me up?” She rested her right foot against the rock.

“Push up with your feet while I pull you. And use your left hand on this ledge. Right here,” I guided Erica’s left hand until she grabbed the rock.

“This exercise will help you develop climbing fingers,” I smiled down at Erica reassuringly.

“Just close your eyes when I come up out of the water. I don’t want anyone looking at me.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Erica. We’re not beauty queens here, Nobody cares what you look like.” Charlene again, the executive.

“Val’s a beauty queen,” said Hope.

“Not any more I’m not,” said Valerie.

With a grunt and a splash, Erica pulled herself up and onto the rock ledge. Water cascaded off her in a rush. The sun hit her body as she crawled over to a flat place and stretched out her stomach. The rock was warm. She lay there, her breathing shallow, with the sun on her back.

“Oh the hell with it,” she said as we lay there quietly soaking up the sun like turtles lined up on a log.

With an intake of breath, Erica raised herself onto her knees and then stood straight up, arms raised toward the sky. “Here I am. Take it or leave it.”

“You look just like a Rubens,” I told her quietly. “A beautiful, lush, full-bodied womanly Rubens.”

“What happened to that woman? When did we decide that emaciated was beautiful?” Hope asked.

“When gay fashion designers wanted their clothes to look like they were hanging on a clothes hanger and not on a body. Don’t think just because I’ve always been thin that I’ve always loved my body. I don’t know one woman who wouldn’t change her body in some way. The models I knew all thought there was something wrong with the way they looked.”

“I blame Hugh Heffner. The old letch.” Erica laughed but there was an edge of resentment in her voice, too.

We sat there quietly. I thought about a study I’d read. When men were asked to look in a mirror and report what they saw, they said they were handsomer than they really were and that their bodies looked better than they really did. Women reported the opposite. What was wrong with women? Why did they think there was something wrong with them? When did that happen? I supposed it was when the culture shifted from an agricultural base, when women were prized for ample hips and a wide birth canal so they could provide lots of hands to tend the farm.

One by one, each woman turned to face the sun. We sat down in a line like children, legs hanging over the rock where I had caught the fish, feet sloshing in the cool water. We swung our legs and grinned at each other.

“This is the best day I’ve ever had without a man,” said Charlene.

“Almost as good as sex. Maybe better. Don’t have to worry about…” This from Roz. After the stories about men I couldn’t help but ask.

“About what?”

“What I look like. What I’ll feel like when he’s gone. If he’ll call again. If he doesn’t, what I’ll do. If I even want him to.”

***

Before we pulled out again, I asked the women how they’d each decided to be on the council.

“I met Erica through a local save the animals fair,” said Hope. “My parents were Methodist missionaries in Ghana and then Sierra Leone. When they retired, I came back to Vermont. I got a job as church secretary, but I think being a nurse will suit me better. I still want to serve. It’s just that the missionary life is not right for me.”

Erica followed, “Well you all know how I got on it. Carter Cummings died and the other men on the council asked my husband, Will, to take his place. As an appointee. Just until the next election. What a joke. Will said he was too busy golfing so he asked me to do it instead. He had to talk those men into taking me on. But they made me promise not to suggest anything or go against any of their votes.”

“That’s disgusting,” said Charlene. “I wish you’d told me that before. I would have taken them to court.”

“Steady, Clarence Darrow,” Roz wisecracked.

“That was before they decided to bail on the town. And before our son, Matthew, was deployed. Now I’m glad I have something to occupy my mind,” Erica said. “He’s a lieutenant in the infantry, a communications specialist. I worry about him all the time. Constantly im-ing him & sending him care packages. He tells me not to worry but what can I do? Will’s way of dealing with it is not to talk about it. I blame him. All that be a man crap. It drives me crazy. I’m sixty-two, retired from a government job, and have a husband whose main interest in life is golf and trying to forget his son’s off fighting a war for who knows what. So that leaves the council.”

“Didn’t Will have something to do with developers when he was still practicing?” asked Charlene.

“He was a real estate lawyer. If that’s what you mean,” said Erica. “Like you. I mean the lawyer part. But, yes, he worked mostly for developers. He always said that’s where the money was. I suppose it still is.”

“Well at least Charlene does some pro bono work,” said Hope. “She helps people who really need it.”

“That’s how I got on the council,” Charlene turned to Katelyn. “My firm represents a green coalition and I suggested getting on the council would fit in nicely. So here we are.”

“How about you?” I asked Valerie.

“Me?” said Valerie, pointing to herself. “That’s simple. I was bored. And I guess I like anything that gets me in front of people. I get to buy a new outfit twelve times a year for the monthly public meetings. That’s about it. Oh, and my husband, Dr. Reconstruction,” she nodded at Charlene, “is against my doing it. So that’s a plus.”

“Val’s not being entirely honest about this,” said Erica. “She’s also a distant relative of the founder of Trout River Falls. The original mill owner I think. Isn’t that right?”

“So they’ve told me,” said Valerie. “Personally I think it’s probably a lot of bunk. I’m not very big on ancestor worship. My family on my mother’s side was in this area for a long time. But there aren’t any of them left as far as I know.”

“I guess that leaves me,” Roz said. “I’m a sucker for a cause. Anyone will tell you. I take in strays. It’s probably why I got married three times. Saving Trout River Falls is going to be a lot less of a headache than trying to rebuild another wreck of a man.”

I slipped off the rock ledge into the cool water. It was time to be on our way.

“We have to get to our campsite before dusk,” I told them. I dipped my head back, dunked my hair into the river and came up shaking off the excess water.

“Are you going to catch us more fresh fish for dinner?” asked Charlene as she let herself down from the rock into the water.

“If there’s a good place to fish where we land later.”

Erica was the last to lower herself. We made our way across to the sandy island where we’d left the canoes. We passed around towels to dry off and put our clothes back on. “Let’s rearrange canoe partners so we all pair with someone new,” Roz suggested.

After we packed up the cooking equipment and stowed all our gear back in the canoes, I showed Hope some paddling techniques. How to feather parallel to the canoe to come up alongside something sideways. How to back paddle to steer and how to alternate sides to keep a steady rhythm with the bow paddler.

We pushed off, Roz now partnered with Erica, Hope with me, Charlene with Valerie. The strong canoers sat in the bows so the weaker ones could get some practice in control and steering.

“See, you have the power to direct where the canoe goes, how fast, and when and how to change direction. If we were negotiating rapids, you’d have to be switching sides and steering to avoid rocks and pillows.”

“What’s a pillow?” Hope asked.

“When you see a bulge in the water, that tells you that something hard is under the surface and you want to avoid it.”

“But what about you in the bow?”

“The bow has no power to control the boat. I can only paddle harder and faster. You control what happens.”

We tried a few tests and I was surprised at how quickly Hope caught on. “Oh, I see,” she said and feathered us over to Erica and Roz. The others listened and tried what Hope was doing and pretty soon we were paddling hard down the river.

The river wound around in this section, curving in and out, skirting shoals and creating more islands like the one where we had stopped. You could see where the spring floods had left a water mark along steep banks, gouged out earth exposed tree roots dug deep back into the bank. Here and there large boulders were exposed with now and then a turtle resting on a rock ledge. Birds called, flying over the canoes. A crow cawed. Two wrens sang a lively, complex song answering each other in turn. The motion of the canoes spooked a great blue heron standing on a dead tree limb by the water. It took off with a raspy complaint. We paddled with regular strokes now, moving downriver faster than the current. The sun’s rays peeked through the leaves in a scattering of light on the water, which ran clear and brown, bubbling in spots, swirling in others, its surface like undulating velvet.

I thought about Maze and me, tried to picture what the future looked like. I didn’t want to repeat my past where the deal we made – the music man and I – had changed into something unrecognizable. How could I count on a deal with Maze to stay the same? Maze. He seemed to know who he was. He wouldn’t suddenly give up teaching, researching, being fascinated by native cultures. I was worried about nothing. But I was still worried. If we got married, how would the ground between us shift? Rocks that were now hidden would work their way to the surface. I had no idea what was down there. Or what it would require of me. I was afraid of losing myself. It seemed as if it was always the woman who got lost in marriage. Even her name was not her own anymore. I would not change my name.

In time we arrived where we would spend our first night and set about making camp. The chores were not unlike what we were used to doing at home. If any of the forest creatures that emerge at night were watching us, they might have wondered at these invaders who pitched tents, gathered firewood, unloaded mess kits and cooking gear and prepared for supper and sleep later. We set up a temporary mini village, with eating area, cooking area, and sleeping area. We unpacked duffels and food packs, went into the cooler only once to remove whatever fresh food we would need for this meal and then shut it tight to keep the rest of the food fresh as long as possible. By the next night, we would be eating canned or dried food or what we could heat in water like rice or pasta. Unless we found wild berries, or I caught more fish, fresh food would not be on the menu.