Tributary

Blue mountains silhouetted the late sun. A cold frost began to set heavily on the fresh, sweet smelling pine branches that lined a small river, a tributary unknown to maps. Steam rose off the river from the contrast of the temperature in the water and in the air. The sky was dark orange as a young man drifted down the river in a smoothed, wooden canoe. In every way he was out of place in this harsh and beautiful landscape, but in so many ways belonged there. Startlingly handsome, he was alone, wearing only thin jeans and a pale shirt. But he didn’t stop to shiver or show once that he was cold. And he was motionless, moved only by the water. The oar rested perpendicular to his body, resting flat on the edges of the canoe. His blonde hair was rich in the late dusk light, and his narrow, even face was absent of all but content. Somewhere, a bird called. He glanced to the source, to see an eagle leap from a majestic pine, causing the tip of it to sway as if in a wind, which was absent. It sailed towards the blue mountains, growing smaller and smaller. They young man returned his gaze ahead, watching the even ripples of the water as he flowed with it further south.

            A rock face came into view as the river began to curve to the west, a very noticeable shift. Using the oar only briefly to steer himself away from it, he gazed up at it. Granite and limestone composed the wall. It was cracked and lined with moss. It took every bit of self-control for the young man to resist the temptation to find a way to climb the rocks. It was this same attitude that had brought him to this desolate river, a tributary of the mighty Mississippi, near southern Wisconsin. There was longing for danger, a hope that something, preferably bad, would happen. The trees that lined the short river shadowed everything beyond as the night threw more into shadow. The young man stared deep in to the space, unaware of what could be within but with a strong desire to find out. As he stared with longing, the ripples in the river grew more concrete and began to foam.

            As he came around the bend, he was met by a small section of white water, with small, crashing waves and frothing white foam. There was a gleam in the young man’s eyes and a smirk that stretched across his face. A challenge for the child within. He swept his oar over to the right, quickly covering his two bags of supplies at the bottom of the canoe with a tarp to keep them as dry as possible. He then gave his full focus on the river that was now moving swiftly before him. The instant the front of the canoe hit the first wave crest, the canoe violently shook, and the young man was given a rather strenuous job of staying afloat. Through it all, he wore the smug look on his face. It took his entire being to stay upright. He was constantly leaning against the boat, switching the oar from side to side, just to stay balanced, let alone steer. The river shouted around him, determined to be the victor. But the young man was not ready to fall.

            Moving all of his strength to his waist, which leaned back and forth to keep the canoe from tipping over, he was free to focus on steering, though it was a debilitating process. He had only a few seconds to work with before he would collapse under the pressure. He turned the nose of the boat so smoothly it seemed like magic. But, before he knew it, he was heading west, and slightly south, having turned the corner of the tributary and been spit out by the river into calmer waters. Chewed, swallowed, and spit back up, he was wet, alive, and tired. The sound was reduced once again to a gurgle in the background. The young man, for the first time, did not have the composure he once had. He was slouched over, breathing heavily and massaging his sides. He hadn’t expected it to be so rough. Nor had he expected to have to work so hard. And now, he was tired, and night was nearly here, though he had planned to go a ways further. This hope was dashed.

            He steered the boat to the right side bank, still following with the river current, which still moved quickly. He had enough speed to moor his boat nearly halfway on the rocky, gravel shore without too much effort. The rocks made a jarring screeching sound as the boat grinded against them. The young man tossed his oar onto the shore and stood in the boat for a moment. The back end bobbed back and forth, but the side that was shored up was motionless. He pulled back the grey tarp, finding his bags to be relatively dry. He grabbed both of them, and climbed out of the canoe, dragging it the rest of the way up onto shore and out of the water. As he made his way up a small sand cliff, which was no taller than he was, the light slowly began to fade away, and it was growing harder to see.

 

            It seemed that in no time at all, there was a fire going. He had made his way several feet into the forest under the cover of the leaves and following the allure of the mystery of the dark. He settled next to a colossal tree. Though he was very good at identifying tree species, this one was unknown to him. It had a great opening in the bottom by its roots, forming a sort of half cave. There was plenty of dry wood, as well. He simply took low hanging branches that had avoided the growing frost. And that was when he realized he was beginning to freeze.

            He stripped down to nothing, and hung his damp clothes on a rack next to the fire to dry. He pulled wool pants and a shirt from one of the bags and, though scratchy, was warm, and he was thankful for it. From the same bag, he grabbed a sleeping back and several other pots, utensils, mugs, and other essentials for a man on the move. From the other, he pulled some unlabeled can. He opened it with his teeth, poured what appeared to be some canned stew, poured it into a pan, and set it over the fire to warm. While he waited, he lay back on his sleeping bag and stared at the few stars he could see through the thick forest canopy.

            There came a twig snapping. The young man was alert. It could have been a deer, or a raccoon, or nothing at all. But it could be something. He rose to one knee, grabbing a sheathed hunting knife from his food bag, ready to draw it at the first sign of a struggle. He saw the shadows the fire cast on the tree trunks, and he could feel his heart pounding in his throat. From behind a cliff face came two people, older than the young man yet much younger than his father. The young man froze. They saw him, put their hands in the air upon seeing the knife, and hollered over to him.

            “We don’t wanna hurt ya, son!” One of them yelled at the young man. He had salt and pepper hair and was balding down the middle, with a thick goatee, and thick trousers and a white coat. The young man remained motionless. They took a few steps forward.

            “We just want somewhere warm to sit and cook some food for ourselves to eat. We saw you in the river! ” The other man, slightly younger, with all of his dark hair, but with a smooth face continued. The young man unfroze his tongue.

            “I haven’t any food for you, sorry.”

            “No worries. We have our own. It just got to dark out to find good wood, ya see.” The salt and pepper haired man began to slowly walk forward, as if he were approaching a wild deer. The young man watched them come within the warmth radius of the fire, and he could see the look of content on their face as they felt it.

            “Sit down, I guess.” They young man say back down on his sleeping bag after stirring the stew, never taking his eyes off the two men. They both unslung heavy bags from their shoulders and collapsed, panting.

            “So, who are you?” they young man asked.

            “M’name is Carter, and this here is m’son Trevor.” The man with salt and pepper hair, Carter, spoke up.

            “What are you doing out here?” the young man inquired. Carter paused for a moment.

            “Ya see, we’ve hit some rough times. Foreclosed on m’farm, lost my wife and his mother to pneumonia… So this is what we’ve been doing. Heading in search of work. How ‘bout you? Who are you?
            “I’m Nick.”

            “Well, Nick, what are you doing out here.” Nick gave a very faint smile.

            “Believe me, I wish I knew.” They stopped as Nicks stew began to bubble, and he promptly removed it from the fire and poured it into a bowl, splashing a little extra canteen water on the dried stew in the pot. Carter and Trevor, hesitantly at first, waiting for Nick’s approval, began to prepare some sort of kebab, with terrible looking meat and God knows what else. Nick grimaced but, having been raised a polite young man, found those manners taking over, even here in the wilderness.

            There was a long silence while they prepared their meal. Finally, it was over the fire, with Trevor watching intermittently, rotating whatever was on the stick.

            “So, Nick, I’m still curious. You barely seem a man, yet your out here by yourself.” Nick smiled again.

            “Again, I’m not even sure why I’m out here.”

            “Searching for something?”

            “You could say that.” Carter bit into some cracker, and Nick listened to him crunch thoughtfully.

            “I bet your running from something.” Nick’s face flushed, and though he tried to hide it, Carter saw it. He smirked. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

            “Maybe.”

            “Well, c’mon, you can share with us. Were just a couple of strangers, ya know.”

            “That’s exactly why.” Carter frowned at Nicks response. He lit a pipe and took several large puffs out of it.

            Before long, the skewers were done, and the meat that had at once looked black appeared golden brown in the firelight. Nick blamed it on just that for its deceptively tasty appearance. Trevor and Carter split what was on the stick and began to eat. Carter took a piece of meat and handed it to Nick, who had finished his stew some time ago.

            “You wanna try?”

            “”Not really, no.”

            “Aww, c’mon, try it! Promise it’s good!” Nick sighed but gave in. Carter returned to his skewer, and Nick returned to laying on his sleeping bag, a giant knot in the ground poking into his back. As he chewed the meat, he was overcome by how delicious it was. He lifted his head to look at Carter and Trevor, wondering about the two.

            After everyone had eaten, they laid up against a tree or a backpack, to curl up and listen to the fire crackle. Nick looked at Carter and spoke.

            “It’s my father, by the way.” Carter turned and looked confused. “That’s why I’m trying to get away from something.” Carter smiled and moved closer to Nick.

            “Why’s that?” Nick mulled it over in his head, thinking of the best words to use.

            “He just… expects from me what I can’t give him. What I don’t want to give him. He has a plan for my life, and I don’t see myself anywhere in it.

            “He doesn’t control your life. Only you do. You hold your life in your hands, and only you get to decide when it is over and when it begins.” Carter nodded, expecting that his advice had worked, because he curled up on the ground to sleep, with only a small, wool blanket. His son was following suit, and very quickly, it was quiet. Nick was in envy. He lay under the covers of his sleeping back, wishing and thinking. Eventually, the humming trees were enough to help him slip into sleep, mixed with the cackling of the fire.

           

            It felt as if the morning rose late, but it was only the trick of the trees shadow. It was rather cold this morning, and as Nick rose he could see his breath. He shivered. Groggy, he sat and looked around him. They fire was gone, leaving nothing but cold, grey ash. Carter and Trevor, much to his surprise, were already gone. The indent in the frosty grass were they had lain in the night was still clear. Pulling his coat a little closer to him, he turned to reach for his bags, but they were not where he had left them. Bringing his full focus to the matter, he saw that his bags were nowhere to be found. The bag with his supplies, his food, the little money he had, the warm clothes; all of it was gone. The only thing he had managed to hang onto was the knife, which he had decided not to put back in the bag. Nick stared around in disbelief, and he knew who it was, of course. He cursed himself for every thinking that trusting a stranger like that was ok. Everything seemed so inviting. The fire, the company, and he had been tired. So he had let it slide. Big mistake. And he was traveling alone. Yet another fault for Nick. As he thought about all the negatives of the situation, he slipped deeper. He started to really show the anger he had refused to for so long.

            Wiping away a few cold tears, he left his sleeping bag where it was, because it would be impossible to carry, and he had a ways to go to get home, if it was a home. Besides, he could taste winter on his cheeks, and did not want to be out here too much longer. He had intended to travel to a relative who lived further south, in Missouri, where he had wanted to stay for a while, to clear his head. But he wasn’t halfway, so he had to go back the way he came. The only problem is that, by foot, it would be painstaking.

            He trudged through the crunching grass, a sudden wind picking up. He sighed as he walked down along the river bank, but behind the trees to shield himself from the wind as best he could. He saw that canoe, as well, was also missing. Feeling degraded, he began what seemed like a hopeless journey home.

 

            He walked until the sun was clear in the sky. The clouds were white and the air was blue and chill. Yesterday had been a marvel, being rather warm for October. The frost had left the grass and the leaves, leaving the brown, decaying color behind. Nick’s boots trudged through thick patches of grass along the river, by the tree line. The wind had died away, but Nick felt better behind two or three trees, as if it could hide the embarrassment he felt. Most of the time, he wasn’t even aware where he was walking, only that he was following the river. His mind was lost, somewhere in the current of the Mississippi tributary. Even though the sun shined bright, there was still a prominent chill, and he hugged his jacket closer to him.

            He walked all day. His path took him down to the riverbed when the vegetation above the sand cliffs was too thick, and back up amongst the trees when the riverbed disappeared for arbitrary periods of time. He watched nature so much more closely now. Fish were leaping up stream, casting their reflective bodies under the sun. Nick watched them do this over and over. From where Nick was watching, it seemed hopeless for them to reach home. He began to feel just like the fishes. He pulled a piece of straw grass from the path ahead of him and placed it in his mouth and chewed on it. Finally, he stopped between two oaks on the river. Their roots jutted out of the sand cliffs, exposed. They were leaning as if they would fall over at the slightest stimulus. But they were mighty, and would not be moved so easily. Nick sat down and stared at the river moving south, his stomach growling, and with nothing to hush it.

           

            It was late afternoon before Nick saw the canoe. It was moored on the opposite side of the river. This gave him some relief. A raging current separated him from them. And even though they had a boat, he would have a head start. Either way, he crept quietly in the weedy grass, which tickled every inch of his face. He swatted at it, still peering at the canoe. It was empty. He sighed.  Overwhelming feelings of guilt and humiliation began to creep in again, even though he had begun to forgive himself. He cursed his luck again, as well. He moved from his knees to a sitting position, leaning against a thin birch tree.

            There came a sound of the rocky gravel of the shore being moved around. Rising quickly to his knees, he looked over to the other shore and found a deer, alone and thin, crossing from the forest to the open air by the river. It was light tan with very few spots on its back. It was still fairly young. It watched in all directions as it moved slowly, cautiously to the river for a drink. Nick watched, intrigued. He heard the grass rustle beneath him, and the deer looked in his direction, stopping momentarily to assess the danger. Seeing it as no threat, it continued to the riverside, and dipped its head down to drink. It was so very thin. The ribs were just slightly visible, and it was very small for being as old as it was. Nick felt a sympathy for it that couldn’t be felt for anything else. He would have loved to have given it any sort of food. But any sort of chance, which was slim to begin with, was dashed quickly.

            Silent as a summer wind, an arrow whizzed from the dark of the trees and planted itself in the poor beasts neck. It thrashed momentarily, because its life drained quickly out of it. It did not have the energy to fight. So, it collapsed on the shore, silent and unmoving. Nick was shocked, appalled, and so many other things. He sank lower into the grass, waiting to see who the culprit behind this elegant creature’s death was. As he continued to gaze out at the opposite shore, he saw two figures emerge from the woods, and Nick quickly whipped his head back behind the birch tree, slouching into the grass camouflage.

            “Ah, it’s pathetic. We eat better than this on a bad night!” He recognized the voice to be Trevor’s.

            “Well, d****t son! You see many other deer around here? It’s getting cold, and deer are getting fewer and smaller. “There was a pause. Well, you skin it. I’m going across the river quickly. There is a nice pile of drift wood that would be of use.” Nick’s heart fell. He had to move, quickly. The only stretch of shore on this side for quite a while was right below him. On his hands and knees, he began to crawl quickly away from the shore as he heard the grinding of the boat leaving the opposite shore. Once he felt that he was a safe distance away, he hid behind a much larger tree that was still within sight of the shore. He could have just gotten ahead of them and continued walking, without looking back. But he was fixed on this. He didn’t know what he planned to do, but he couldn’t get himself up to continue on his way.

            Moments later he heard the canoe beached up on the shore and Carter groan as he stepped out. He listened to the pebbles crunch under his feet as he made his way towards the sand cliffs. There was the sound of wood being tossed roughly into the canoe. This continued until, Nick could see, there was only a small spot in the canoe for Carter to sit in. He watched him through the last of the wood, and then pause, looking up stream. On this side of the river, there was a massive rock formation, much larger than the one that Nick had seen previous to battling a rough river bend. Carter stared at it for a few moments and then, with some unknown motivation, climbed up the sand cliff and began walking up hill to the top of it. Nick stayed as motionless as he could, listening to Carter move through the dry grass. He watched him walk to the very top of the cliff. He stared, pondering where he might be going, until he saw a small pile of rocks at the top of the cliff. Nick frowned, trying to learn the meaning of it. It wasn’t until Carter knelt near it. Some fifty feet above the river, that he realized what it was.

            Carter kneeled and bowed his head before the grave. On the opposite side of the river, Trevor stopped gutting the deer to watch his father, and sad look on his face. Carter touched a few of the rocks, large ones that had more than likely been hunted for, because most of the rocks around were small, tiny pebbles. Nick felt a stab in his side. He couldn’t quite tell if he felt bad for him, but his body was trying to make him feel that way. Carter crouched there for some time, not moving, just lost in thought, or so Nick could only conclude.

            After some time, Carter rose and kissed the rocks. He turned towards the river, and looked down as the current. Below, there were several rocks that stuck out of the water, like the teeth of death.  The river flowed swiftly around them. Amongst the dry grass on the cliff, there were a few wildflowers, an unseen shade of violet, sitting precariously up on the edge, one of them drooping over the side. Carter walked over to them, and touched the smooth petals in his hands. He picked the two best ones, and then rose, standing on the very edge of the rock face.

            He looked at the flowers and smiled. He turned to place the flowers on the grave, but found that he was walking through air rather than brown grass. The very tip, which seemed to have been made of worn, eroded limestone, was too soft to hold him and crumbled beneath his feet. Nick watched in horror as Carter plummeted only five feet before grabbing onto come jagged cranny in the rock wall. He saw red flow from his fingers and he desperately struggled to hold on, calling to his son.

            “D****t! Help me!” Trevor’s face was flushed. He plunged right into the river, which Nick assumed to be cold as ice, and he was right. Trevor had a look of terror and discomfort on his face. He tried to swim to the other side. But each time he tried, he was carried downstream to far before he could reach the other side. He repeated this several times, but was unsuccessful. Carter was hanging on with all he had. A few loose rocks tumbled down from above, and Carter did his best to swing out of their way. Nick knew that this man would die if someone couldn’t help. He couldn’t believe himself.

            Nick sprinted out from behind the tree, barely knowing where his feet were stepping, only knowing that he couldn’t believe that he was going to help this man. Then again, his body was not going to let him be a bystander to this. Nick panted as he ascended the hill in half the time it had taken Carter, grabbing onto the branches and trunks of trees which poked out of the hillside, using everything possible as support. He heard Carter shout, and an indiscernible shout from across the river, but did not stop to know what they were saying. His body had taken his mind over now, so he was going to let it play it out.

            As he reached the top of the hill, he looked down to see Carter desperately holding on, knowing that if he fell, the jaws would swallow him up and claim him. He was trying to find a place to put his feet, but from where he was hanging, the cliff jutted inward, away from the window, leaving his feet dangling freely. He tried to pull himself up, but he wasn’t strong enough to do it. His fingers were bleeding badly now from his skin being ripped away as he struggled to hold on to something. Nick did not have much time.

            He looked up just in time to see Trevor raise, aim, and fire an arrow from his compound bow at Nick. He jumped into the grass to avoid it, hearing the high pitched whistling noise as it whizzed pass and landed in no man’s land. Nick looked at him in horror.

            “Get away from him!” Trevor was hysterical. Nick knew why

            “Stop shooting! I’m not trying to hurt him!” Either Trevor didn’t hear him, or chose not to hear him, because a second arrow went flying past his shoulder, ripping his jacket and scraping him. Nick ignored the pain and the blood. He threw himself flat on his stomach and extended his arm over the edge. Carter had watched the whole scenario play out, and looked just as horrified when he saw Nick. Nick looked with intent in his eyes, trying to show him that he was not going to hurt anyone. Carter stared for several seconds, before reaching his arm up to meet Nick’s. It never crossed this young man’s mind that he was helping the person who had intentionally tried to hurt him.

            Finally, Nick was able to pull Carter back over the edge. Carter moaned with pain in his arm and exhaustion in the rest of his body. He looked at Nick, who was standing over him, looking over at Trevor, who was just as stunned. Nick turned to walk away, but the second he did, he heard the sound of metal and leather, and turned around just in time to see Carter lunge at him, bearing a knife. Nick shouted, and Carter collapsed on him, and then was motionless. Nick moved the body off of himself, pulling his own hunting knife out of him as he did. There was a small stab to his lower abdomen, and it began to bleed at a frightening rate. He tore a piece of thick cloth from Carters shoulder and tied it tight around his waist. He then stood up and limped down the hill to the riverside, where the boat had, inadvertently, tipped over, much of the wood spilling into the river. Trevor simply sat and watched Nick as he piled himself into the boat. Nick grimaced with pain as he did. Trevor had no arrows left, and could do nothing as Nick climbed into the boat and began to drift downstream again, towards Missouri. He had people expecting him.

Author's Note

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