The Sky Fisherman (21 page)

"What are we going to do?" I asked.

"I'm wondering if we can get close enough to scrape them into the boat." Jake shook his head. "Look at that damn cargo net, floating on our side of the rock. Get tangled in that and you're dead."

Taking out his sheath knife, Jake made cutting motions at the couple on the ledge while pointing to their raft's floating cargo net, but they just kept waving.

"Maybe they don't have a knife," I said.

"There's a fool born a minute and only one dies a day." Jake sheathed the knife. "That's why this river's full of rafters. Guess we'll have to get them off."

The water churned and boiled around the rock. "Can we get close enough?" I wanted the pair to be rescued but hated the look of the water. "How about a helicopter or something?"

Jake reached into his pants pocket and held out a dime. "Go find us a phone booth."

I glanced at the steep timbered hillside, the stretches of rugged talus slopes, and felt dumb as a dude.

Jake started toward our boat. "I've heard other guides brag about pulling people from that rock. Always thought they were bullshitting."

Jake double-checked the buckles on his life vest and made sure I knew where the bailing bucket was. He had put an extra life vest on the seat beside me. When we got close, I was supposed to toss it to the man on the rock. That way, even if he missed the boat, he'd have a life vest for later.

"I'll pass by as close as I can," Jake said. "Throw him the vest as we approach. Let them try to jump in and
sit.
Knock them flat if you have to. Got it so far?"

I nodded, tightening the buckles on my own vest.

"If they hit the water, don't let them grab you or the boat. Might jerk you out or tangle us in that damn net. If they're too scared to jump, tough shit. Eventually, they'll get tired and fall off."

Pulling away from the shore, he continued giving instructions. "If we take on water, bail like hell. I'll yell 'right' or 'left' if I want you to shift weight.

"Now listen, if we get in
bad
trouble, I'll yell, 'The boat is lost!' Then
get out. Go over the high side or off the end so she doesn't shift and pin you against some rock. Whatever you do, stay away from that fucking cargo net."

Even though I couldn't remember half of his instructions, I held two thumbs up.

"If you hit the water, clamp a hand over your mouth and nose so you don't suck in a lungful. A lot of drowned people float with their heads above water, cozy in their life vests. But they're dead as hell."

Maybe I looked scared because he grinned. "Now take a deep seat and enjoy the ride. I'm not figuring to lose this boat."

He rowed out to midstream, then let the boat slip down current.

We crossed the shallow rock shelf at the head of the rapids.

"Another damn can opener," Jake said as the boat scraped against barely submerged boulders. "It gets worse when the river lowers." He rowed toward the lapping green tongue between two submerged rocks. "This is the trick—Go right of the rocks and you hit the trees. Go left and you hit the Combine. You got to shoot straight through the middle. It's fast water—scares some people."

Sliding past the tongue and onto clear blue-green water, I glimpsed the rocky river bottom below us.

Approaching the Combine, I could see the gear still remaining in the raft's cargo net: soggy sleeping bags, a Coleman stove, folding aluminum chairs. Ten feet away, I waved the life vest at the man and pitched it sideways, a clean throw, but he didn't raise his arms to catch it, and the vest slid off the rock, falling into the water.

"Dumb shit," Jake muttered.

The woman leaned out toward us. She was wearing turquoise-colored shorts and a halter top but no shoes. Both knees and forearms were scraped from scrambling up the rock. The man had a wispy brown beard and stared straight ahead like an owl in sunlight. Maybe he lost his glasses, I thought.

Jake shipped the left oar so it wouldn't tangle in the cargo net. He ducked a little and braced for hitting the rock. "Jump," he shouted at the couple.

Bow first, we hit the Combine and the current swung the stern against the rock's side. The impact jolted me from the seat and I crouched on the boat bottom. For a moment we held steady, then started scraping along the rock.

"Jump," Jake yelled.

Holding her nose like a kid leaping into a summer lake, the woman
jumped, crashing into my shoulder. Water sloshed over the side of the boat as momentum carried her past me, and she slammed against the gunnel.

"Shit, that stings," she said. The life jacket had prevented her from being hurt seriously.

Grabbing her arm, I pulled her down. Pain filled her eyes, but she was in the boat.

"Jump, goddamn you," Jake yelled, reaching toward the man with his left hand. The boat ground along the rock with a high screech.

"Look out below!" the man shouted. His arms came forward the way a large restless bird sometimes shifts its wings when it seems about to fly. But then he settled back on his perch.

"Chickenshit!" Jake pushed his fist against the slick red rock as if to shove the grinding boat free, and suddenly we were clear, hurling downstream in the foaming whitewater.

The man jumped, a full boat length too late, and disappeared into the churning water.

"Will," she cried out, half standing. "No, Will!"

His head appeared above water, dark as a seal's and he took several strong strokes toward the boat before going under again. Panic filled the woman's eyes.

"Bail, damn it! Wake up!" Jake strained at the oars.

I was surprised to see the ankle-deep water sloshing in the boat. Grabbing the bailer, I flung three bucketfuls of water over the side. Then I saw a hand and arm rise out of the water. Instinctively, I leaned over the side of the boat, reaching for the hand. Half standing, I reached further.

Jake was yelling, but I couldn't hear what as I grabbed the man's wrist and hung on. Then the other hand seized my arm, and I felt the terrible weight pulling me from the boat.

"Let go," I yelled as I slid over the gunnel. I felt the woman grab my right leg but she couldn't hold, and I knew I was going into the water.

After sucking a deep breath, I clamped my free hand over my mouth and gave in. The water was cold and so powerful it tumbled me and my captor over and over. We hit a smooth, deep underwater boulder, but he took most of the blow against his back. His grip relaxed a second and I wanted to go up for air, but had lost direction. Then he wrapped his arms around my neck and shoulders, dragging me down. I closed my eyes and went limp, hoping to lull him into letting go.

When we stopped tumbling, I opened my eyes and saw a sweep of
clear blue-green water. Sunlight shone above, and below I saw a sunken boat, a broken oar still jammed in the oar lock, and I wondered how long it had been there, what fate its occupants met. I considered what an odd thing it might be to die here, drowned like my father, within sight of a sunken boat. Its bailing bucket, attached by a length of orange rope, pointed downstream five or six feet above the boat and turned slowly in the current.

Realizing I was low on breath, I struggled toward the light, but the man held me down the way a raccoon rides a dog's head underwater. I tried punching him, but my arms were tangled in his and the current spun us. I imagined how the searchers might find us in some quiet eddy, still entwined, the startling way one comes upon dead elk in a spring green meadow, their antlers locked in death's struggle. And I foresaw the uncomprehending look in my mother's eyes as Jake carried her the shocking news.

Coming out of the lull, I realized I couldn't allow myself to drown and resolved to do all I could to surface. I wanted to bite the man's nose or gouge his eyes, anything to make his grip loosen. With my right hand, I managed to grab his ear, pulling and twisting with all my might. A stream of bubbles escaped his mouth in a silent scream. One arm loosened.

Half free, I struggled to the surface and managed a quick clear breath before the current and the man's clinging weight dragged me under again.

Renewed by the oxygen, I managed to twist him downstream so his body would hit the rocks of the lower lava shelf, shielding mine. When we struck the first jagged ledge, the pain registered in his face and more bubbles slipped between his lips.

You'll drown first, you bastard, I thought, and if he did, maybe I could kick clear of him.

A bloodline rose from the torn ear. In the bright water, it seemed almost black.

Beyond anger, I was possessed by a kind of cold fury. Gripping the back of his neck with both my hands, I thrust my head forward, trying to break his nose with my skull.

My right leg scraped against sharp lava rocks and I gritted my teeth, trying to hold my breath and not cry out. Then he hit a rock. The shock of pain twisted his face and he writhed with renewed strength.

I braced for another blow against rock, but it never came. Instead, my left foot touched bottom and in a few more seconds the right touched
as well. For a moment we struggled in the current, which swept us close to shore, until finally, I could stand and breathe.

Half carrying, half dragging him, I stumbled to waist-deep water. He was still draped all over me, but I managed to punch him in the stomach twice, and he slowly slid into the water.

Looking square into his owlish face, I hated his staring eyes and sparse wet beard. I understood that this was a complete stranger who had nearly drowned me, someone whose incompetence and cowardice proved he had no right to be on the same river my father had known, my uncle and I now treasured. I became furious with the man and punched him again, listening to the gurgle of water deep in his throat.

His eyes went from glassy to pain-filled as I started to rain blows on him. Finally, he lifted his arms to block my fists.

Shouts came from the bank. I heard splashing. The woman threw herself upon my back, and her weight, the unexpected thrust of it, knocked me to my knees. I tried elbowing her away, but only struck her life preserver.

"Stop it, you savage! Stop it!" Turning, I saw her face twisted in rage. Then her weight lifted off me. Jake dragged her by the life jacket toward the shallows.

Astonished, the man stood before me, breathing raggedly. Brushing his nose with the back of his hand, he stared at the smear of blood. Then he splashed past me toward shore, throwing himself across a grassy hummock. He vomited into the water.

My wrists hurt and my forearms bore angry red marks where he had stopped my blows. By evening they would darken to bruises. The woman waded out again and dragged the dazed man to land. "You're insane!" she screamed at me. As she touched his torn ear, he cried out. "You crazy bastard," she said. "He's hurt bad."

"I've seen worse," Jake said. "Just keep him warm. Get him off the river."

"We don't want any help from you," she said. Another party of rafters had pulled to shore downstream, and she started dragging the man in their direction.

She called back over her shoulder, "We're going to report this to the authorities. You don't belong on this river."

"Maybe you'd better figure out how to salvage your raft first." Jake watched them a moment and muttered, "Good riddance." Wading out to where I stood, he gripped my shoulder and steered me toward shore. "How you feeling, champ? Can you go another round?"

I nodded, but couldn't find the breath to speak. A yellow jacket landed on my bleeding leg and I waved it away.

We walked fifty yards upstream along a fisherman's path. I could see our boat, but my legs gave out. "Got to sit." Stumbling to a bleached log, I waited to catch my breath. I felt terribly cold. My knees shook.

"Be right back, champ."

Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply and waited for the shaking to stop. A slight breeze rustled the alder leaves. Opening my eyes, I saw pollen from the redtop dusting my thighs and legs. Sunlight bounced off the water like bright coins.

Jake returned with a handful of Fig Newtons and a Pepsi. "Sugar." He put a wool jacket across my shoulders. After a few minutes in the sun, I smelled the warming wool; it seemed to pull the chill from my body. After I had eaten the cookies and drunk half the Pepsi, Jake held up my arm the way a referee handles a winning pnzefighter. "The winner and still cham
-peen!
"

I grinned and shook my head. "Maybe I shouldn't have hit him, but the bastard almost killed me."

"What the hell," Jake said. "I wanted to clobber him myself. She was okay, though. Feisty."

I lowered my head. The sunshine felt good across my shoulders, and I was just thankful to be above water, breathing.

Jake touched my leg. "We better take out early, get you a tetanus shot."

"Whatever." I was a little surprised I didn't mind leaving the river. We had planted some trees at the memorial site and planned an extra day's fishing to avoid the Water Pageant. But now, taking out early seemed best.

"Rafters." Jake pitched a stone toward the water. "One fool didn't die today. That means we owe two tomorrow."

"I
LOVE THE EARTH TONES
. So sensual yet restful." The red-haired woman wore a bright purple wraparound dress and matching cap. "Don't you remember, Charles? We saw beautiful work like this in Santa Fe."

Her husband glanced up from his plateful of cheese wedges, crackers, and dips. An enormous man with a full beard, he wore a Western-style beige suit and alligator cowboy boots the same reptilian green as his cowboy hat's band. "Those paintings were more vibrant." He selected a cheese chunk impaled on a red-ruffled toothpick. "It's the light—the slant of desert light."

"You're right." She tapped one painting's frame. "But these are more unstructured. I
adore
the recklessness."

"With a little luck, I'll get these people on a river trip," Jake said, his voice lowered. "A little more luck and they'll fall overboard. No, come to think about it, that lard-o won't sink." He sipped a glass of wine, but I could tell he wanted a beer or a hard drink. Still, he was being pleasant enough, trying to put on a good face whenever Juniper introduced him to the gallery owners or admirers who had come to the opening.