Once Upon a River Page 0,94
rifle, swinging around and through the fence to get into and then out of the cow pasture, landing once again beside the house of the old man in the wheelchair. She had spied on him most days. He often sat alone on the flagstone patio in that wheelchair, staring down at the water through his black glasses. His hair shone bright silver whenever the sun was on him.
The old man was not out today. Margo ventured through the patio, kicking at the pretty orange and yellow maple leaves scattered there. She moved down the steep steps and out onto the boat with the little camper on it. Again, it moved only slightly under her weight. The padlock was hanging loose, and when she turned the handle on the aluminum door of the cabin, it opened, and she was greeted by a mildew smell. Inside she found a narrow upper bunk bed and a bigger lower bunk that could be transformed into a table and seats, a propane stovetop with two burners like the one Brian had, an oven big enough for a cake pan, and the smallest wood-burning stove she had ever seen. She opened the door to the firebox, saw it was maybe twelve inches high by fifteen deep by eight wide. A person would have to cut her own firewood extra-small for this. A six-inch pipe exhausted through the wall behind it.
She heard barking, and when she came out onto the deck, she found the black dog wagging his tail. The old man was sitting on the patio behind the house, dappled sunlight glinting off his wheelchair and his silver hair. He motioned with his hand for her to come to the patio, and she obliged. “What do you want, kid?” he asked.
Margo had some difficulty making out his words through his wheezing, but she remembered what he’d said last time, that if she’d wanted a shower, she should ask for it.
“Can I sleep in your camper for a while?”
The man cleared his throat in a way that sounded painful. His skin was pale and slightly damp, and his hair was sticking to his face.
“You look sicker than you did,” she said. When the dog settled beside the wheelchair, Margo knelt and petted him with both hands.
“There’s good days and bad days. I have emphysema, but the doctors tell me it’s the tumors that’re going to kill me.” He cleared his throat again. “Unless you’re going to save everybody a lot of trouble and shoot me.”
“Do you want me to shoot another cigarette out of your mouth?”
“Yeah, stand right in front of me this time.” He tapped his forehead as if directing a bullet there. “I was too exhausted to come outside, but then I saw you, and I told myself, I’d better kick that kid’s ass.”
“I’m not a kid.”
“Everybody’s a kid compared to me.” He stifled a cough. “Even people my age seem like kids.”
“What can I give you for your boat? I got some money.”
“You’ve got no goddamned money. You’ve got a rifle and a soup pot. And a big kitchen knife that belongs to me, if I figure it right.”
“I’ll give you the knife back. I was just borrowing it. I can’t give you my rifle.”
“I’ve already got two rifles and a shotgun that I can’t aim anymore. And you can keep the damn knife. It’s not my best one.” He held out his pale, shaking hand as a sort of exhibit. “I made my living setting type, and now I can’t tighten a screw or chop stew meat.”
“Can I look inside the houseboat some more?”
“You’ve seen enough. I don’t need a kid sleeping on my boat. Don’t need the neighbors seeing anything.”
“I could help you out in exchange, maybe,” Margo suggested. “I could sweep this patio. I can cook and chop up stew meat for you.”
“My friend Fishbone said he saw you with a Mexican man over on the farm two weeks ago, the night you came here.”
“He’s an Indian. Anyway, he’s gone.” Margo was surprised she’d been spied on.
“Did the son of a bitch break your heart?”
“I’m relieved he’s gone. I don’t need a man.”
“Well, what do you think I am?”
“Sir, your boat is the only way I can live on the river.” As Margo spoke to the old man, she felt strangely aware of something being in her belly, and she worried that he might be aware of it, too.
“Go away,” he said. A coughing fit overtook him, and when he finally