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Show RIVER told them about my row boat, though the cook was flat-out incredulous. "That river don't scare you, honey? That great, big, wide, deep river don't scare you?" "No," I said. I couldn't tell if I was lying. "Well, I'll tell you what, chile. I lived next to that river all my life, and if you got any sense, you gonna get scared." By the time the waitress brought on the food my appetite was as sharp as the wind I'd laid under all day. It was perfect: light and golden chicken, thick and real creamed potatoes, southern gravy, light-as-morning biscuits, and there was cornbread cooked in a frying pan. It was the first real food I'd seen in a while and I attacked it with real enthusiasm. When finished, I felt like a new man. The ladies were closing up and wished me luck and, naturally, they both had the same parting words: "Be careful." The town was now stone dead and dark and I walked back to the levee without seeing a soul. Maybe it was the contrast of the dark, cold, rock-strewn beach with the light and warmth and rich smells of the cafe, but whatever it was I started feeling awfully lonesome and blue. The black and shapeless river rolled on, its limits lost beyond the reflection of the lights on the shore. Clouds crept in, high, thin, and star obscuring, and it got even colder. I felt too full and lazy to build a fire, so I sat in the sand and scratched Thor's ears. I thought about all the people I'd met in the last few weeks and it made the loneliness seem not quite so hard. It was always possible to touch lives with somebody, no matter who or where they were. Somewhere down the great dark river I felt I'd come to terms with loneliness and it would lose its bitterness and power. Once again the strange mysteriousness came upon me: yes, I thought, after years and years of asking, "Why?" I might find an answer. -159- |