Hunted Past Reason (14 page)

"Oh, for God's sake," Bob said, wincing again.

"He wasn't around either." Doug's smile was thin and bitter. "My old man used to beat the shit out of me," he said.

"Why?" Bob asked.

"Why?"
Doug repeated. "For any damn thing he wanted to. Bad grades in school. Not doing my chores fast enough to suit him. Once, one of my sisters came on to me. She was lying naked on my cot, telling me to fuck her when my old man found us. Who got blamed? Her? My ass. It was all
my
fault. She was thirteen, I was nine, but it was
my
fault and he got that old belt out toot sweet and walloped my bare ass until I couldn't sit down for three days. Bastard. And what about Lenora? She cried tears like the professional crocodile she was and got away with the whole thing— even my mother bawled me out. I wasn't too crazy about Lenora after that. For that matter, none of my sisters cared much for me. My oldest sister Angela wasn't too bad; she, at least, stood up for me once in a while. But not very much."

"Did your father drink too?" Bob asked.

"Not during the week, he had to work," Doug said. "But on weekends . . . watch out. That's when I got most of my beatings. He beat my mother up once in a while too. But never the girls. I don't know what the hell kept him clear of them. Hell, maybe he
was
screwing them, it wouldn't surprise me a bit to find out that he was."

Bob didn't know what to say. He really was sorry now that he'd brought up the subject. Then, again, maybe it was doing Doug good to let out some of his painful memories.

"When did you leave home?" he asked.

"House, you mean," Doug said. "It was never a home." He paused to take a drink of his coffee, then went on. "I was about fifteen. I'd become a real 'tough guy' by then. Hung out with 'the wrong crowd,' don't y'know. Got caught trying to rob a liquor store with a couple of my buddies. We all got sent to a reformatory. I was there two years. Got raped a dozen times or so until I beat up the 'big guy' there. Then they left me alone. Would you believe that's where I got into acting?"

"How so?" Bob asked, surprised.

"Some jerky social worker started a dramatics program there. Most of the guys thought it was only for fags but I tried it and I liked it. That got some of the other guys into it too— they knew
I
wasn't a fag. So we put on shows and I found out I was pretty damn good at it. So after I got out, I went to Philadelphia, got a job in a lumberyard, and went to acting school."

"That's very interesting," Bob said.

Doug looked at him suspiciously. "You jerking my chain?" he asked.

"Well, I don't know what that means," Bob answered. "But if it means am I pulling your leg, no, I'm not. I think what you've told me
is
very interesting. You've survived a lot of hard times."

"That's for damn sure," Doug said.

"So when did you come to California?" Bob asked then.

"Went to New York first. Another acting school— I couldn't get into The Actors Studio; guy who ran it didn't like me. But I got a few parts in off-Broadway shows. Enjoyed the hell out of it because I had my choice of all the actresses; most guys in acting companies are queer. Which is amusing because most of the so-called famous lovers of the stage are queer— which, of course, the audience doesn't know."

"What brought you to the coast?" Bob asked.

"Some Hollywood agent saw me and told me I should come to Los Angeles; he thought he could get me some television work." He exhaled hard. "End of story," he said. He looked outside. "If it doesn't stop raining soon, we'd better try to move on anyway."

"Oh, all right." Bob didn't want to leave the comfort of where they were but knew that Marian would start to fret if he was days late.

Doug poured some more hot water into his cup, added coffee powder to it, stirred it up, and added a little more brandy to the cup. "You want some more?" he asked.

Bob was going to say no, then thought: Oh, what the hell, it's making Doug more genial, making me feel good, and, most importantly, delaying their possible departure into the cold rain.

"Sure," he said. He made himself more coffee and Doug added a little brandy to his cup.

"So that's the story of my fucking life," Doug said. "Excluding a few minor details like my marriage to Nicole, my two kids, Nicole moving out on me, my total alienation from Janie, my acting career in the fucking doldrums, and my son—"

He broke off abruptly and Bob hoped the subject of Artie would be dropped. He knew the pain Doug still felt about it and knew that there was very little he could say to lessen that pain.

"You believe in life after death, don't you?" Doug surprised him by asking.

He hesitated for a few moments, then nodded. "Yes, I do."

"So tell me"— Doug was looking at him almost challengingly— "you think Artie's there, okay then?"

Bob swallowed. "Yes, of course he's there," he said. He'd never tell Doug what he believed about suicides.

"Even though he was a druggie?" Doug asked.

"It doesn't matter what he was," Bob told him. "He's still there." Where that "there" was he hated to consider. But he could, in honesty, say that he believed in Artie's survival.

"You've been reading about this stuff for a long time, haven't you?" Doug said.

"A long time," Bob agreed. "Hundreds of books."

"And you're convinced of this . . . survival thing," Doug probed.

"Totally," Bob answered. "I believe that we're more than body and brain, that we possess a higher self that survives death."

"Survives for what?" Doug asked.

"To come back and try again," Bob answered.

"Oh, shit," Doug said. "We have to go through everything
again
?"

"It'll be different," Bob said. "We'll be different people. But we'll still be the same basic soul working out our problems. Trying to anyway."

Doug grunted and took a sip of his coffee. He bared his teeth, remembering. "That means I'll have to pay the price for what I did to Artie," he said. "Or what I
didn't
do."

"We all have problems that we need to solve," Bob said.

"Not
you
," Doug said, his hostile tone startling Bob. "Your life is a fucking utopia compared to mine. A wife who loves you. Two kids doing well. A successful career. You're even handsome, for Christ's sake. Who the hell
were
you in your last lifetime, the fucking son of God?"

Bob tried to react as though Doug wasn't being totally serious even though he knew that he was. Did Doug resent him
that
much? Was that why he'd been so rough on him? Was it going to get worse? The thought appalled him. Out here, he was completely at the mercy of Doug's backpacking skills.

"Well," he said, forcing a smile. "My life isn't quite that perfect."

"Has
your
wife walked out on you?" Doug demanded. "Has your daughter written you off completely? Has your career gone into the toilet?
Has your son put a pistol in his mouth and blown his fucking brains out?
"

"Doug, take it easy, will you?" Bob tried to calm him down. "I
know
you're having problems in your life, I know—"

"Problems?"
Doug almost snarled. "Is that what they are? Fucking
problems
? Something I can solve with a fucking slide rule?!"

Bob didn't answer. He returned Doug's glare with what he hoped was a sympathetic look, at least unprovoked. Finally, he said, "I'm sorry if my life infuriates you. I didn't design it that way."

"It doesn't infuriate me," Doug said, obviously lying. "I just don't think you know what misery feels like. Not with the way your life has gone."

"I'm sorry, Doug," Bob told him quietly. "I really am. If I've said anything stupid or anything that hurt you, I'm sorry, I apologize."

He'd hoped that his words would mollify Doug. It only made him fall into a morose silence, sitting and sipping his coffee, staring out through the cave entrance, his expression one of bleak depression. Bob didn't dare say any more. He sat in silence himself, hoping— almost praying— that the rest of the hike wasn't going to be jeopardized because of this conversation.

Doug, I hope this isn't going to spoil the rest of our hike, he imagined himself saying to Doug. And Doug replying: Don't bet on it, Bobby.

2:24 PM

Something hit him smartly on the chest and his eyes popped open. Doug was looking at him with a stiff expression. "Gotta go," he said.

Bob looked at him confusedly. "What did I do, fall asleep?"

"Naturally."
Doug's tone was critical.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Come on, we have to move," Doug cut him off.

Bob looked groggily toward the entrance of the cave. "Has the rain stopped?" he asked.

"Enough," Doug said. "Come
on
. Let's
go
."

"Okay. Okay." Bob frowned. Are we starting in again? he thought.

He looked around. Doug had already packed the sleeping bags and pads. How did he get them out from under me? he wondered. Was I sleeping that heavily?

"Let's get your pack on," Doug told him. His movements were hurried as he pushed Bob's arms through the strap loops.
"Oh."
Bob winced as Doug twisted his right arm.

"Sorry," Doug said. He didn't sound it.

The pack felt heavier than ever. Because it was wet? Bob looked worried. "Isn't the ground outside muddy?" he asked.

"Bob, we cannot stay here all day," Doug told him. "We have to reach a campsite before it gets dark."

Why? Bob thought. Why not stay right here until the rain stops? Even if it means staying here all night. It's warm, it's comfortable.

"All right, let's move," Doug said.

Bob tried to lift himself, then fell back, feeling slightly dizzy.
"Whoa,"
he said. "That lightning must have done more to me than I thought."

Doug looked at him without expression. What? Bob thought. Am I supposed to feel guilty about getting splashed by lightning now?

The way Doug was looking at him— almost with contempt it seemed— made Bob's temper snap abruptly.

"All right, for Christ's sake, go on without me then. I'd rather be lost than badgered to death."

"Who the hell is badgering you?" Doug looked surprised.

"You are," Bob said. "You're taking advantage of the fact that you know exactly what to do out here and I don't know the first damn thing about it." As he spoke he felt a sudden coldness in his stomach. What in God's name would he do if Doug took him at his word?

"Calm down, for Christ's sake," Doug told him. "You're just feeling rattled because of the lightning splash."

"Maybe so," Bob answered. "I'm sorry. I
do
feel rattled."

"Listen. Bob," Doug said, "I have an idea."

"What?" Bob asked, uneasily.

"Why don't you go back to where we started from? I'll move on fast to the cabin, get the Bronco, and come back and pick you up."

At first, it sounded like a good idea. Then Bob remembered all the ground they'd covered. He'd undoubtedly get lost. Immediately, he said so.

"No, you wouldn't," Doug said as though addressing a child. "I'll give you the compass. You follow it and you'll be back there by dark."

"How could I
possibly
be?" Bob demanded, his voice rising in panic. "It took us more than a day to get
here
."

"So you'll sleep one night in the woods, it won't kill you."

A collage of bears and mountain lions and coyotes painted itself across his mind. "Doug, that is ridiculous," he said. "I'd never make it."

"Bob, you just asked me to leave you here."

"I didn't mean it, for Christ's sake. I just lost my temper."

Doug nodded, looking unconvinced.

"Bob, this isn't working out," he said. "It could take us three, four days more the way we're going. Your wife is going to lose her mind, worrying about you."

"She'll lose her mind a lot more if I get eaten by a goddamn mountain lion," Bob retorted.

"Oh, jeez, the mountain lion thing again. You aren't going to run into a mountain lion. All you have to do is—"

"No," Bob interrupted adamantly. "You saw what happened to me yesterday. I'm not going to let you dump me again."

"Dump you?" Doug looked incredulous. "I'm trying to help you. This hike was a mistake, you know that. You aren't up to it."

"I
will
be up to it," Bob said, sounding almost frightened now. "Just don't leave me on my own again. It scared the hell out of me."

Doug didn't reply. He looked at Bob as though regarding the child who wouldn't listen to reason.
Is that the look you gave Artie all the time?
the thought occurred to Bob.

Doug's cheeks puffed as he blew out a surrendering breath. "Okay. Okay," he said. "So it takes us a week to reach the cabin. So we'll run out of food and have to eat squirrels. So your wife will become convinced that you
were
eaten by a mountain lion. If that's what you want, okay, so be it."

He pointed at Bob. "Which doesn't mean I'm going to slow down to a crawl," he warned. "We still have to move at a reasonable clip if we're going to make that campsite by dark."

"Okay."
Bob nodded, feeling such relief that he didn't even think of how difficult it was going to be to keep up with Doug. As long as he wasn't alone, that was what mattered. He never wanted to be alone in the forest again.

He braced himself against the slight dizziness and continuing weariness as he made his way out of the cave. It wasn't raining hard, something slightly more than a drizzle. They put on their ponchos and Bob drew in a deep breath. He was not going to give Doug any more reason to be aggravated with him. He'd make this damn hike and make it successfully, then go home and burn the backpack, sleeping bag, ground pad, and every other damn piece of equipment he'd bought. I'll dance around the bonfire, naked, he visualized himself, repressing a smile. I'll bellow a farewell chant to all of it and stay in luxury lodges in the future if I ever want to be exposed to Mother Nature again.