Red Mountain (34 page)

Problems arose when frightened tribes from other islands began to grow concerned about the threat of their neighbor. Stories spread quickly, mostly wildly exaggerated, and they had the effect of raising the overall panic to hit a boiling point. In a preemptive effort to protect themselves from what they considered to be an impending danger, many banded together and went to kill the entire tribe, sparing no one, and within a month’s time, the island appeared to be wiped clean of the hated “devil people.”

Unknown to their enemies, however, many of the so-called “devil people” managed to escape the island on the night the slaughter began. But they couldn’t leave in their longboats, for their attackers had already split them apart with axes. Driven instead by faith in their holy man’s promises, they gave themselves up willingly to the sea. Under a moonless night they’d walked together in one arm-linked mass beneath the crashing waves—a reef of humanity, at first drowning before realizing later they weren’t truly dead, waiting until memories faded throughout the chain of islands before some were able to rise from the surf and return once again to their land.

And that’s where the sea came in. Why Robert’s connection to it had greatly deepened. This was also behind the reason why he and his family had been renting a cabin for several weeks with no end in sight.

CHAPTER 68

They were sitting on the beach one evening when Peggy had first brought up the idea. Connor and Nugget were playing down by the water’s edge as the sun was setting behind a cottony bank of clouds. The air was chilly and smelled faintly of wood smoke and brine.

“We’ll stay as long as you want,” Peggy had told him. “Even if it means we enroll Connor for school down here this fall.”

“And what do I do about the shop?”

“You could drive into town a couple of days a week and check on things.”

“It wouldn’t be enough. There’s too much to keep track of...”

Peggy had put her arm around him and pulled him close beneath the blanket they’d wrapped themselves in.

“Just listen to me. While you were in the hospital, Will asked if I thought you might be interested in taking on a business partner.”

Robert stared at her, surprised.

“Will’s not interested in the shop. That must have been the morphine talking.”

“He’s serious, Robert. He’s come into a little money. He says he has a few ideas that could bring the place more business.”

“It’s not doing that bad…”

Peggy frowned. “But you know it could be better. Sure it pays the bills, but it won’t let you get away from it much.”

“But it’s where I’ve spent most of my life. I don’t know what I’d do if I wasn’t needed there all the time.”

“Your family needs you too. And you should be reaching out for your dreams again instead of feeling guilty about it.”

Robert thought about what she’d said. She was making sense. Even if it made him feel uneasy.

“Then I wonder why he didn’t say anything before about this?”

“I guess he was nervous about it.”

“Will? Nervous?”

Robert couldn’t deny the fact he already liked the idea. He’d known for a long time he needed someone else around to attract more customers, and Will had the magnetic quality that Robert desperately lacked. If he could free up some of his time, perhaps Robert could start reading more, maybe think about finishing his degree or take up painting...

Now that’s a wild idea to think about…

In his heart he didn’t know if or when he’d ever want to live in the city again. He didn’t want to stop listening to the voices he heard in the waves. Maybe some day he’d understand them. But he knew it would take patience and lots of time…

CHAPTER 69

The rescue patrol was amazed they were still alive when they dug them out two days after being buried by the avalanche. For one thing they weren’t even close to being dressed for it, nor did they have any food or essential tools to stay alive below ground for all that time.

Their rescuers weren’t offered any specifics as to how Robert and the others managed to survive, and their desire to ask questions wilted as they were overcome with the feeling something completely weird had just occurred.
Why were their clothes so dry? Was that a healed gunshot wound in the woman’s back?
The space inside the chopper suddenly began to feel constricting. No one talked much as they flew toward Portland.

****

A wave broke and speeded onto the beach. Robert, too lost in thought, was struck against the ankles by the foaming cold water before he’d even had a chance to react. He took a few quick steps inland before he knew he was too late. His shoes and pants were already sopping wet.

The greenish wave retreated, overturning rocks and shells beneath it. After the water had completely receded, Robert’s sneakers decided to squeak like a rusty hinge. But there was also the distinct sound of joy, and when he raised his eyes he saw Peggy and Connor doubled over, dropping sand dollars as they made no effort to rein in their laughter.

Stepping toward them Robert began to imagine himself as a circus clown. He lifted his knees high and made both of his shoes fart and squirt seawater. He didn’t stop until he and his family had collapsed on the sand laughing, until their sides hurt and Nugget ran over and shook water on them. Later, while they sat around the fireplace drying out and sipping hot chocolate topped with marshmallows, Connor took up his colored pens and captured the joy they’d felt on the beach that afternoon.

CHAPTER 70

There was something about the man that put him on edge. Was it the wry smile on his blistered lips, or the pale gray eyes working hard inside their notches of sun damaged, wrinkled skin? And then there were the hands to consider. The man’s hands were dyed with blood and his fingernails were blackened and chipped back to the quick.

Robert watched him remove another limp fish carcass from the gore-crusted pickle bucket. Slime ran down from the ragged piece of flesh and onto his wrist before disappearing beneath the sleeve of his threadbare flannel shirt. He carefully hooked the meat inside the crab trap and the disturbance caused several of the flayed fish already there to sway briefly with life. A stomach-churning stench rose from the trap like a small toxic cloud, and when it hit Robert and Connor their eyes watered and they had to turn their heads away to keep from gagging.

The man stood up, tall and bony like a scarecrow. He lifted the crab ring and set it in the small boat with Connor and Robert.

“Thanks.” Robert said. He revved up the small motor behind him.

The crab-baiter grinned and lit up the stub of a cigarette he’d been saving in the corner of his mouth. “One day you’ll get used to it too. If you’ve done it as long as I have.”

Robert looked into the man’s eyes once again. Whatever he’d seen there earlier was gone. Just a harmless old guy whose job was to bait the traps for the tourists, someone who probably snuck off when things were slow in the afternoon, to a place where he could drink a couple beers and catch some sleep. Someone who may have once lived in the city as Robert once had…

He didn’t have many bad days anymore. He spent hours each day combing the beaches with his family. Gradually they learned about the secrets only the locals knew, like the best places to fish from the jetty for perch or what kinds of storms brought to shore the most treasure. Some mornings after Connor had gone to school and Peggy was busy with projects of her own, Robert and Nugget would go exploring the entire day.

He learned to enjoy his time alone with his dog. He spent much of it meditating on the currents and waves, until it felt as if some primal part of him was finally in sync again after having spent so many restless years feeling disconnected, like a clock that’s forgotten its purpose of telling time.

He felt himself becoming whole once again. He’d made peace with the young man he’d been forced to abandon at college long ago, the one who’d been drawn to the world by a deep fascination and thirst for knowledge. When he watched the harvest moon rise over the coastal mountains to the east he was not afraid when he saw the ghostly shape of a red mountain swelling above the rest, as thin as a giant silk scarf billowing in the storm-scented breeze from the north.

Robert called Nugget to his side and together they walked off the beach, through the small town and into the dark woods that lay beyond.

THE END

About the Author

Dennis Yates (born 1963) is an American writer of novels and short stories. He is a native of Portland Oregon, and a fan of long road trips. He often dreams of the red canyons of the Southwest.