Джон Макдональд - More Good Old Stuff

“And this is Sam Frick.”

The stocky one nodded, and then looked idly off into the woods. He looked impassive and casual. His face was masked and the expression in his eyes hidden by the massive ridge of bone across his brows. Post noticed that the man’s lips were tightly compressed, as though by an inner tension that he couldn’t permit himself to show.

Frick spat on the ground and said, “Thought you were coming back with Jorder, boss. Told us you’d bring Jorder. Who’s this Walker Post?”

“Take it easy, Frick,” Drake snapped. “I do as I please.” He stopped and smiled. “Jorder is unfortunately detained. He won’t be able to come out. Post will be okay when he gets in shape. You might say he’s halfway between a patient and an employee. Be easy on him.”

Frick said, “Oh,” and looked at Post with silent amusement.

“How are the patients, boys?”

“All quiet,” Strane said eagerly. “Benderson and his daughter are taking a walk around the lakeshore. He seems okay. Mr. Burke and the girl are in their cabin.”

“Good. I better go visiting. Take Post in and give him a bunk and answer his questions, if any. He doesn’t talk much.” Drake headed off toward the lake.

Frick nudged the bag with his foot and gestured with his thumb toward the door they’d come out of. “Lug it in there.”

Post picked up the bag and walked into the long building. It was lined with double bunks on both sides. He stopped and stared.

“Used to be the bunkhouse when it was a lumber camp. The other building was the kitchen and mess hall. We still use the kitchen, but use the mess hall for storage of supplies. Grab any bunk except these two lowers on this end. That one by the window there ought to be as cool as any.”

Post tossed his bag into the bunk and sat down on it. He sat on the bare slats. The bunk above him was high enough so that he could sit upright.

He waited until his breath was coming more slowly. Frick and Strane stood by the door and stared at him with frank interest.

Post felt that they expected him to ask questions. He decided that it would be easier to satisfy them, even though he couldn’t generate much specific interest.

“What kind of work am I going to have to do around here? The boss didn’t tell me that. He just said it wouldn’t be hard.”

“It was hard when we were fixing up those two cabins. Damn hard,” Strane answered. “Easy now, though. Nothing to it. Issue them the food out of stores. Bury garbage in the woods. Cut wood for the fall. Just hang around. We have to go out and get stuff once in a while, but the boss probably won’t want you to do that. Just hang around and kind of watch. We take turns on our own cooking. With you around, it’ll come up every three days.”

“Are there only two of these cabins?”

“Yeah, two sets of guests at a time are plenty, hey, Frick?”

“Shut up, Rob. What else you want to know, Post?”

“Where do I get some bedclothes — mattress and blankets?”

“Go right in next door and pick out what you want. Grab some bug repellent, they get rough when it gets dark. Take it easy for the rest of the day and get used to the place. Really, there are three cabins. They were built when the camp was. They’re along the south shore there, about a hundred yards from here. The boss lives in one. We had to fix them up.”

They followed him out, and then headed toward the lake. He poked around in the litter on the floor of the supply building and found what he needed. He carried the supplies back in and made up his bunk. As soon as it was ready, he felt drowsy. He hadn’t had as much exercise in months. He lay on the bunk and drifted off to sleep. His last conscious thought was that the pine woods smelled crisp and clean.

Post gradually came awake and heard voices.

He recognized Rob Strane’s voice. “You sure that guy won’t wake up, boss?”

“He’s too tired and it won’t make any difference if he does. Relax. He’s all set. Now, here’s the deal. Things are going to get a little tight for a while, so don’t be too liberal with the food. I got to go back out in the morning. Don’t ask me why. I’ll be gone maybe two days. You know your orders.”

Then Sam Frick said, “You want we should keep Post away from the patients?”

There was silence for a few seconds. Then Drake said slowly, “I can’t see as that’s going to make any difference. Just let him wander around. He’s a funny guy. He isn’t going to give much of a damn about anything. He’ll turn out to be a good man. You’ll see.”

Post couldn’t catch the rest. They lowered their voices. After a time they left and he could hear a bird calling a hot-weather note in the trees outside. He drifted off again.

When he awoke the second time he felt more rested. The sun was out and he could tell from the slant of the rays outside the window that it was getting late. He stood up slowly and stretched. He could smell food cooking. Suddenly he realized that he was ravenously hungry — hungrier than he had been in many weeks.

He walked out the door and saw the setting sun resting on the top of the hill they had walked down. He remembered that they had told him where the kitchen was. He walked toward it. Smoke wisped out of a crazy-angled stovepipe that stuck through the roof. He found a door in the end of the building nearest the lake.

Strane looked up from the wood stove. “Sleeping Beauty awakes. Hungry?”

Post yawned again. “Yeah.”

“Sit down there at the table. I’ll eat with you in a minute.”

“Where’s Frick?”

“He’ll be in after a while. We’ll eat first.”

Post sat down by one of the enameled plates. In a few minutes Strane carried the frying pan over to the table and dished out some of the potatoes and meat. It smelled good to Post. He ate rapidly and then leaned back and lit a cigarette. Strane was still eating. He chewed with his mouth open and the cords in his neck worked. He bent low over the plate and shoveled the food in with jerky scooping motions.

He got up and shoved his chair back. “Tomorrow you can cook, Post. That’ll be all you have to do. Ever done any?”

“Camp stuff. That’s all.”

Strane left and in a few minutes Sam Frick came in. He grabbed the frying pan and heaped what was left on his own plate. He sat down and started to eat without a word. Post stared out the open door and saw that the lake blue had darkened to gray as the sun had gone further below the hills. He finished his cigarette and snapped it out the door. Frick’s head was bent low over his plate.

Suddenly Post tied two things together in his head. The two of them didn’t eat together. Strane had said they had to “hang around and kind of watch.” He realized that the two men might be guarding the exit from the lake. He wondered if he ought to risk having some fun with Frick. He felt full and strangely contented.

“I suppose you guys take turns eating first?” he asked casually.

Frick stopped chewing and looked up. His small eyes were shadowed. “What gives you the idea we take turns, chum?”

“You can’t eat together. Who’d watch the patients?”

Frick waited a few seconds and then said softly, “I don’t know what you’re driving at, Post. Maybe you better let the whole thing drop.”

Post hid a grin and stood up. He stretched and walked to the door. The lake was quiet. He walked down to the shore and sat on a flat rock. The waves lapped against the rock. Blackflies gathered around his head and he lit another cigarette to keep them off. The sky grew darker. He heard frogs grumbling in a distant marsh. He noticed that there were no boats.

He stared up the lakeshore and saw a light flicker in the thick brush. He guessed that it was a light in one of the cabins. He couldn’t see the other cabins. It had grown too dark. He could see a strange patch of sun at the peak of a mountain in the east, but in the deep valley of the lake it smelled of night.