Gary Paulsen: The River

Derek climbed out onto the float — moving a little stiffly and Brian noted that he wasn’t very athletic, seemed not to be too coordinated — and stepped ashore.

The pilot stayed in his seat and Brian moved the passenger seat forward and clambered out of the plane, stepped on the float and then to the dry grass.

Neat, he thought, neat and clean. The thought came into his mind that it was a beautiful day. The sun was out, there were small popcorn clouds moving across the sky, it was a soft summer afternoon.

Then, instantly — in just that part of a second — he changed. Completely. He became, suddenly, what he’d been before at the lake. Part of it, all of it; inside all of it so that every… single… little… thing became important.

He didn’t just hear birds singing, not just a background sound of birds, but each bird. He listened to each bird. Located it, knew where it was by the sound, listened for the sound of alarm. He didn’t just see clouds, but light clouds, scout clouds that came before the heavier clouds that could mean rain and maybe wind. The clouds were coming out of the northwest, and that meant that weather would come with them. Not could, but would. There would be rain. Tonight, late, there would be rain.

His eyes swept the clearing, then up the edge of the clearing, and in those two sweeps he knew — he knew the clearing and the woods. There was a stump there that probably held grubs; hardwood there for a bow, and willows there for arrows; a game trail, probably deer, moving off to the left meant other things, porcupines, raccoons, bear, wolves, moose, skunk would be moving on the trail and into the clearing. He flared his nostrils, smelled the air, pulled the air along the sides of his tongue in a hissing sound and tasted it, but there was nothing. Just summer smells. The tang of pines, soft air, some mustiness from rotting vegetation. No animals. At least, nothing fresh.

Derek had seen the change, was staring at him. “What happened?”

Brian shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Yes — something did. You changed. Completely. You’re not the same person.”

Brian shrugged. “I was just… looking at things. Seeing them.”

“Tell me,” Derek said. He took a notebook out of his pocket. “Tell me everything you saw.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Shouldn’t we let the pilot go first?”

Derek turned as if seeing the plane for the first time. “Oh, yes. I almost forgot. He has to get back. Let’s unload, and then he can go and you can tell me—”

“No.”

“What?”

Brian had made the decision just as he dozed off in the plane and it had settled into his mind while he slept. He knew it was the right thing to do. “We’re not going to unload.”

“What are you talking about?”

Brian looked at the lake, the clearing, the clouds. Seven, eight hours to rain. “I mean, if we unload all that gear — everything but the kitchen sink, like you said — this whole business will be ruined, wasted.”

“I don’t see what you mean — what happens if we have trouble?”

Brian nodded. “That’s it exactly. We have trouble. That’s what this is all about. You want to learn, but if you have all that backup, it’s just more games. It’s not real. You wouldn’t have that if the situation were real, would you?”

“But we don’t have to use it. We don’t have to use any of it.”

Brian smiled — a small, almost sad smile. “I promise you, absolutely promise you, that if that stuff is here you will use it and I will use it. By the third day, when the hunger really starts to work and the mosquitoes keep coming and coming and there isn’t any food or a tent and we know it’s just there, just in the bag — I guarantee you we will use it. We won’t be able not to use it.”

So much talk, Brian thought. Just jabber, jabber all the time. Like bluejays. We stand here and talk, and in seven, eight hours it will rain and we don’t have shelter or dry wood or a fire going. Talk. “Leave it all in the plane. Leave it or I’m flying out of here right now. I know what’s coming and I don’t want to waste it.”

“But we told your mother…”

Brian hesitated, then sighed. “I know. But the rule still holds. If we unload, I’m going home. Period. I’ll take responsibility.”

Derek studied him. “You mean it.”

“Absolutely.”

“How about a compromise?”

“What do you mean?”

“We keep the radio in case there’s trouble — serious trouble. Then at least we can call for help.”

Brian rubbed his neck, thinking. It wouldn’t be the same. Even the radio would taint it. Still, he had told his mother not to worry and if he insisted on not using the radio, absolutely not using it…

“All right.”

Derek nodded and stepped past him, balanced along the float and reached into the plane. He said something to the pilot, who nodded and looked at Brian through the windshield with a strange look, a studying look. Then he smiled and waved through the plastic and Brian nodded and waved in return.

Derek came back ashore with the radio — a small unit with a weatherproof seal and fresh nicad batteries. He also carried a small plastic briefcase.

“For my papers,” he said. “I have to take notes, write things down.”

Brian nodded, smiling inside. Derek sounded almost like Brian sounded when he was speaking to his mother or father and wanted to do something. Pleading. For my papers …

It was a strange feeling for Brian, the role reversal with an adult. He was in change of an adult and he supposed in this situation it was the best way. But he was uncomfortable with it, the business of being in control over an adult — or anybody, for that matter.

The plane had to be turned. It was nosed into the reeds and the pilot opened the window and asked them to aim the plane around so it could taxi out and take off.

Derek and Brian worked it back and around, wading in the water, pushing at the floats — the water felt warm to Brian, shore warm — and when they had it aimed well out, the pilot started the engine.

He taxied away without looking back and as soon as he was clear of the reeds he gunned the engine, increasing speed until the plane was roaring across the lake.

It bounced once, then again, and was airborne, climbed well over the trees at the end of the lake, circled and came back oven them, the pilot wagging the wings as they watched, and then it was gone.

Gone.

“Well,” Derek said. “Here we are. Alone.”

Brian nodded. He felt a strange loss at watching the plane leave. An emptiness.

“What’s next?” Derek asked. “How do we get the ball in play?”

Brian looked at him. A game, it’s all a game. “A fire. We need a fire and shelter. Soon.”

Derek looked at him, a question in his eyes.

Brian looked at the sky. “It’s warm afternoon now, but with evening the mosquitoes will come and we need smoke to keep them away until coolness in the morning. And we need shelter because it’s going to rain in about six and a half hours.”

“Six and a half hours?”

“Sure. Can’t you smell it?”

Derek took a breath through his nose, shook his head. “Nope. Not a thing.”

“You will,” Brian said. “You will. Now, let’s… get the ball rolling.” And he set off looking for a fire stone.

That first night Brian decided he was insane to have come back, insane to have agreed to do it, and insane for sending the plane away with all that wonderful equipment.

Especially the tent.

Brian had allowed them to have almost no survival gear. He decided that not all people put in this position would have a hatchet, so even that old friend was left at home.