Ethan Rutherford - The Peripatetic Coffin and Other Stories

“Father-son thing, huh?” the man said.

Robert climbed over the bow, and he and his father pulled the boat over the sand until it was above the tide line. They found a rock and looped the bowline around it.

“You got it,” the father said.

The man looked at Robert. “I think it’s okay to take your life jacket off now,” he said. Robert flushed and fumbled the clasps. The life jacket was too big for him and made him feel like a child. He dropped it in the dinghy. “What’s your name, my man?” the man said.

Robert looked at his father. “Robert,” he said.

The man smiled. “Robert,” he said. His eyes were deep brown. His face was like bark. “Robert.” He took a breath. “Like the poet.”

Robert said nothing.

“Like his uncle,” his father said.

“Like, his, uncle,” the man said. Then he turned to Robert’s father. “You can put the Doritos down. I have food. You get caught in the storm?”

Robert’s father set the bag down at his feet. “Yup. We were moored. At Alma Russell, farther in.”

“No shit. I know that island.”

Robert looked at his father, who was shifting his weight around like he couldn’t get comfortable. The man’s forearms, crossed on his chest, were gigantic. Robert guessed he was over six feet tall. “Well, didn’t that wind come out of nowhere?” he said. “One minute, sky’s clear to Japan. Next minute the furies. Least you were in a nice boat, though. Those Valiants. Nice boats.”

“We were lucky.”

The man ran one of his hands through his hair, got stuck halfway through, and tugged it out. “Well like I said. I got wrecked on the other side here. Just been waiting for someone to swing by. You’re the first boat I seen.”

“Four days ago?”

“I suppose so. I suppose that’s what it would be.”

The boy’s father looked over his shoulder at Pamier . They’d left the hatches open. “We were about to pull anchor,” he said. “We’re heading south. We could tell someone. Call it in on the radio.”

The man shook his head. “I just gotta move some stuff ship to shore, if you know what . . . two people could do the job, easy. It’s a”—the man paused to watch something in the distance—“portable generator. Some food. That’s all. The boat’s wedged on a shoal. Just can’t do it by myself. Half an hour, tops.”

“We’re on a tight schedule.”

“Half an hour,” the man said. “Tops.”

They followed the man up the beach. On this island the woods hugged the shore and began near the high-tide line where sand gave way to rock. The trees were dense, their green branches enormous and windblown. At their base was a thicket of brush and bushes, grown together and knit closed by years of weather, a natural wall that appeared impenetrable to Robert. The man walked quickly until he’d led them above the tide line and over driftwood. When they got to the edge of the beach he stopped, turned to Robert’s father, and said: Ta-da. The opening into the woods was obscured by dead branches. It was less than ten feet from where they’d had their fire the night before, a small, almost invisible, seam in the growth. The man bent over and picked up a desiccated buoy in their path and hulked it into the woods before continuing up the dirt trail, motioning for them to follow.

He led them at a slow pace, stopping now and again to kick a branch out of their way or sometimes for no reason at all. They stayed close behind him. Sunlight filtered through the oak canopy and mottled the ground at their feet. It was at least ten degrees colder inland. Robert felt like he was now walking through a Gary Paulsen novel, bushwhacking the wilderness. He focused on the man’s feet in front of him. His boots were brand-new, barely scuffed. He and his father were both wearing sneakers.

After ten minutes of silent hiking, the man suddenly stopped and turned. He put his hands on his hips and looked at them, as if he were considering something. Then he grabbed Robert’s shoulder and said, “If you look up, you can see an eagle’s nest.”

Startled, Robert stepped back but was held in place. He looked up. He didn’t see anything but trees. “Right there,” the man said.

“Where?” his father said. He’d been a few feet behind Robert, but moved now, and put his hand on Robert’s other shoulder.

“In the trees,” the man said, releasing Robert and pointing. “Top of that one, there.”

Neither Robert nor his father saw anything that looked like a nest. The man shrugged. “Take my word for it,” he said. “Eagle nest.”

“Okay,” Robert said. “Okay.”

The man turned back up the path. “You ever see an eagle catch a salmon?” he said after a few minutes. He seemed interested only in talking to Robert. His father stayed close. He had fallen behind them a number of times as they weaved through the woods, but now he stayed close.

“Yeah,” Robert said, even though he hadn’t. He’d seen eagles, plenty of them, flying while gripping salmon, but hadn’t seen an actual catch.

“Water, then air,” the man said. “Imagine it. Just imagine.”

“Something else,” his father said. “For sure.”

On the map, the island hadn’t looked large enough for a forest this size. They walked for fifteen more minutes, scrambling over debris felled by the storm, Robert’s father helping him by keeping a hand on his back. They walked through ferns and over moss. They passed fishing buoys lodged in the crotches of trees. Robert pointed out to his father what looked like a flannel shirt and a pair of pants draped over a bush, as if hung there to dry. His father nodded, and then looked at it like he was working something around in his head. Finally they broke through the other side into the sun, and Robert was filled with relief. In front of them was a huge cropping of rocks, and below that the water. The beach itself was piled with driftwood, sun-stained logs rolled tightly together like bleachers.

The man turned to them. “Down this way,” he said.

“What way?” his father said.

“Around.”

His father stood there. “Four days?”

The man looked at him. “About,” he said. He pulled himself up to his full height and smiled. “About.”

Robert’s father was quiet. Then he said, “Let’s do this, then. My wife’s waiting for us.”

“On the boat?” the man said.

“On the boat.”

The man laughed, and looked at his shoes and then looked at the sky like he was checking the weather. “No, she’s not,” he said. His tone was friendly, as if he were kidding an old friend. “Why would you say something like that?”

Robert followed his father, who followed the man over the rocks. They walked with their backs to the forest, moving slowly, the man not looking at them. From behind it looked to Robert like the man was covering his mouth. He picked up his pace, and as they approached the end of the outcropping he was almost at a run. He put some distance between them, then he suddenly stopped and turned. “It’s—” He stumbled. “I’m down here,” he said. He was pointing, but Robert couldn’t see at what.

Robert’s father lightly put his hand on the back of his son’s neck. “There’s no easier way down?” he said.

“Swim,” the man said. His eyes were wild. “I swimmed.”

Robert noticed the man’s mouth was bleeding slightly. The man looked at Robert like he’d just remembered him and smiled. One of his front teeth was smeared brown. He looked like he was trying to keep from laughing. “I swum to be here with you today,” he said.

“You all right?” Robert’s father said.

The man shrugged and looked over his shoulder at the ocean.

“We’re leaving,” Robert’s father said to his son. Then he turned to the man. “We’re leaving now.”