About halfway to our destination, though, Billie broke into song.
"Once jol-ly swagman . . . !"
Connie twisted around. "Mom!"
"What?"
"Shhhh!!!!"
"Let's all sing," Billie suggested.
Connie's attitude had improved so much that she didn't blurt out, "Fuck you!" Instead, she asked, "What on earth for?"
"It's a great day for singing." Billie looked over her shoulder at me, and smiled. "Don't you think so, Rupert?"
"They'll hear us," I said, and whacked my neck to mash a mosquito.
That's the idea," she said. "Let's get their attention, if we don't already have it."
Connie lifted her eyebrows. "So they'll worry about us instead of Kimberly?"
"Exactly," Billie said. "It might not even occur to them that Kimberly isn't with us."
"As long as they don't see us," I added.
Billie grinned. "If they're busy watching us, they aren't watching Kimberly."
"Okay," I said. "But we'd better be ready for them."
"What the hell," Connie said.
"Let's do it," said Billie.
Off we went, marching up the stream, the three of us singing "Waltzing Matilda" at the top of our lungs. Billie and Connie seemed to know the lyrics by heart -- Andrew, the Navy lifer, had probably learned the song on shore leave in Australia, or something, and taught it to them. I knew most of the words, myself. (I've made it a point, since I was a little kid, to memorize song lyrics, poems, all sorts of quotes that impress me.) We sounded damn good, bellowing it out.
Even though the song is mostly about death and ghosts, it's so jaunty that I felt great singing it.
We were flaunting ourselves, taunting Wesley and Thelma if they were near enough to hear our cheerfully defiant marching song.
After "Waltzing Matilda," we sang "Hit the Road, Jack." I didn't know the words at first, but caught on after listening to Billie and Connie. Then we sang, "Hey, Jude," which we all knew most of the words to.
For our next song, I suggested, "We're off to See the Wizard."
Billie laughed. "Oh, that's rich." Rich, mostly, because I was lugging an ax. "You make a cute Tin Woodsman," she said. "Ill be the Cowardly Lion."
Cute. She'd called me cute.
"Gimme a break," Connie said. "We're choosing parts? What does that leave me, the Scarecrow? Fat chance. What was he looking for, a brain? Thanks, but no thanks."
"You can be Dorothy," I told her, smiling.
"What if I don't want to be Dorothy? Dorothy's a woos."
"That leaves Toto," Billie said.
"A dog. Thanks a heap, Mother. If we're gonna sing the damn song, let's just get on with it, okay? You guys can pretend to be whoever you want, just include me out."
"Party pooper," Billie said.
"You and the horse you rode in on."
"Cowardly Lions don't ride horses," I pointed out.
Connie gave me a narrow look, then smiled. "And doughnut holes don't fly," she said, "but maybe you can take a leap at one, anyway."
"Let's sing," Billie said.
Without any more discussion, we started in on "The Wizard of Oz."
Turned out, none of us knew the words very well. We made an energetic botch of the song, then quit when we reached the flat, slanting rock just below the lagoon.
This time, nobody went sneaking up the rock to take a look around. Connie leading the way, the three of us climbed its face. We stood at the top in full view of anyone who might be watching.
We saw nobody.
"Now what?" Connie whispered.
"Kimberly was planning to come in from the rear," Billie said. "She'll probably be over on the other side."
"Somewhere upstream," I added.
"So I guess we swim across," Billie said.
"Not me," I said. "I can't swim anywhere with this ax."
"Leave it here?" Billie asked.
"Somebody might swipe it. Besides, what if we need it?"
"Guess you're right," she said. "Maybe we'd better walk around to the other side."
I expected Connie to say, "Be my guest," then dive in and swim across. I wouldn't have blamed her, either. I wanted to dive in. The water looked wonderful. Also, it would've been very soothing on our mosquito bites.
Connie surprised me, saying, "I'll go first." Then she turned to the left and began to make her way along the shoreline. Billie followed her, and I took up the rear.
It wasn't easy going. A lot of climbing. A lot of ducking under branches. A lot of squeezing through tight places. A lot of tricky footwork, crossing ledges and steep slopes and deadfalls. A lot of huffing and sweating.
I felt responsible. After a while, I said, "Are you two sure you wouldn't rather go on and swim across? I can meet you on the other side."
"This is the last place we oughta start splitting up," Billie said.
"You got a death wish?" Connie asked me.
"I just feel bad about making you do this."
"You're doing us the favor," Billie said. "Hell, you're hauling around our major piece of weaponry."
She was right about that.
And very sweet to point it out.
They both seemed to accept this rough haul as an unavoidable part of our mission to hook up with Kimberly, and didn't blame me.
We stayed as close as possible to the water. That way, we had a good view of the lagoon and most of the opposite shore, including the waterfall. We kept our eyes open for Kimberly. And we watched for any signs of Wesley or Thelma.
Being at the rear, I watched our backs.
I couldn't help, from time to time, also watching the backs of Billie and Connie.
Billie's close-cropped hair, dripping with sweat, clung to her head in dark ringlets. Her back, richly dark from the sun (sunblock only goes so far), gleamed as if she'd been dipped in melted butter. Her back was crossed by the single rope of her tomahawk sling, and by the three coils of the long rope. The tomahawk bounced and swayed against her right hip as she walked. The seat of her black bikini pants was packed with her full, firm buttocks. I remember thinking, as I followed her, how I would've loved to see her wearing a thong like Connie's.
As for Connie, her short, blond hair looked almost exactly like her mother's. But that's where the resemblances stopped. She didn't have the broad shoulders, the wide back, or the impressive hips and rump. From behind, she looked like skin and bones while her mother looked like flesh and blood.
She wore the towel-vest, which covered most of her back. Below the rear of the vest, she was naked except for a waistband and a strip of orange fabric that descended (and very nearly vanished) between her buttocks. Her cheeks were brown and shiny, but had a few red bumps from the mosquitoes.
Both women were wonderful to watch.
For about an hour, I worked my way along behind them, struggling with the weight of the ax, keeping an eye out for trouble, and for Kimberly, and savoring my views of Billie and Connie.
I'm glad that I didn't try to be a perfect gentleman and avoid looking at them; pretty soon they would be gone and I might never have another chance to see them.
I didn't know that at the time.
I only knew that we were together on a mission, that I could admire them from behind to my heart's content, that I loved them both, and that this was one of those few, special times I would always look back on with fondness and sorrow.
The great times are often that way.
In the middle of everything, you suddenly realize that you're having a perfect, golden experience. And you realize how few they are. And how this one is bound to end too soon. You know that it will always be a wonderful memory, that the loss of it will give you a soft ache in the heart.
This was one of those times.
It had begun, I realize now, with "Waltzing Matilda."
It ended upstream, in the rocks beyond the lagoon, at the edge of the chasm.
By the time we reached the other side of the lagoon, we were drenched with sweat and gasping for breath. Instead of pausing to rest, however, we climbed the rocks alongside the waterfall.
We no sooner reached the top than Kimberly shouted, "Over here!"
We spotted her standing on a boulder by the side of the stream, waving her arms back and forth. She was uphill from us, about a hundred feet away. Her spear leaned against the boulder, close enough for her to crouch and grab in case of an emergency. But if she fell on it . . .
The idea made me grimace.
While we approached her, she climbed down.
Didn't fall and get skewered.
Scooted on her rump down the face of the rock, then jumped to the ground.
"Was that you guys singing?" she asked.
"Who else would it be?" Connie said.
She smiled. "I couldn't believe my ears. You're coming to my rescue belting out songs?"
"You obviously didn't require rescuing," Billie said.
"It's the thought that counts."
"We would've sung 'The Gary Owen,' I told her, "but I don't know the words."
"The Gary what?" Connie asked.
Kimberly wrinkled her nose. "Is that the Seventh Cavalry song?" she asked.
"Right." I hummed a few bars.
Billie grinned. She said, "Ah, John Wayne."
"George Armstrong Custer," I said.
"That would've been choice," Kimberly said.
"You being part Sioux, and all . . ."
"Anyway, I'm glad you came."
"We thought you might be able to use some help," Billie told her. "Even if you didn't want us getting in your way."
"Hey, I'm sorry about that. I got a little carried away down there. Anyway, as it turns out, you don't have to worry about me going nuts and torturing the hell out of Wesley. The bastard's dead."
"Whoa!" Connie said. (I think she meant it to mean, "Wow!")
"You found him?" I asked.
She nodded. "Let's go. I'll show you." She started leading us through the strange terrain to the right of the stream.
"What about Thelma?" Billie asked.
"No sign of her. But at least we don't have to worry about Wesley anymore."
We followed Kimberly on a zigzag route through a maze of boulders, bushes, trees, and rock piles that jutted up like miniature mountains. Though we walked through patches of shadows, there was more sunlight than we'd seen since the beach. A gentle breeze blew. It cooled my sweat, and kept the mosquitoes away.
"He's through here?" Connie asked. "How did you ever find him?"
"Took a while. This is upstream from the falls, like Thelma said. "
"But conveniently close to the falls and lagoon," I pointed out.
"Yep. To me, it seemed like just exactly the right sort of area. You could hide an army through here. So I scouted around for a while. I climbed that." She pointed at a tall cluster of rocks, not far ahead of us.
"You must've been here a while," Billie said.
"I hurried. I was pretty sure you guys would come after me, sooner or later, and I wanted a chance to find Wesley before you got here. Thought I'd find him alive."
"That's what we were afraid of," Connie told her. "That's how come we tried to hurry."
"What took you so long?"
"We had to go around the lagoon," I explained. "We couldn't swim across because of the ax."
"I'm glad you showed up when you did." She smiled. "Better late than never." She seemed quite cheerful. "Anyway, I was up there when I spotted something that looked like a pair of red panties on the ground. I figured they must be Thelma's. So what I did, I climbed down and went over to check them out. They were right by the edge of a chasm. I sort of peered over the edge, and there he was, down at the bottom. I could hardly believe my eyes. It was Wesley, all right."
"And he's definitely dead?" I asked.
"I'd say so. You'll see."
"So," Connie said, "now we only have to worry about Thelma." She glanced nervously at several nearby places where the gal might be lurking.
Billie said, "Don't worry. She isn't likely to jump all four of us."
"I can't figure her out," Kimberly said. "Looks like she told us the truth, after all, about killing Wesley. His head's bashed in, just like she said. So how come she went for Rupert with the razor? I mean, we figured Wesley must've sent her. That idea doesn't quite work anymore."
"She must've had some other reason," Billie suggested.
"You try putting moves on her?" Connie asked me.
I blushed and blurted, "No!"
Connie smirked. "Not your type?"
"Not even close."
"She must've had some kind of reason," Billie said, frowning slightly as if puzzled.
Kimberly smiled. "We'll just have to ask her when she shows up."
"I'm hoping she doesn't," I said. "If I never see her again in my whole life, it won't be too soon."
"She'll show up."
"What makes you so sure?" I asked.
"You've got her favorite razor." As Kimberly said that, she gave me a look and a smile that not only let me know she was kidding around, but somehow made me feel as if everything would turn out fine and dandy.
God, how I would love to see that look again, that smile.
Nevermore.
I shouldn't say that. I shouldn't give up hope. Not till I've seen her dead body with my own eyes. And even that might not make anything certain.
Plenty around here is not what it seems to be.
I've started drifting again. Procrastinating. The problem is, I just don't want to tell about what's coming. I've got to, though.