I wanted to swim to the surface, but somehow couldn't make myself do it. It took all my concentration to breathe from the respirator, keep in mind where I was, what I was doing, and that air and daylight were not too far above my head.
It came to me eventually that I was looking for a car. That struck me as funny. A car in the river. Cars belonged on the highway. I had a car once. I had a truck now, but I had a car once. Leonard had a car. Lots of people had cars. Or did cars have people? It was an interesting thing to think about. If I'd had a pad and pencil, maybe I'd have taken a note to consider that later. No, I couldn't see well enough to take a note, and paper wouldn't do so good down here. I'd have to remember about the cars and sort it out later.
I felt a tug, as if wires were attached to me. I couldn't figure it.
Leonard pulling the rope?
No. That was the other direction.
Did I have another rope on me?
No, I didn't think so.
The suck hole. I was near that and it was pulling at me.
Had to think. Okay. Underwater. Got oxygen. Cold as the tip of a penguin's dick. Looking for a car. Honk, honk.
The suck hole was pulling at me. My arms were weak, and I didn't feel as if I could swim. I went with the suction. It wasn't bad, but it was enough to pull me. It seemed important that I do something, but I couldn't think what it was.
Then the river bottom went away and there was water and tugging. I was over the suck hole. I had swam over and into suck holes and out again in my time, but I wasn't this cold then. Beer would keep good in this water, but you'd want to drink it in a warm place. In front of a big fireplace would be nice. Maybe something to eat with it. I really preferred my beer with food.
Something was keeping me from going down.
The rope. It had gone taut. Leonard had me. Seemed to me that was supposed to be good, but I couldn't be sure.
But wait a minute. I was in the suck hole and my feet were touching something.
This wasn't a very deep suck hole. I wondered how wide it was. Maybe I could put a picnic table down here and have that beer and a sandwich on it. But I'd have to wait until summer. Wait a second. You can't drink beer underwater. Sure can't eat a sandwich. It would get flimsy. And taste like the water. The water was dirty, too.
It was so goddamn dark. Had I been down here so long it was night?
What were my feet touching?
The rope was tugging at me. Leonard was pulling me up.
Hold on here. I didn't ask to be pulled up. I'm thinking down here, goddammit.
I got hold of the belt and unfastened it and let it go. The rope wasn't pulling me anymore.
I bent forward and touched with my hands what my feet had been standing on. It was something flexible. I got hold of it with both hands and held on to it and my feet floated straight up. What I was holding came loose and I began to float up.
Let's see, did I want to float up?
Now something had me, had me hard. I wanted to fight against it, but I was holding this thing in my hands and I didn't want to lose it.
Why didn't I want to lose it? I could let it go and fight back.
I thought about that, but by the time I decided to let go I was on the surface and Leonard had his arm under my chin and was pulling me toward shore. The sun was very bright. It wasn't so cold. I could see trees and sky between their limbs. My hands felt numb. I was still holding my prize. I thought I should let it go. All I had to do was have my brain tell my fingers, 'Let go, you sumbitches.'
I let go. I was lying on my back. What I let go of was on my chest. A monster bent over me. No, Leonard. He pulled back his mask. He took the respirator out of his mouth. He was calling my name, but it sounded as if it were coming from far away. He was calling someone else too. A person named Shadhad. No, wait a moment. That was shithead. Could he mean me?
"Answer me, shithead. Are you all right?"
"I think so," I said.
"You took off the belt and the rope."
"Did I?"
"You did."
"Couldn't think clear."
"The water, smartass. I told you. Too cold. We haven't got top equipment here and we don't really know what we're doing . . . You're okay?"
"Uh-huh. But you can forget finding any car down there."
"That right?" He picked something off my chest, wiped it with his hand a couple of times and held it in front of my eyes.
It was a rusty license plate.
* * *
We took off the swim gear and used some Kleenex from the glove box to get the grease off of us, then we dressed and drove into scenic downtown Marvel Creek. We had a couple of Lone Stars and a hamburger at Bill's Kettle. Afterwards, we splurged and had chocolate pie and coffee.
When we finished, Leonard said, "Course, it could be some other car."
"How many cars are gonna end up in the middle of a creek like that? And that suck hole is wide enough and deep enough to hold a car during floods and water risings over the years, and when the river gets low, bet that spot's covered with enough water to keep the car out of sight."
"What we got is a license plate, though, not a car."
"It was hooked to a car. It came off because it was rusted."
"You know, the boat could really be out there. And with a little luck, the money."
"Lot of luck. By the way, did I thank you for saving me?"
"Not nearly enough. More humility on your part would be good. I went down there without a rope and pulled you up at great risk of my own life."
"How great a risk do you think?"
"Real great. I fought the suck hole and the cold and you. I can't think of anyone braver."
"Or more modest."
We went on like that until we were tired, then we found we didn't want to drive back to the Sixties Nest. Didn't want to sleep on a cold back porch with butane in our snouts. We got some beer and some cheap wine and rented a room at a rundown motel and stayed up most of the night telling lies and a few sad truths that we hoped the other would think were lies.
Leonard talked about his grandmother, and how fine she was, how he loved her, then talked about his dad, who beat him until he was fourteen and he turned on the old man and kicked his ass, and the old man went away and never came back and his mother died of diabetes and shattered dreams. A stint in the army seemed all right to him. He didn't talk about Vietnam. He skipped that part, and of course I'd heard it all before and he knew it, but a drunk doesn't care about what's been said before, he cares about now and how he feels, dragging that stuff up is like putting on a good old blues song you've heard a hundred times. You know the words, but it still does you good.
He moved on to other things. Sad history became glad lies. He talked about his dogs, about this one—long gone to her reward, of course—that was smart as Lassie. Could jump through hoops and run for help. Another glass of wine and he might have told me how she could drive a car and smoke a cigar, maybe work a couple calculus problems.
But it didn't get that far. He got limp and paused too long and I told him how I'd lost some plans. About how the future that was now was not the future I'd wanted. He listened good, like he always did, and what I said was all right. He was with me on that, knew this line of patter, nodded knowingly in all the right places, way I had with his much-heard story about his good grandmother and his runaway father and his dead mother. Then I told him about Trudy and Cheep, sneaked it in like an inside curve ball. I was looking for a little sympathy there. Figured I deserved it.
"You dick," Leonard said, "I told you that bitch was poison. Paco told you. Everyone knows what she is but the guys in love with her. Maybe I wasn't queer I'd love her too. But from my perspective, she's just a bitch with some patter, and you're an A-one jackass that can't tell a hard-on from true, sweet love. Goodnight."
The thing I like best about Leonard is his sensitivity. Tell you one thing, though, I'd listened to his last goddamn dog story cum lie. He could tell it to the bushes.