the water, and there might be an undertow.
A fog horn blares softly. The group sees a large boat being rowed from the
opposite side toward them. The boat is a raft, cobbled together from various
boards, with half a dozen men rowing, three on each side. The fog horn has
been to signal their approach. Martha glances nervously at Colonel Cage,
whose face is calm as they would not be announcing themselves if the approach
was malicious. Big Tom's face relaxes, and he walks over to his wife, putting
an arm around her shoulder as they watch and wait.
As the boat approaches they see that the men are thin but energetic, many with
bare very tan arms sticking out from their tattered shirts. They look over
their shoulders as they row, for aim, as there appears to be no leader in the
group. As the boat approaches, Big Tom and Danny step into the water to help
guide it to shore. The men in the boat are obviously unarmed, and dismount the
boat by clinging to the sides and sticking a leg into the water. These are
not boatmen, but landsmen who have learned how to cross the river.
Ian, the first man to step out of the boat, approaches with a broad smile on
his face, his hand extended.
Welcome, we're the group that survived at Bridgewater,
and we've set up a camp on the bluff over there. Where
are you from?
_______________________________
The last boat is arriving at Bridgewater. Big Tom and Martha are with their
children, gathering their things, obviously having arrived on an earlier boat.
Several crossings having taken place. Colonel Cage and Danny are among the
last group to cross, having stayed behind to guard the rear while Big Tom went
across with his wife and children, whom everyone agreed should be first.
Colonel Cage is feeling a bit of relief, and feels he can talk to those on the
boat openly, now that the women and children are not present. With a backdrop
of steady sloshing as the oars dip and pull, he queries Ian.
How many groups like yours are you aware of?
Ian says,
66
We're the only one, though for awhile there seemed to
be a group in the foothills, but their fires stopped
after a few weeks and we feel sure they're dead.
Colonel Cage gets right to the point, his jaw firm and face relaxed as he has
been trained to look danger straight in the face without flinching.
Have you had any run-ins with gangs, cannibalism?
Ian takes a moment to respond.
We've got a good position here, the river on one side
and the mountains on the other. Not many can get to
us unless we bring them over, like we did you. So I
guess we've not been the best target, thank God.
Colonel Cage and Ian are walking up the hill toward the camp from the river
bank. A group of women at the side of the trail are stirring something in a
pot over an open fire. Colonel Cage and Ian pass a woman pouring water into a
V shaped trough while another woman removes a drainage tray from under the
trough, replacing it with an empty tray. The trough is filled with gray ashes
with some chunks of blackened wood here and there, clearly ashes from a fire.
Phew . . Is that for supper?
Ian says,
They’re making soap. Fat and lye. Works well enough
but it’ll take the hair off your chest.
Ian has flashed a smile at Colonel Cage as they continue walking up the trail,
past a low table where a metal rack of soap forms is sitting inside a square
cake pan, a crisscross of metal sides where a dozen or more soap bars can
harden. The pot from the fire is brought over and a thick, beige colored,
steaming mixture is poured across the rack.
_______________________________
It is evening at the River Camp, where the women are having their first hot
tub bath in weeks. There is relaxed laughter from the steamy bathing hut. A
stocky town’s woman approaches from the hut with several clean towels over her
arm.
Inside the bathing hut Daisy is scrubbing her hair vigorously. She sinks back
into the tub to rinse her hair off, going under the water totally and emerging
with an ecstatic look on her face. She's home, once again, to where she can
expect the pampering she thinks is her due. Martha is toweling off Tammy, who
is chattering brightly about some friends she's met.
.. and they’re making a doll house too, but right now
they only have the mice to run through it. So maybe we
should call it the mouse house!
67
Tammy giggles, putting her hand to her mouth and looking up at her mother. Her
mother is visibly relieved, a calm contented look on her face. Clara is
soaking in a tub, submersed up to her chin and not moving.
I think I'll be here forever.
Netty is not among them.
_______________________________
Outside along the river bluff Colonel Cage and Big Tom and Netty are watching
the Sun go down, with Ian. They stand quietly, watching the brilliant
display. Ian says,
Compliments of the volcanic dust.
Netty asks,
Dust?
Breaking out of his thoughtful mood, Ian explains.
Oh, I mean we wouldn't have such a sunset if it
weren't for the volcanic dust. That's what I've
heard. When the Philippines went up we'd have these
kind of sunsets for awhile, but these are more
brilliant than anything I've ever seen. Guess that's
why we have such gloomy days, too.
The group turns their faces back to the sunset and falls silent, all in
thought.
_______________________________
It’s dawn, and birds are starting to chirp and sing irrepressibly. The river
water is placid. Big Tom and Red, who have arisen, used to farm hours where
everyone gets up at dawn or earlier. Big Tom is reaching into the back of his
shirt collar, pulling out a piece of straw. Their clothes have not been washed
as yet, nor have the men had a bath, having giving the women folk the first
opportunity.
I hear there was an old timer living here. Had a
garden and all.
Red says,
I talked to the guy last night. Trying to make the
tractor run on wood chips. Dangest thing I ever heard
of, but he claims it’s done.
Then pondering the mechanical challenge, Red voices his decision in a soft
voice with a hint of determination. This old man doesn’t back away from a
challenge.
I’m going to give him a hand.