Daniel

The cold water lapped steadily at the shores of the lake that had once been a hill. Rich, dark earth had once stood where fish now swim. The roots of the trees reached deep, below the point where the bottom of the lake lies now, and the water’s green hue recalled the grass and leaves that had once covered the landscape. The proud hill had stood for hundreds of years as the tallest point on the horizon, a beacon for the Ojibwe who had traveled these forests for generations.

Mining companies discovered the pastoral landscape and soon stripped the minerals from the earth, leaving the hill a hole in the forest. Decades passed. Water collected to form a pond and the pond became a lake. Every year the lake grew in size, encroaching more and more on the shoreline until it spanned the width of what had once been the base of the hill. The water ran deep and cold as resentment built towards the beings who had taken its pride away. It stoked its fury like a wounded veteran, hiding it in the back of its consciousness, never forgetting the feeling of axes and fire, machines and saws.

A father watched his son fish the shores of the cold lake and felt nothing of this, but he enjoyed the shimmer of the October wind running through the glossy cottonwood leaves. He had nestled himself in the roots of one of the great trees with a book and his own fishing pole, though he was paying little attention to either. He gazed proudly at Daniel. Daniel had a shock of blond hair that reminded his father of the wheat farms he had grown up on: somehow smooth and coarse at the same time and best seen in the brassy autumn sunlight. The boy looked up from his casting, acknowledged his dad with a brief jerk of his head, then returned to patrolling the shallows with his lure.

The old man returned his attention to the water in time to see his red and white bobber casually drifting against the wind, then submerging an inch or so beneath the waves. He stood up quickly, rod in hand, and dropped the paperback he had been leafing through so that it fell on the dirt.

The father ran a quick checklist through his head, and his mind’s voice sounded a lot like his son: Feel him on there, don’t be too aggressive. In these waters it’s probably just a crappie. Don’t tear the lips. Give him a minute to commit, then set the hook. He waited, slowly reeling in the slack line until he could feel the flutter of fins against his hands. The line went taut in his grip, and he gave a strong but gentle pull to embed the hook.

It was a good fish, and he laid it on the grass next to the others after removing the hook. Let Daniel worry about catching the big fish, he thought, I have enough for supper tonight. He bent down to wash the scent of fish from his hands in the chilly water and shivered as he rose to return to his tree. The days were getting shorter, and he knew time like this was limited. The weekend trip would soon be over and he would go back to his classroom to teach, Daniel would return to his college life, and everything else would be the same as it always had been. These weekends were so few and far between, the father knew, and it would likely be springtime again before they could return.

He shook his head. That’s not the way to think, he told himself. He needed to learn to live in the present, but it was hard to not think about the future. Something always made him think about work, or money, when he really just wanted to enjoy his time away.

“These are good fish,� he said to clear his head, “but they must be cleaned or they are useless.� He began to collect his things. The sun was not more than three hours from the horizon, and that would make it about an hour to supper time for the pair of fishermen. The man forced his stiff legs to rise from their comfortable roost against the tree trunk and winced in pain. There had been a time when it hadn't hurt him to stand up, but that time had passed long ago. Everything ends, he told himself, shaking one leg and holding himself against the tree with his free hand.

He tossed the dead and dying fish into a plastic bag, adding them to the jumble of clothing and tackle boxes in his backpack. He looked up just in time to watch his son lean towards the water, feet spread like a boxer, carefully feeling the tension of the line that circled about in the water as if it had a spirit of its own. Daniel slowly reeled in the excess line, his green eyes locked on the tiny spot where it met the water in a circle of ripples. His father smiled and leaned against the tree again to watch.

Daniel moved quickly, and pulled against the fish in the water. The rod tip bent under the pressure and slackened as the fish jumped in the air, its mouth gaping open as only a largemouth bass can do. The boy brought the animal in, and lifted it out of the water for his father to see. It opened and closed its mouth sullenly.

“Nice fish you got there.�

Daniel turned his green eyes on his dad—eyes that were an odd accompaniment to his otherwise soft demeanor, eyes that gave his youthful face an aware, hawkish finish. They’re old, the man thought. They’re old eyes. He saw them soften as Daniel smiled.

“Yeah, I get by, I guess, “ he said.

“Like hell you do,� the old man said grinning. “How many you got on the end of that stringer?� He pointed to a blue line that dangled in the water.

“A few,� the boy said.

“A few?� The old man snorted. “Alright, a few. Me too. I caught a couple.�

“Yeah? A couple, huh. Must have been a hell of a day for you.�

The old man smirked at the kid.

“You’re kind of a smart ass, you know that?�

The boy grinned back at him and scoffed, “You’re an English teacher, and all you’ve got for me is ‘smart ass’?�

“I’m just calling it as I see it, kid. Listen, I’m heading back to camp to cook these things. You want to come with or stay here?�

Daniel shrugged. “I think I’ll probably stay here for a little while longer. Although,� he said, squinting off into the lowering sun, “if that cloud keeps heading this way, I’ll probably head back a little sooner than later.�

The dad held a hand over his eyes and stared off into the west, and sure enough there was a dark cloud on the horizon.

“How the hell you see stuff like that, I’ll never know,� the old man said, rubbing his eyes from the sun. “Just don’t stay out too long if it does start to dump on you, alright? It’s kind of a hike back to camp, and you know, hell if it’s wet out.�

“I know, don’t worry about me. Just don’t fall yourself. I don’t know what I’d do if you threw your back out or something crossing those rocks. There’s no cell phone service out here, and I’ll be damned if I’m putting up with you complaining all the way back to civilization.�

The rocks, the father thought, were the worst part of the trip back to camp. A part of the trail narrowed so that only one person could cross, and even then, only if he did it sideways.

“Yeah, sure. Just be careful is all, alright?�

“I’ll be either careful or good. How about one of that?�

The dad rolled his eyes. “Try for both, but go with careful if you can’t. Anyways, I’m heading back there. See you in about an hour I guess?� Smart ass, he added to himself.

Daniel stared off into the sun again and the light caught his hair; for a moment, his father couldn’t tell where his hair ended and the low sun began. The father had to lower his eyes from the light. When he looked back up, his son was casting his lure back into the weeds, looking for another bass to round out the day.

“Yeah, about an hour or so,� he said. “See you then.�

The trek back to the campsite left Daniel’s father sticky from sweat. That he would still break a sweat from an easy hike like this one made him wonder if he was still young enough to go on these little adventures. The rocks on the way back were hell, he thought, so that was part of it. To get it out of his head, he thought about the next day of fishing that he had to look forward to before going back to work. No, that was the wrong way again. He had another day of time with Daniel, he told himself. Never mind fishing, never mind working, never mind grading papers, he needed to look at things as they came.

He busied himself around the campsite to move his mind onto something new. The fish needed to be cleaned, so he did that while watching the dark cloud in the distance lumber its way eastward. It didn’t worry him; Daniel had been the one to see it, after all. He would know to get back before there was any danger to himself, or more importantly, his dad thought smiling, to his fish.

One of the fish flopped suddenly in his hand, causing him to nick his finger with his filet knife. The cut wasn’t bad, but it reminded him to focus on what he was doing. Again he imagined his son’s voice: Keep your mind on what’s in front of you, old man. There might be a later to worry about, and there might not, but there sure as hell won’t be if there isn’t a now to take care of first.

“Yeah,� the old man said, “I know.�

He started a fire and greased a pan to fry the fish. They sizzled satisfyingly, and he poured a cup of coffee and leaned back against a tree trunk. It had been a good day. He closed his eyes and might have drifted off if he had not heard a low gurgle in the distance. Thunder, he thought. That’ll bring him back any time now.

But the time passed, and it did not bring Daniel back to camp. The old man told himself that there was no point in getting bent out of shape; Daniel would be back to tell him he was worrying about nothing, just letting the fish burn. A few rain drops splashed on his arms and sizzled next to the browning strips of fish fillets, and that did it for him. He took the fish off the fire and scattered the wood in the dirt circle he had dug the night before. It hissed angrily as he strode off into the forest.

He did not run, not yet. He would meet Daniel on the next bend of the pass. The rain hadn’t even begun to gather in the empty puddle holes on the path. There was nothing to worry about.

The old man looked up, and a large drop of water landed on his forehead. The sky had turned an oily, charcoal color, and the wind whistled through the treetops. He tried to hear his son’s voice telling him to forget about it, that if he could get into college, he could probably navigate a rocky pass that the animals managed just fine. But they didn’t do it in this weather, the old man thought, and they weren’t carrying a flopping rope full of bass.

His pace quickened as the rain came down more and more heavily. His boots made a slapping sound against the thick earth beneath him. The muddy ground clung to his feet, as if it were grasping at him to slow him down. The pass wasn’t far ahead. He began to wonder whether Daniel had known of another way, one that would not lead him across such a dangerous and precarious path. Perhaps he decided to wait by the lake, opting to chance lightning instead of the wet rocks. That could be true, the old man thought. Running raggedly, he rounded the final corner and scanned the cliffs, but there was nothing for him to see. A stream of water had washed out the middle of the path, and the rain coursed down the hill now. Daniel was nowhere in sight. The old man started to breathe again. He must have stayed at the lake.

The old man was about to turn around and head back to the camp to wait when he saw a movement. It flickered in the center of the rocks, and it was gone a moment later. He almost dismissed the thing as something in his mind, but he saw it again. His heart fell. There was movement, he was sure. But what was it? It couldn’t be Daniel.

The father dashed up the craggy hill, fear for his son overcoming his fear of the sodden rocks. Shapes formed in front of him in the darkness and fled just as quickly. Finally he got close enough to see the mouth opening and closing, gasping for breath on the dull, rocky terrain.

It was a bass, the largemouth that Daniel had caught about an hour ago. His father couldn’t tell if it now struggled against death, or if its nerves were firing randomly. If the fish were here, he thought, his son must have come by. He wouldn’t have left this here if something weren’t wrong. Maybe he almost slipped and dropped the fish, and then thought to go back to the lake to wait out the storm. But why didn’t he wait at the other side of the pass if he decided not to cross? Why would he have to go all the way back to the lake? The old man was getting scared now. Earlier the fear had been something irrational, but now it was real, and it howled in unison with the wind. He should be there. He should be waving like an idiot at you right now, shrugging that he lost all the damn fish he caught earlier. But he isn’t.

The old man looked around the pass, then looked down. He had been avoiding looking down the slope, because he knew awfully well what he might find there. The cliff wall was stained with mud, and there was a rock dislodged from its resting place, but his vision tapered off before the bottom could be seen. The old man paced back and forth, knowing that he had to go down there. Even if there was nothing waiting for him, he had to be sure. At last he saw that there was an incline off to the side of the slope that made for the most passable way to the forest floor, and he decided that he would have to risk slipping and navigate the wet, grassy trail.

It was a thin trail that must have been made by deer on their way to the lake. The father wished that he had known about it before, but that was in the past and could do him no good now. Only make it down, he told himself, make it down and find that there is nothing there. You’re just being the same worrying parent that you’ve always been.

When he reached the bottom, his jeans were soaked with mud and grime and rain from sliding most of the way. His hands were cut from holding onto roots and grasses, but he paid no attention. A smash of lightning and thunder made him cringe, but it illuminated the ground in front of him and he saw something dancing in the wind. The light was gone as soon as it had arrived, so he couldn’t be sure. But yes, there it was, something limp, something torn to and fro in the wind. Something blond.

The lightning struck again, and a green glint caught some of the light. It was Daniel, lying broken at the bottom of the slope, the dislodged rock from above resting on his stomach. His eyes were open. For a moment, the old man thought he was dead.

“Daniel! Daniel, Danny, Danny, Danny, what happened?�

Consciousness surged forward in his son’s green eyes. At first, only a sharp, ragged inhale, and then his eyes squeezed shut again.

“There was this rock,� he finally said. “Even I slip sometimes, old man. I guess I picked a bad time to do it though.�

“Don’t talk. Don’t say anything. I’m going to go get help. Just don’t move, you’re going to be fine, Danny.�

The thunder rumbled, faintly now. Moonlight through the cloud cover offered just enough light for the old man to register the fear in his son's eyes.

“What are you doing, Dad? Don’t leave me. You aren’t going to get any help, there’s none to get. Remember where we are? Just stay with me.�

“What do you mean stay with you?� the old man choked out, his voice catching in his throat. “I’m going to get you help, son.�

“There’s not any help for twenty miles. God, I just don’t want to do this alone, Dad.�

The old man bit back tears for a moment, then lost the fight and started to sob.

“It’s all a goddamn mess, isn’t it, son?�

“Yeah, it is. A goddamn mess.�

“I,� he started, “I can’t outlive you. God dammit, you’re only eighteen.� He reached out for Daniel’s hand and clasped it gently. The boy squeezed back, still strong, but the effort showed in his face.

“Doesn’t matter. What else do you think is going to happen? That’s what I was thinking about as I was laying here. Everyone dies, Dad. Everyone. Some people do it in five years, some in a hundred, but everyone does.�

The old man cried quietly, and Daniel stared out at the sky. It was clearing, and he thought he could see a star. There was only one, but it was bright, and he focused on it.

“I’m glad I got to spend today doing what I wanted. That’s really the point, I think. Those people who live to be a hundred aren’t any more happy than me. They just have more time to find it.�

The old man nodded and squeezed his hand again. Daniel squeezed back, more softly this time, still gazing up at the sky. The forest was quiet as the storm prowled its way farther east, and the wind was gentle now. It tousled Daniel’s hair like his father used to do when he was a kid, and Daniel smiled a little bit. It wasn’t the usual smirk that his father had come to love, but it was a peaceful smile. The father squeezed his boy’s hand a third time, and this time there was no response. The green eyes were still.

In the distance, the waters of the lake still ground against the earth“I,� he started, “I can’t outlive you. God dammit, you’re only eighteen.� He reached out for Daniel’s hand and clasped it gently. The boy squeezed back, still strong, but the effort showed in his face.

“Doesn’t matter. What else do you think is going to happen? That’s what I was thinking about as I was laying here. Everyone dies, Dad. Everyone. Some people do it in five years, some in a hundred, but everyone does.�

The old man cried quietly, and Daniel stared out at the sky. It was clearing, and he thought he could see a star. There was only one, but it was bright, and he focused on it.

“I’m glad I got to spend today doing what I wanted. That’s really the point, I think. Those people who live to be a hundred aren’t any more happy than me. They just have more time to find it.�

The old man nodded and squeezed the hand again; Daniel squeezed back, more softly this time, still gazing up at the sky. The forest was quiet as the storm prowled its way farther east, and the wind was gentle now. It tousled Daniel’s hair like his father used to do when he was a kid, and Daniel smiled a little bit. It wasn’t the usual smirk that his father had come to love, but it was a peaceful smile. The father squeezed his boy’s hand again, and this time there was no response. The green eyes were still.

In the distance, the waters of the lake still ground against the earth.