The River Boy

THE RIVER BOY

  by

  Florence Witkop

  This story was originally published in volume 3 of The Talking Stick, the literary journal of the Jackpine Writers' Bloc. Thanks for permission to reprint it.

  They built their house on the top of the mountain because of the spectacular view of the rive that curved around its base. Of course, anyone wishing to actually swim in the river would have to clamber down a good mile of rocky outcroppings and later, back up again … and the thought of that return climb was enough to discourage anyone with any sense at all. Anyone, that is, except their daughter Trish.

  "I'm going out," she said.

  The mountain was uninhabited except for their house. The driveway, which was a good three miles long, wasn't finished and Trish was a brand new driver. The first time she'd headed out she'd ended up in a ditch so she gave up driving until the road was done. But it was lonely with just her parents for company.

  "I'm going to the river."

  Her parents looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "Why?" they asked in unison.

  "For something to do."

  "There are snakes… "

  Ella shuddered. "… and rocks."

  "I'll wear boots and be careful." She flipped her long hair out of her eyes. "We moved here for the view. Well, I want to see the view up close."

  They watched uneasily as she began a cautious descent to the river. When they were satisfied that they wouldn't have to call the paramedics, they let themselves breathe again and turned back to their house with its spectacular view.

  Four hours later, when concern was nibbling at the edge of their consciousness and they found each other peeking surreptitiously at the clock she reappeared, trudging slowly but steadily upwards. She was breathing hard.

  "Well?" The waited expectantly while she dropped into a chair, rested her booted foot on the railing, and got her breath. What's it like down there?"

  "Boy am I out of shape!" Trish winced. "And badly in need of exercise!" She raked her fingers through her tangled hair, then leaned way back until it fell away from her neck, then she swung it back and forth, staring at the sky. Not at her parents. "So I'm going to climb all the way down to that dratted mountain to the river and then, after a rest to catch my breath and do a little exploring, I'm going to climb back up." She waited for her parents to react. They didn't. "Furthermore I'm going to do it every single day."

  John and Ella looked at each other over their martinis. "Well, you're sixteen," said Ella. "That sounds like something a sixteen-year-old would do." Then she amended it. "Something a sixteen-year-old would plan to do."

  John grinned. "Every day this summer? A hundred bucks if you do."

  They went inside, leaving Trish alone, so they didn't see the small, secret smile that curved across her face, hidden behind that hair.

  She smiled again. "He's green. He really is green." Then she swung her hair back so the breeze blew through it and she picked up her boots. "They'd never understand." She slung her boots over her shoulder and headed for the bathroom, where she soaked in a steaming tub and looked out one of the glass walls that graced every room of the house. She stared down the long slope to the rapids below, remembering …

  The next day she carried a backpack when she set off for the river.

  "Going camping?" John's eyebrows rose.

  "Gatorade. It's a thirsty climb." She shifted the straps of the backpack until it rested comfortably on her shoulders. "A couple of cans will help."

  This time, John and Ella watched for only a few minutes. She'd done this before and survived, so she'd be okay.

  When Trish reached the bottom of the mountain, she squatted on the huge boulder she'd discovered the day before that jutted out into the river with swift currents cutting a fast, deep chasm around it. She shrugged out of the backpack and took out a swimming suit, the only thing inside. She smiled. Gatorade. Honestly.

  Then she waited.

  She suspected he was there already and had watched her change. The idea sent a shiver through her because she had a good body and she was proud of it.

  "Hi." He pulled himself onto the boulder in one easy motion, water running from his body in rivulets, hair plastered to his head.

  Yesterday she'd been surprised by his appearance, but that was yesterday. "Your hair is long. My parents wouldn't allow it if you were their son," she said.

  He shook his hair, spraying her with water. "Not many barbershops on the river." Knowing her hair wasn't what she meant at all.

  "I suppose not." She giggled like the girls in school giggled over boys but she couldn't help it, he had that effect on her, made her feel effervescent. But he didn't look at her as if she was stupid and she relaxed. It would be good, like yesterday.

  "You ready?"

  "Of course."

  "You sure?"

  "I'm here." It was answer enough.

  He held her hand hard. Then together they slid off the boulder and into the frothy water … and disappeared.

  Two hours later, back on the boulder they were spread-eagled to let the sun dry their bodies and toast their skin. When she was done on both sides, Trish sat up and combed her hair with her fingers as she examined him through slitted eyes.

  "Last night in bed I decided it was my imagination, but it wasn't. You really are green."

  He looked at her through long, green lashes, accepting her inspection, welcoming it. "Green as an emerald. Green as moss. Green as a garden-variety frog." The lashes lowered until they were a veil across his eyes. "You like frogs?"

  "Depends. Are you a frog?"

  "Of course not. Frogs are slimy and stupid and cold." He touched her. "Feel me. I'm warm."

  "According to the stories I read as a kid, frogs sometimes turn into princes."

  His eyes sparkled, enjoying this game as much as she did. "Only if someone kisses them. I read those stories too, you know, and there's got to be a kiss."

  "Yeah?" Trish swooped down and gave him a kiss so light it could have been the wind brushing his lips.

  "So now are you a prince?" She examined him boldly. "You don't look any different." She giggled again, couldn't help it. "Do you feel like a prince?"

  "I am a prince but it wasn't the kiss that did it. I've been a prince all along." He leaned back on his elbows. "Didn't you know?"

  "Prince of what?"

  "Of the river. Of course."

  She shook her fast-drying hair, exhilarated by this game, this man-woman thing. "So where's the king?"

  "Attending to kingly things." He winked and rolled onto one side to observe her better.

  "What kind of kingly things?"

  "River things." A slow smile curved his lips and his eyes were aquamarine until he closed them, shutting her out. "One thing he does is make sure the snow in the mountains melts in the spring." He opened his eyes and now they were as dark as the weeds on the river bottom. "A good snow melt in the spring is important to the life of a river. Essential."

  He rose, shaking himself like a puppy. "Being a king is hard work." He bent to take a strand of her hair and wrap it around one finger. "He'd be lonely without my mother. I'll be lonely too, when I'm king." His eyes dared her to continue with the game. "Unless I have someone."

  She moved her body subtly, instinctively, and he dropped her hair as if it burned, and she almost purred. "I don't believe your father's a king. I don't believe you have a family. You're just a green, river boy."

  "I'll introduce you."

  He didn't expect her to accept. It was how the game was played.

  "Sure."

  He blinked and she tossed her hair again. "When?"

  "Soon."

  She met his eyes and dared him to continue. "Now."

  He hesitated. "It's late."


  "It's not late. I think you don't have a family." She rose, picked up her backpack and started away.

  "Don't go." She kept walking, waiting, knowing he would stop her because he didn't want her to go away angry. He'd say something, she didn't know what. "Tomorrow! I'll take you home with me tomorrow."

  "Maybe … " She didn't turn.

  "Please … "

  He was defeated so she stopped and favored him with a look. "Okay."

  The next day he was at the boulder before her. "They're waiting." She couldn't breathe for a moment. She hadn't expected the game to become reality. "They were busy but they changed their plans."

  She pretended not to be surprised. "I'm ready."

  He ignored her outstretched hand. "I have to tell you something first." His eyes turned dark, green as a jungle night, green as cat's eyes. "If you come, things will change."

  "What things?"

  "You'll see." His smile was as liquid as the river itself.

  She was disconcerted. She had the sudden, dizzying sensation of being on a ledge, poised to step off with no way of knowing what lay below. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes … then took that step. "I know what I'm doing."

  He took her hand. And they stepped into the