And yet they couldn't go back. What good would that do? So they made the spot where they'd started out. Then what? Wait for a car to pick them up? It was October. Traffic was not likely to be too heavy. They'd seen one car after they'd reached the park.
Anyway, he couldn't bear the thought of how Doug would look at him if he quit now.
Doug.
That was the second thing, of course, and more than arguably the worst one.
To be honest with himself— and he was trying to be— he wasn't sure about Doug. He was pretty rough on me today, he thought. Endless little digs and criticisms, all unnecessary. Bob had made it clear from the start that he was uneasy about the hike. He wanted to do it very much, he'd made that clear too. It would make his novel more authentic if he'd taken a backpack trip personally. But uneasy? Yes, he was. Not a problem, Doug had assured him. They'd take it easy, be in no rush. It wouldn't be that difficult.
No rush? he thought. Then why had Doug left him alone to hurry on and get the campsite ready? He must have known— he must have— that it would be unnerving for him. But he'd done it anyway. And, by God, it had been unnerving. An arrow made of stones? How the hell did Doug expect him to see that in the shadowy gloom of the forest?
But it was more than that, again of course. It was Doug's personality. They'd never spent more than a day or two together— and that always in the company of Nicole and Marian.
Three days— possibly four alone with Doug? He realized that he didn't know Doug well at all. And there had been hints— more than hints— clear signs— of aspects in Doug's behavior that, frankly, made him nervous. What, actually, was going on in Doug's head? That he was embittered had become more than clear. He'd always known that Doug had felt frustrated about the lack of real success in his acting career.
Now he realized— he'd only suspected it before— that Doug was also bitter about his divorce from Nicole. Even though Nicole had had every reason to divorce him because of Doug's— openly admitted— numerous infidelities. He knew that Doug had a pretty shaky relationship with his daughter. And as for Artie . . . Well, he hoped the subject never came up again.
Did Doug resent him? Clearly, his words had made it obvious that Doug envied him. But was the envy verging on the border of dislike, perhaps intense dislike? Why had Doug brought up the idea of him being lucky because of his career, his marriage, his parenthood? Why call it luck? He'd earned it with hard work and dedication. Goddamn it, he thought, was Doug going to make the next three days a penance for him? Doug had all the trump cards in his hand. He could make the entire hike a nightmare if he chose to— and all in the name of being Bob's "guide and protector."
He was aware of how knotted his stomach muscles felt. God damn it, he wished he could take a Valium.
Then reaction set in. Don't be so damn melodramatic, he told himself. So Doug might be a pain in the ass for a few days. Period. By the end of the week, he and Marian would be home with all this angst forgotten. End of story.
It seemed to help. He closed his eyes and started to use fractional hypnosis on himself, starting with his stomach muscles. Your stomach muscles are relaxed, relaxed. All tension gone. Relaxed. Relaxed.
Just before he drifted into sleep, he heard the distant howling of a coyote. The wilderness speaking, he thought with a faint smile. Canis latrans, he remembered reading somewhere. "Barking dog."
Darkness soon enveloped him.
7:01 AM
It was an odd sensation.
He knew he was asleep but he could hear the bedroom door opening and knew, somehow, that it was Marian. Even more odd was his awareness that she was carrying a breakfast tray for him— freshly squeezed orange juice, crisp bacon and eggs, a well-toasted English muffin, and freshly brewed coffee. He could actually smell the amalgam of delicious aromas.
Then she was beside the bed and putting the tray down quietly on the bedside table. He tried not to smile so she wouldn't know that he was awake enough to know she was there— even though (how really odd) he still was actually asleep.
"Sweetheart." He heard her gentle voice.
He pretended that he barely heard by making a soft noise. He stretched his legs and sighed. He felt so wonderfully comfortable. After that damn hike with Doug, this was sheer heaven— the warm, inviting bed, the soft pillow. Never again, he thought with regard to the hike.
"Honey?" she said, a little more loudly now.
"Mmm." He knew he was smiling now. So let her see.
"Wake up. Breakfast in bed," she told him.
He made a sound of pleased amusement.
"Come on now," she said. She put her hand on his shoulder and nudged it a little.
No, he thought. Did he say it aloud? He couldn't tell and that was odd too.
Abruptly, she grabbed his shoulder, digging in her fingers, and shook him hard. "Come on," she said.
He jerked open his eyes and saw Doug's face hovering above him, his expression one of tried patience.
"What?" he asked.
"Rise and shine, boy," Doug told him, "time to get going."
Bob stared up groggily at him. "What time is it?" he mumbled.
"After seven," Doug answered. "I knew you were tired so I let you sleep late."
This is late? Bob thought, almost saying it aloud before deciding against it. "Okay," he muttered.
Doug started to back out of the tent.
"How long you been up?" Bob asked.
"About an hour," Doug told him.
Oh, Jesus, Bob thought. I'm gonna love this hike. He sighed and tried to sit up, wincing and making a hissing noise at the pain in his right side. He reached up and out of the sleeping bag to unzip it, wincing again at the tenderness of his right palm. He looked at it, grimacing. Blood was crusted on it and it looked discolored in spots. He blew out breath. Oh, what a beautiful morning, his brain sang, off-key.
"Come on, Bob, up 'n at 'em," Doug said.
"Yessir." Bob unzipped the bag and got out of it, wincing once more at the pain that lifting his legs caused. And he took offense at Marian's comment that he wasn't "in tune." I am completely out of tune, he thought.
He started dressing slowly, almost infirmly it seemed.
"You getting dressed?" Doug asked.
"Getting dressed," he answered.
"Early bird gets the worm, Bobby," Doug said.
Don't want a worm, he thought. "How about some coffee?" he asked.
"Later," Doug told him. "We have to get going."
Bob rubbed some water on his face and dried it with a paper napkin.
When he crawled out of the tent, he saw that Doug had dissembled the fire pit, taken down the food bags, and reloaded both their backpacks. "Thanks for putting my food away," he said.
"Just today," Doug told him. "Tomorrow morning, you'll do it yourself."
"You didn't have any coffee?" Bob asked.
"Sure I did, an hour ago," Doug said.
"Well . . ." Bob didn't know what to say. Finally, he asked, "You have breakfast too?"
"Yep," Doug nodded.
"Well . . ." Bob looked disturbed.
"We can't start cooking again," Doug told him. "We have to get going. Eat an energy bar while we're walking. When we stop to let you rest, you can make some coffee for yourself."
Bob frowned but didn't speak.
"Tomorrow I'll wake you up when I get up," Doug told him. "Then you can have a nice warm breakfast before we take off."
"Yeah," Bob said quietly. What's the goddamn hurry? he thought. Doug was acting as though this were a military operation.
"We need to make some mileage before we stop for coffee," Doug said.
Stop where? Bob thought. Is there a Starbucks run by bears out there?
"I'm kind of hungry, Doug," he said. "Isn't there something I can have before we leave?"
Doug's sigh was one of strained acceptance, his expression put upon.
"So . . . put some instant cereal in a plastic bag, add powdered milk and water and shake it up, eat it while we
're walking."
Sounds really wonderful, Bob thought. He felt compelled to say something. Was it really necessary for Doug to be so rigid about all this?
"Doug, why do we have to rush off?" he asked, watching Doug take down the tent. "Why can't I have that nice warm breakfast before we go?"
"We will— tomorrow," Doug said, his movements brusque as he folded up the tent. "This is a backpacking hike, Bob, not a gourmet tour."
A gourmet tour? Bob thought. Just something warm for breakfast?
"You can have a nice lunch," Doug told him. "Make yourself some hot soup or something."
Bob sighed. "Okay." He scratched his right cheek, wincing as he touched the scrape; he'd forgotten about it.
"I put the refuse in your pack," Doug said.
"Refuse?"
"The apple cores, the aluminum foil from your chicken à la king dinner," Doug said. "The cardboard we burned, the foil has to be packed out."
"How come?" Bob asked.
"You want some animal to eat it and die?" Doug said; it wasn't a question. "We take out anything that can't be burned. Tomorrow you'll collect and pack the refuse. Don't just stand there, get your sleeping bag ready."
"Oh. Yeah." Bob made a face as he moved to where Doug had left the sleeping bag. I hope to God that blister doesn't make walking a pain, he thought.
"I'll let you pack out all the refuse," Doug told him. "Since I'm handling the extra weight."
"Right." No point in arguing, Bob thought. It was only fair. Yet, for some reason, he wondered if Doug was really the dedicated environmentalist he seemed to be presenting. He certainly wasn't going to make an issue of it, but he felt that Doug probably hadn't packed out every single scrap of refuse when he had backpacked in the past. It just didn't seem like Doug, and he wondered if Doug was doing it now to impress him with his concern for Mother Nature.
Oh, well, he thought. Let it go.
"Don't roll up your sleeping bag," Doug told him.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, don't roll it up," Doug said. "You stuff it, not roll it. Rolling compresses the fibers in the same place over and over and eventually breaks them apart."
In three days? Bob felt like saying. He remained quiet and did what Doug told him to do.
As he stood up, groaning, Doug said, "I'll carry your sleeping bag too."
"You don't have to do that," Bob told him.
"I think I do," Doug said, "you're as stiff as a board. I'd better have you do a few stretching exercises before we take off."
I'd rather have a pancake and a cup of coffee, Bob thought.
He tried to copy Doug's stretching exercises for the arms, the shoulders, the back, and the legs. He kept hissing at the effort. "You are in some rotten shape, buddy," Doug told him.
"I know, I know," Bob muttered. What next? he thought. A lecture on my general failures as a human being?
"That help any?" Doug asked when they were through.
"Yeah," Bob lied. It helped make the areas of pain more specific, he thought. He swallowed a multivitamin with a sip of water.
They got their packs on, Bob trying not to grunt in discomfort at the weight; it would only give Doug more ammunition for his criticisms.
"From here on in, we leave the trail," Doug told him.
"How come?" Bob asked.
"You want experience at backpacking for your novel, don't you?" Doug said. "If we follow trails all the way, it's not a hike, it's a stroll."
Yeah, right, Bob thought. He wondered worriedly if he was really going to make it through the hike. Not that he had any choice in the matter. The ship was launched. Either it sailed to its port or it sank.
Very reassuring, Hansen, he told himself. He pressed his lips together. I am going to make it, he vowed. Let Doug lace at him, he wasn't going to let it break his spirit. He made an amused sound. That novel is going to be pretty grim, he thought.
8:21 AM
Is it my imagination, Bob thought, or is Doug taking me on the hardest route he can possibly find? Or already knows about? They had been moving on sloping ground almost since they'd started out, through meadows thick with dry grass and woods so dense that Doug had to use his golak to hack an opening through the underbrush. Already, he felt tired and aching but didn't want to mention it to Doug, knowing the look he'd get and likely the sarcastic comment.
What was Doug up to anyway? He hadn't said a word since they'd started out— except to tell him once that, in a pinch, he could eat the dandelions they were tramping through. I'd rather have a cup of coffee, he'd felt like saying. The cereal in the plastic bag had been a waste of time. He couldn't walk easily holding the bag in one hand and a spoon in the other. After a few mouthfuls— and more spills— he'd finally given up and emptied the cereal onto the ground. Sorry, Professor Crowley, if I'm profaning Mother Earth, he thought. I'm putting the plastic bag in my pack, isn't that good enough?
The knowledge that he was all alone in the wilderness with Doug was, to say the least, discomfiting, to say the most, unnerving. Doug, it became more and more obvious, was a loner. He obviously needed to be given his separate "space" now and then. He didn't ask for it, just subsided into silence and walked ahead. Most likely, he already regretted having made his offer to guide Bob through the hike. Obviously, he preferred being on his own, responsible to no one but himself, enjoying solitude, not required to interact with anyone, least of all the total novice Bob was.
Had he done it only to keep the channels open between them in case a role came up that Bob could recommend him for? He was beginning to think that was the case. They had never really had much in common, very little grounds for conversation.
Still . . . he had to remember that Doug was doing him a favor. Not enjoying it, God knows, he thought— but doing it nonetheless.
So just sweat it out, Hansen, he ordered himself. Keep up your spirits. Be of good cheer.
Endure.
He didn't want to but he finally had to speak.
"Doug?" he said.
Doug kept moving through the underbrush as though he hadn't heard. Was it possible that he hadn't heard? He certainly preferred that possibility to thinking that Doug had heard and was ignoring him.
"Doug!" He felt awkward shouting, but at the same time he wanted Doug to know the urgency of his call.
Doug stopped but didn't turn. Was there a look of irritated disbelief on his face? Was he thinking: Oh, for Christ's sake, now what?
Then he turned, his expression unreadable. He said nothing.
"I'd really like to stop and rest and have that cup of coffee now," Bob told him.
The deliberate way in which Doug lifted his left arm and pushed back his jacket sleeve to look at his wristwatch made his reaction obvious.
"I know it hasn't even been two hours yet," Bob said.
"It hasn't even been an hour and a half," Doug answered.
Bob sighed. Not another painful exchange, please, he thought. He knew he couldn't just be polite. Doug had to know how he felt.
"I'm in rotten shape, you said so yourself," he said firmly. "I need to rest. I need that cup of coffee. I'm sorry if I'm being a burden but give me a break."
Doug's expression eased and he gestured mollifyingly. "All right, all right," he said. "I'm not paying attention. I'm used to moving fast. We'll stop."
"Thank you." Bob nodded. Bless you, sir, and all your kin, he thought. No, stay away from that, he reminded himself.
To his surprise, Doug turned back and started forward again. What the hell? Bob thought. Has he changed his mind already?
Several minutes later, Doug reached a small clearing in the forest and stopped. He was sitting with his pack propped on a small fallen tree by the time Bob reached him.
"Don't step on that scat," he said.
"Scat."
"Coyote shit." Doug pointed at the ground.
"Oh. Thanks for telling me." Coyotes, Bob thought. No point in expressing uneasiness about them; Doug would only tell him he was bei
ng paranoid.
With a grateful groan, he sank down heavily and propped his backpack on the same fallen tree so that he and Doug were sitting side by side. "Feels good," he muttered, thinking: That's the understatement of the week.
"Look up on that hill," Doug said, pointing.
Bob looked in that direction, tensing slightly at the sight of a black bear sitting on its haunches, eating something.
"What's it eating, another backpacker?" he said.
Doug snickered. "Who knows?" he replied. "Could be anything— nuts, berries, insects, maybe a squirrel. Could even be tree bark, they'll eat that too."
"That their usual diet?" Bob asked.
"Hell, no," Doug said disgustedly. "Their usual diet is discarded hamburger buns, fruit, cookies, candy, anything stupid backpackers leave out in the open."
Bob nodded grimly, looking up at the bear.
"Does he know we're here?" he asked.
"I don't think so," Doug answered, "unless you make coffee and he smells it. They can smell anything from a mile away."
So much for coffee, Bob thought, then immediately changed his mind. Slipping out of his pack, he got his cup and spoon and plastic envelope of instant coffee out. Pouring some water into the cup, he spooned in some instant coffee powder and sugar and began to stir it. "So I'll have iced coffee," he said.
"Better not clink the spoon too hard," Doug told him. "They have good hearing too."
Bob stirred the coffee mixture as quietly as he could. "Can he hear us talking?" he asked.
"I doubt it," Doug answered. "He's pretty far away. As long as we don't talk too loud."
"Don't worry, I won't," Bob said. He finished dissolving the coffee powder and, removing the spoon, took a sip. "Uh!" His face contorted with distaste. "That's hideous."
Doug only smiled. What do you care? Bob thought. You've already had your hot coffee. What else did you have, a fucking Belgian waffle?
He forced himself to keep sipping the coffee despite its bitter taste. Doug sat silently staring straight ahead. Waiting for me to finish? Bob wondered.
"There aren't any grizzly bears here, right?" he asked.
"Only black," Doug answered.
"How do you tell one from another?" Bob asked, conscious of speaking softly, almost murmuring, so the bear couldn't possibly hear the sound of his voice.