The Man Who Walked on Water by Jacob Beaver

Author:Jacob Beaver
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-01-16T16:00:00+00:00

Part 3

The making of Steve’s film, and Steve’s many thoughts about his film, didn’t interest me much. I had my own thoughts. In my memory, these thoughts loom so large that they practically eclipse Steve. What he did over the next few days, morning to night, I’m not certain. What happened to me, or happened inside me, that I can tell you. I want to tell you. It’s part of the reason I’ve been sitting here in the early mornings, typing away at this laptop.

When Summer dropped me at the motel, the other three were in Steve’s room. The door was wide open, but the room smelled of feet. It was a mess in there. Steve’s stuff was scattered over the floor and on both chairs, everywhere but the bed. That’s where they were, sitting gloomily in a row, Dave and then Steve and Tino at the end. They looked like the three bears without their own beds.

Their day hadn’t gone well. They found the journalist who wrote the piece about Buckner, and she phoned the fisherman who’d told her the story, but the man’s wife answered and said he was in the hospital. He’d just had a stroke and couldn’t talk.

“Unbe-fucking-lievable,” Steve said. “And that was pretty much it, apart from a short interview. We did it there in her office, just basic questions, chit-chat about southern fundamentalists. One thing came up, though. There are these people in Newport who handle snakes. Poisonous snakes. In church. And some of them drink poison too. Strychnine! They drink it and praise Jesus, because Jesus is the antidote to all poisons. Now, that’s hardcore. Compared to this lot, Buckner is Pentecostal Lite. Those are her words, and she should know. She’s from Newport. It’s some little town near here. What d’you think? Might be worth checking out.”

“Why?” I said. “It’s nothing to do with the film.”

“What film? The Man Who Refused to Walk on Water? Who wants to see that?”

But then I told them about meeting Goose, and I showed them my photo. Immediately the Terminator came back to life. And Tino liked the photo. Dave did too. Dave was so impressed that he actually spoke. What he said, and it’s the only thing I remember him saying, were these words of wisdom: “Snakes are bleedin’ dangerous. You don’t wanna mess with snakes, in a church or anywhere else. I vote we film this bloke.”

So they filmed Goose next morning. I did the driving and made the introductions, but I didn’t go into Goose’s cabin with them. I don’t know why. Perhaps it was too small for all of us. Anyhow, I walked around outside and inspected the cabin, partly just to keep warm. The weather had turned again and clouds hung in the treetops. I soon forgot about the cold, though. That cabin was a master class in carpentry. I couldn’t find a single nail or bolt. The whole structure held together purely by virtue of its design, plus a few wooden pegs at critical joints.

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