As All My Fathers Were by Jim Misko

Author:Jim Misko
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Northwest Ventures

The River

Shadows built as the sun moved behind the trees across the river and crawled toward them building a bridge between the banks. They watched it come until it included them and the fire and the tent.

THEIR CAMP, SET ON a grassy bank about three feet above the river, was a nesting place for mosquitoes so after the meal they entered the tent, zipped the mosquito netting shut and lay on their bags, arms behind their heads. Firelight flickered against the tent walls, looking for all the world like dancing figures sanctifying the burial place.

“I kinda always thought we’d do this at the junction of the North and South Platte,” Seth said.

“Probably would have if we had not lost Filoh.”

Seth turned on his side. “You know—I can see each creek and little river coming into the Platte that Filoh pointed out. The foam and junk in Silver Creek. Wood River, those creeks he pointed out early on.” He shook his head. “It’s a damn wonder you can see the bottom of the river from the bank.”

“You notice any difference in the air coming up river?”

“No. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Keep sniffing. See if it changes any.”

“Smells damper. Does that count?”

Richard chuckled. “I don’t know. Just thought we would add that to our daily scientific tasks.”

“We don’t want to lose sight of our goal here.”

“No—we will not do that.”

“Let’s see that we don’t.” Seth opened up his sleeping bag. “Man—

it’s getting warm in here. What time is it?”

“Nine. Good night Seth.”

“Same to ya.”

THE GOOSE WAS OBNOXIOUS. Sunrise was an hour away but he acted like he owned the river and the bank.

Seth rolled over. “Shut up!”

“Something is bothering him,” Richard said.

“I don’t care what it is. He shouldn’t be bitchin’ about it until dawn.”

“Could be a coyote about to eat him, or her, or the kids.”

“Yeah—well that’s life.”

Richard put his arms behind his head. “I wonder how things are going back home? The new hired hands and all?”

“They’ll keep.”

“No doubt. But I’m concerned anyway.”

“Nothin’ we can do about it from here.”

“What could go wrong?”

“Everything.”

“That’s comforting.”

“Well—you asked.”

Dawn on the river spiked a hidden alertness in the people and birds and animals that were privileged to share another day near or on the rolling water. That portion of the water went by but once, recording what it saw, always taking with it whatever was offered. Insects rode atop the water like watercraft, skipping across the eddies and drifting down to other places. Inanimate sticks and branches and whole trees, their roots having been undermined by the high water of spring, drifted by with seldom a murmur until a root spiked on a sand bar, then the whole upper structure bent down stream until it created a pocket of backwater at its base and it stayed there bidding goodbye to the floating items that it had consorted with coming downstream. Here it would stay, its green leaves curling and falling into the river as sand and mud built up around the roots, the foundation tree becoming part of a fortress the likes of which the river had produced forever.

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