What They Wanted by Donna Morrissey

Author:Donna Morrissey
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: PENGUIN GROUP (CANADA)

SEVEN

THE WIND DIED OUT and the rain stopped in the quiet hours of dawn. I woke up late into morning, and late for work. Cussing and marshalling Chris through the tent flaps, I squinted through the morning sun into the swollen brown waters of the Wapiti River sliding just a few feet past the tent, smelling of drowned earth.

“Ohh, just keep going,” I muttered over Chris’s grumbling about our near drowning. A quick look around and I was dashing through the campsite, flicking my hair into a ponytail and hauling on a jean jacket, cringing from the cold, wet grass soaking through my shoes. “Chris!”I looked back impatiently as he lagged behind, staring dazedly at the dozen sagging, rain-drenched tents, their reds, yellows, and blues a crescent of colour between the muddied riverbank and the green wall of trees rising behind them. A few campers were muddling about in jeans and T-shirts, longish, unkempt hair framing sleep-worn faces as some shuffled with towels and soap to the river and others tidied up their campsite from the night’s storm. A breeze tinkled amongst the pots and pans dangling from tree hooks and bared limbs overhanging stone fireplaces, and I laughed as Chris walked into a fully strung clothesline between two trees, suffering a shower of last night’s rain down the open neck of his shirt collar.

“A hippie camp,” he exclaimed in wonder. He shook himself off like a half-drowned pup. “Look—look at buddy,” he exclaimed, pointing to a young fellow sauntering from the woods with a roll of toilet paper in one hand, the other scratching at a mane of blond curls shimmering over his shoulders. “Jeezes, if it wouldn’t for his tits, I’d take him for a girl.”

“His name’s Jordie, and he’s gorgeous—hey, Jordie,” I called, “meet my brother.”

“Hey, man,” said Jordie.

“Hey, b’y,” replied Chris, and bolted for the car. “My sister’s a freaking hippie,” he kept repeating as we climbed inside, “my sister’s a freaking hippie.”

“Hippies retired years ago, brother. They’re just happy campers with no rooms to rent. Will you stop gawking— cripes, they’re just back-to-the-land kinda folks.”

“Wouldn’t be on my land. Chrissakes, you can’t all camp this close on a river, where’s they shitting?”

“Oh, for the love of gawd.”

“Well, wouldn’t be in my river if I owned it.”

“Chris, it’s me—I’m one of the campers. Would you run off your sister?”

“And what’s they all crowding the one spot for—cripes, the river runs for miles—say no more.” He threw up his hands in defence as I popped the clutch and faced him. “But I’ll tell you this, I’ll be hauling down that tent this evening and pitching it downriver—or upriver—wherever the frig up is around here.”

“Yeah, gonna be fun.” I backed the car along the muddied path, turning onto the highway. Least he’s looking outside of himself, I thought with consolation.

“See that?” I asked after we’d driven a few miles down the highway. “That restaurant over there, and all them shiny new trucks parked beside it? You know how many new trucks they got in this town? Everybody got a new truck in this town.

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