Wolf Whistle by Lewis Nordan

Author:Lewis Nordan [Nordan, Lewis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical, Humour
ISBN: 9781565129139
Google: BEWYAgAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00B1LEW74
Goodreads: 498340
Publisher: Algonquin Books
Published: 1993-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

8

SOLON WAS leaning down over the steering wheel, trying to see where he was going in all this rain. He was sitting up on the front edge of his seat like a child, trying to keep the El Camino from slipping off in a ditch. The headlights were poking out through the rain, the rain was drumming on the roof and in the truck bed.

Solon said, “Once we get up to the gravel, we’ll be able to make a little better time, visibility won’t be so bad.”

They drove on a while longer, in silence.

Solon said, “I ain’t never driving down this slick durn road again.”

Then Solon said, “Here we go! Here’s the gravel! All right! Man! I thought we’s lost there for a minute.”

He pulled the truck up onto the gravel and turned left, headed out into Runnymede.

He said, “Well, shoot! That’s a relief. Shit far.”

Solon could lean back into the backrest a little, now that they had made the high road. He could see better, relax a little. The windshield wipers were going zoop zoop zoop.

Solon said, “I’d done got myself a little tense there for a minute.”

Solon was able to get up a little speed now, on the better road. The sound of the wet gravel beneath the tires was like bacon sizzling in a frying pan.

On the better road, Solon didn’t mind taking his hand off the wheel for a couple of seconds. He reached into his back pocket and took out a crumpled white handkerchief and handed it over.

He said, “It ain’t too durn clean.”

Solon got to the spillway and stopped. The lights shone across the water, which was high now, on account of the rain. Lake water had covered the road, which was also the high water dam, and was spilling over it into the gum swamp in a long white line of frothy water.

Solon said, “I wonder can I drive across this durn thing,’

They sat in the truck, with the motor running. The water poured over the spillway like music. The headlights were like long yellow planks in the darkness, stretched across the spillway to the other side.

Solon said, “I heard this is a good place to fish, the spillway.”

Solon waved off the bloody handkerchief.

He said, “Just keep it.”

They drove on for a while, across Runnymede.

He said, “You ever go fishing?”

Solon imagined fish beneath the dam, silent and silver in the dark.

He took a breath and let it out. He said, “I’m always thinking I’m going to go fishing sometime myself, and then I don’t.”

He said, “I seen all them fishing poles back at the house. Uncle, he got plenty of fishing poles, don’t he? What’s Uncle do, cut him some cane poles out in the brake, dry them out in the rafters?”

Dark night, and the rain kept on drumming on the roof of the El Camino, but Solon thought it wont such a bad night for a drive, for sitting out in a car with a boy and listening to the falling water on the tin roof.

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