Read Online Noses Are Red by Richard Scrimger - Free Book Online
Authors: Richard Scrimger
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occurs to me that I have no idea what blueberry bushes look like. The only blueberries I have ever seen were inside muffins. Somehow, I do not think I am going to find a dozen muffins growing wild.
The rapids start on the other side of the point. The lake narrows down, so that it looks like a river, and the land falls away. There’s a bit of a waterfall, and some big rocks. The water moves fast. The rapids look scary to me – the water runs white, and the spray splashes high in the air. I pick up a twig and throw it in the water, watch it smash against a boulder and disappear into the spray.
“Hey, Alan. Come here!”
Victor is down the rapids, waving.
“What is it?”
“Blueberries!”
I hurry towards him.
They say there’s nothing to beat the taste of fresh-picked fruit. Whoever
they
are. Well, they’re wrong – at least about blueberries. I pick and pick and pick, and end up with a handful of dirty dark pills. They taste okay, but I’d rather have a muffin any day.
And it’s hard work. The bushes are low to the ground, so the berries are tough to get at. This late in the year, there aren’t that many. Victor and I clamber farther and farther downstream, leaning way out from the top of the bank. The water looks deep, and it’s moving quickly. Boulders, eddies, lots of spray. A big piece of a tree floats past me, hits one of the boulders, flips over, and disappears underwater.
“Do you think we’re in the right place?” I ask.
Victor points to some damp mud beside a nearby pine tree. There’s a footprint the size of a tennis racket. Doris has been here.
When we hear the shouts, we both jump and stare upstream. Is it her?
No.
“What the…,” Victor says.
A silver bullet heads towards us. It’s not really a bullet, of course – it’s a canoe. With a single paddler, working like fury, aiming right for the heart of the rapids.
Not Doris. Not Christopher, either. The paddler is wearing a helmet, and a yellow life jacket.
The canoe is surrounded by foaming water. Looks like it’s heading for the same rock the log hit earlier, but at the last minute the canoeist leans back hard on the paddle, and the boat shoots up away from the rock and across to the side of the river. Our side. I can see the paddler clearly. It’s a girl, not much older than I am. The silver canoe is marked with a sign I’ve seen before – like anupside-down horseshoe. I can’t remember what it means.
She sees us, gives a fierce grin. Her teeth are very white in her tanned face. She waves her paddle at us. “Wahoo!” she shrieks, skimming off down the rapids. I crane forward to follow her through the rising spray. She fends off one boulder with her paddle, and swings the canoe around behind another one, using it as a breakwater. She sits in still water a moment, then darts away, negotiating the rest of the rapids with ease and emerging from the splash and spray into a stretch of gentle current farther downstream. She turns in her seat to look back, waves her paddle one more time before another set of rapids carries her around the next bend. I stare after her. It’s as if she is a mythical creature, a force of the wilderness, part girl, part canoe, as the centaurs were part human and part horse.
–
Ahem
, says Norbert.
“Wow,” I say. “Isn’t she something!”
“I’ll say,” says Victor.
–
Yeah, yeah
, says Norbert.
Girl in a boat. Big deal Say, don’t look now, but there’s a fly in the cabin. A couple of flies, actually. Big ones.
“Something in the cabin?” says Victor. “It couldn’t be her, could it?”
–
It’s flies, I tell you.
Could Doris be back yet?
“Let’s go,” says Victor.
We scramble back the way we came. I almost fall in. “Careful!” says Victor. “You don’t have a life jacket on.”
As if that would save me from the rocks! I imagine myself bobbing downstream in perfect, supported comfort, safe except for a completely crushed skull.
The cabin is in view, and…can
The rapids start on the other side of the point. The lake narrows down, so that it looks like a river, and the land falls away. There’s a bit of a waterfall, and some big rocks. The water moves fast. The rapids look scary to me – the water runs white, and the spray splashes high in the air. I pick up a twig and throw it in the water, watch it smash against a boulder and disappear into the spray.
“Hey, Alan. Come here!”
Victor is down the rapids, waving.
“What is it?”
“Blueberries!”
I hurry towards him.
They say there’s nothing to beat the taste of fresh-picked fruit. Whoever
they
are. Well, they’re wrong – at least about blueberries. I pick and pick and pick, and end up with a handful of dirty dark pills. They taste okay, but I’d rather have a muffin any day.
And it’s hard work. The bushes are low to the ground, so the berries are tough to get at. This late in the year, there aren’t that many. Victor and I clamber farther and farther downstream, leaning way out from the top of the bank. The water looks deep, and it’s moving quickly. Boulders, eddies, lots of spray. A big piece of a tree floats past me, hits one of the boulders, flips over, and disappears underwater.
“Do you think we’re in the right place?” I ask.
Victor points to some damp mud beside a nearby pine tree. There’s a footprint the size of a tennis racket. Doris has been here.
When we hear the shouts, we both jump and stare upstream. Is it her?
No.
“What the…,” Victor says.
A silver bullet heads towards us. It’s not really a bullet, of course – it’s a canoe. With a single paddler, working like fury, aiming right for the heart of the rapids.
Not Doris. Not Christopher, either. The paddler is wearing a helmet, and a yellow life jacket.
The canoe is surrounded by foaming water. Looks like it’s heading for the same rock the log hit earlier, but at the last minute the canoeist leans back hard on the paddle, and the boat shoots up away from the rock and across to the side of the river. Our side. I can see the paddler clearly. It’s a girl, not much older than I am. The silver canoe is marked with a sign I’ve seen before – like anupside-down horseshoe. I can’t remember what it means.
She sees us, gives a fierce grin. Her teeth are very white in her tanned face. She waves her paddle at us. “Wahoo!” she shrieks, skimming off down the rapids. I crane forward to follow her through the rising spray. She fends off one boulder with her paddle, and swings the canoe around behind another one, using it as a breakwater. She sits in still water a moment, then darts away, negotiating the rest of the rapids with ease and emerging from the splash and spray into a stretch of gentle current farther downstream. She turns in her seat to look back, waves her paddle one more time before another set of rapids carries her around the next bend. I stare after her. It’s as if she is a mythical creature, a force of the wilderness, part girl, part canoe, as the centaurs were part human and part horse.
–
Ahem
, says Norbert.
“Wow,” I say. “Isn’t she something!”
“I’ll say,” says Victor.
–
Yeah, yeah
, says Norbert.
Girl in a boat. Big deal Say, don’t look now, but there’s a fly in the cabin. A couple of flies, actually. Big ones.
“Something in the cabin?” says Victor. “It couldn’t be her, could it?”
–
It’s flies, I tell you.
Could Doris be back yet?
“Let’s go,” says Victor.
We scramble back the way we came. I almost fall in. “Careful!” says Victor. “You don’t have a life jacket on.”
As if that would save me from the rocks! I imagine myself bobbing downstream in perfect, supported comfort, safe except for a completely crushed skull.
The cabin is in view, and…can
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