old man listened to each word, looking up from his fishing line to judge my face when I hesitated or to correct my assumptions of the years or the locations of the road-building project that had ripped the land he and his family had known all their lives.
“So, I thought you might have some ideas, some recollection or knowledge of what happened to these men,” I finished.
Browns eyes came up from the water and took in the cover of foliage above us. The sunlight was now spackling the oak leaves and ferns with spots of leaking light.
“My daddy an’ his brothers mostly tol’ them stories,” he said, not looking at me. “Was before my time, but we heard about them days whilst sittin’ round the buttonwood fires out on coon hunts and such.
“Folks then wasn’t too welcomin’ on the idea, bringing a road through some of the finest huntin’ pieces in the Glades. But they was payin’ money and it was tough times then. The construction boys brought bidness down to Everglades City, an’ the locals didn’t seem to mind when they got they pockets full.
“Even daddy’s brother, Mitchell, went out an’ worked on the dredge rig with some other local men, but not for long. He tol’ stories ’bout how miserable them city boys was with the swamp angels, what we call mosquitoes, an’ the heat and all. He said some of them boys like to abandon ship after just a couple of days, and some of ’em did.
“Mitchell and them finally just walked away—Course they knew them Glades since they was kids, so’s it was easy for them.”
Brown stopped and searched the water again, tickling the line, weighing his words.
“Wasn’t till later, after they’d pushed ’er out near Shark Valley that Daddy said they heard stories ’bout men goin’ out on the job and not comin’ back in.
“Mitchell would tell a story ’bout a dead man’s island where they buried them quittin’ boys up to they necks in muck an’ marked the spot with a Christ cross, but us kids thought he was just tryin’ to scare us round the campfire.”
“And nobody ever said anything?” I asked. “No sheriff or any authority?”
Brown let a wry grin pull at the corner of his mouth.
“Hell, weren’t never no law out there to speak of. Besides, Daddy always said them boys didn’t have no bidness comin’ into our country anyways, an’ what happened to ’em weren’t none of our bidness either. Daddy said the Glades weren’t never meant to have no road over it anyways.”
I went back upstairs for fresh coffee and came back with Mayes’s letters. When I offered them to Brown, he cut his eyes away, and I felt a flush of embarrassment at my own assumption that he could read warm my throat and ears. When I read the pages, Brown listened without interruption. When I was done, both of us went quiet and the old man rewrapped his line. When he got to the end, I noticed that the barbless hook was bare.
“So, what do you think? Just a fireside tale? Or are there bodies out there?” I said while he stood, preparing, I knew, to leave. He stepped into his skiff and took up the long pole.
“Y’all come down and meet me at the hotel,” he said.
“When? Tomorrow?”
“Gon’ take me a couple days, son. Might even do a little huntin’ on the way,” he said, and pushed off to the west.
I was too anxious to spend another day fishing. I have a vision of truth in my head and it is a smooth, logical, ethical stone that occupies my brain. But the chunk there now was growing more and more jagged despite my chronic grinding, and it was just about to sprout another flawed edge.
I had just gotten off the cell with Billy when I spotted the guys following me. White van, dark lettering on the side. I’d first noticed the van back at the on-ramp in West Palm, and I didn’t pay any more attention than I usually did in traffic. I was on my way to Richards’s house in Lauderdale to pick her up for a Diana Krall concert and dinner at our favorite Cajun place,
“So, I thought you might have some ideas, some recollection or knowledge of what happened to these men,” I finished.
Browns eyes came up from the water and took in the cover of foliage above us. The sunlight was now spackling the oak leaves and ferns with spots of leaking light.
“My daddy an’ his brothers mostly tol’ them stories,” he said, not looking at me. “Was before my time, but we heard about them days whilst sittin’ round the buttonwood fires out on coon hunts and such.
“Folks then wasn’t too welcomin’ on the idea, bringing a road through some of the finest huntin’ pieces in the Glades. But they was payin’ money and it was tough times then. The construction boys brought bidness down to Everglades City, an’ the locals didn’t seem to mind when they got they pockets full.
“Even daddy’s brother, Mitchell, went out an’ worked on the dredge rig with some other local men, but not for long. He tol’ stories ’bout how miserable them city boys was with the swamp angels, what we call mosquitoes, an’ the heat and all. He said some of them boys like to abandon ship after just a couple of days, and some of ’em did.
“Mitchell and them finally just walked away—Course they knew them Glades since they was kids, so’s it was easy for them.”
Brown stopped and searched the water again, tickling the line, weighing his words.
“Wasn’t till later, after they’d pushed ’er out near Shark Valley that Daddy said they heard stories ’bout men goin’ out on the job and not comin’ back in.
“Mitchell would tell a story ’bout a dead man’s island where they buried them quittin’ boys up to they necks in muck an’ marked the spot with a Christ cross, but us kids thought he was just tryin’ to scare us round the campfire.”
“And nobody ever said anything?” I asked. “No sheriff or any authority?”
Brown let a wry grin pull at the corner of his mouth.
“Hell, weren’t never no law out there to speak of. Besides, Daddy always said them boys didn’t have no bidness comin’ into our country anyways, an’ what happened to ’em weren’t none of our bidness either. Daddy said the Glades weren’t never meant to have no road over it anyways.”
I went back upstairs for fresh coffee and came back with Mayes’s letters. When I offered them to Brown, he cut his eyes away, and I felt a flush of embarrassment at my own assumption that he could read warm my throat and ears. When I read the pages, Brown listened without interruption. When I was done, both of us went quiet and the old man rewrapped his line. When he got to the end, I noticed that the barbless hook was bare.
“So, what do you think? Just a fireside tale? Or are there bodies out there?” I said while he stood, preparing, I knew, to leave. He stepped into his skiff and took up the long pole.
“Y’all come down and meet me at the hotel,” he said.
“When? Tomorrow?”
“Gon’ take me a couple days, son. Might even do a little huntin’ on the way,” he said, and pushed off to the west.
I was too anxious to spend another day fishing. I have a vision of truth in my head and it is a smooth, logical, ethical stone that occupies my brain. But the chunk there now was growing more and more jagged despite my chronic grinding, and it was just about to sprout another flawed edge.
I had just gotten off the cell with Billy when I spotted the guys following me. White van, dark lettering on the side. I’d first noticed the van back at the on-ramp in West Palm, and I didn’t pay any more attention than I usually did in traffic. I was on my way to Richards’s house in Lauderdale to pick her up for a Diana Krall concert and dinner at our favorite Cajun place,