Page 89

"Careful. I know, I. know," l said, taking off my apron. "See you later."

"Thanks, Alice. You did great work tonight," Uncle Tyler told me.

"I made more than seventy-five dollars," I bragged.

Duncan waited confidently on his scooter, never doubting I'd be out to ride with him. His shifting from arrogance to self-pity was driving me crazy.

"Do you have to be brought straight home?" he asked when I stepped out.

"Not straight home, but soon. Why?"

"I'd like to show you one of my favorite places around here. It's sort of on the way anyway."

"Okay," I said and got on behind him. He kickstarted the engine and we took off.

Just as before, we didn't speak to each other much until he made a turn off the road I knew and followed another, more narrow road that eventually turned into pure gravel. After a dozen or so more yards, he stopped the scooter.

"Let's walk the rest of the way. It's safer than negotiating the gravel. It's just off to the left here," he said.

He shut off the engine and stabilized the scooter. Then he reached into his pocket and produced a small flashlight to show me how to move through some brush until we came out to a little clearing on the river. It was running so softly and silently that it was almost still.

"What river is this?"

"The Walkill. It meets up with the Rondout Creek and flows into the Hudson River at Kingston," he explained. "There are a number of spots like this around here, but this one is my private place. I actually came in here and cleared it and keep it cleared. I bring a blanket on summer nights and sprawl out. sometimes with something

to drink. My mother doesn't know about that," he added quickly. "Years ago, I found where my father stashed his bottles in the basement of our house. The good thing about the whiskey is it's better when it's aged."

"Why do you need to drink anything? It's enough to look at this scenery," I said.

"Maybe. If you're not alone," he added. "A few times I caught some couples at it just down the bank a little ways," he said.

"At it?"

"Making love," he said with an underlying tone of disapproval, even disgust.

"How did you know that was what they were doing?"

"I saw them!"

"So you spied on them, invaded their privacy?" "Not really. They invaded my privacy and silence with their laughter and moans. I threw some rocks into the water to spook them. Sometimes it worked and they left; sometimes they were so involved, I could have set off a bomb and they couldn't care less."

"I'd care," I said, "especially if I knew someone was watching."

"I wasn't exactly watching. I don't need to be watching," he said sharply. "When I saw what was going on, I turned away, in fact."

"Good," I said.

He looked at me, and for a while we stood there in silence, listening to the faint ripple of the water as it flowed over some rocks.

"What I like about the river is . . . ," he began. "I know," I said quickly.

"Oh yeah? What?"

"The river's power comes from its movement. It never repeats. itself. Like they say, you can't step into the same river twice. That's the way I wish our lives would be."

"You memorized that?"

"I told you. I liked a lot of your work. I wasn't just trying to be nice or anything."