Splashesby Thomas R. Willits |
Table of Contents Part 1 appears in this issue. |
| Part 2 of 3 |
Then he spoke. He said something in a different language; I guessed it might be from whatever tribe he was from. Then he said words I did understand. “How much do you know about the history of Lake Shiriki?” he asked me. “About the first years this place opened.”
I remembered a little from what I had heard at school, but that was all. When I asked my parents, they said a few people had gone missing that lived around the lake. Authorities suspected foul play, but none of the missing ever turned up.
“Not much,” I answered.
“Hmm.” He lit his pipe and sucked in a large amount of smoke, then exhaled and I found my eyes watering.
I held back the cough I felt tingling nervously in the back of my throat, but I let it linger.
“Newspapers had a heyday with it. They reacted much like a tabloid would to a sighting of Bigfoot. Tell me... Have you ever heard anyone speak about ‘the ones who walked into the lake’?”
When he spoke the words a wave of ice rushed through me. The ones who walked into the lake. What was that? One of his tales? I hoped not, but I knew he would soon fill me in on all the details, and all I wanted was what the name of the lake meant.
“Did you know the Pawnee were in these parts?” he asked. He continued on without letting me answer. “That was over a hundred years ago, and their numbers were thinning out. But they came to this very lake and made their camps.
“They stayed here for several winters until they eventually moved on. Finally, a regiment tracked them down and moved in on their position, surrounding them.
“The chief, knowing his people were doomed, called forth to the creator and the other gods of power and wisdom and asked for a solution. The chief sat alone in the woods for days before his people saw him again and all the while this was happening, the general — I forget his name. I’m bad with names and dates but I think it may have been something like Chester or Chesterworth. He already had his men positioned around the lake so they couldn’t retreat.
“On maybe the fifth or sixth night, the chief went into the woods and his people never saw him again. They say he went with the spirits and called forth their power to protect his people.
“When his people scouted the area for the general and his troops they found no traces of them. They searched everywhere but only found one torn boot heel near the lake. Their tents, supplies, horses, and all their men were gone. The tribe thanked the gods for their help and went on their way. Eventually, they were caught and captured, but Chester’s men were never found.”
He stopped and I waited for him to continue. The curiosity inside me grew fierce and I leaned forward yearning for him to continue.
“There are many symbols in our beliefs. Animals have a very powerful meaning. The bear, the fox, the horse. The coyote is one of the most powerful and common throughout our legends and stories. The Pawnee believe the creator Tirawa-Atius made the heavens and the earth and then gathered all the other gods to create us. Shakura the Sun created light and heat and Pah the Moon was assigned the night.
“Once Tirawa-Atius placed the Evening Star, the Mother Of All Things in the west, she guarded the east. After the gods created dry land and water, the creator allowed the Sun and the Moon to make love, and they gave birth to the human race.
“But then there was Coyote. Cunning and ornery as he is, he stole a big bag of storms from Lightening and dropped the sack, spilling the storms and so brought Death into the world.”
“So coyote is a bad omen to your people?” I asked.
“Not exactly,” he said. “The coyote was the bringer of death in the beginning, so some say, but he is also a totem of power. Some say the chief called forth the coyote and together they defeated the general and his men.”
“Is that what you believe?”
“Not important what I believe,” he answered. “Just trying to give you a little background, that’s all. So you’ve heard the recent tales about the lake then? About those who disappeared?”
“At school,” I said. “Mostly kids trying to scare me since I live here. But I don’t put much faith in it.”
“Mmm. Faith. I suppose that’s good too. I believe it might have been either the first or second year this place opened up after several houses were finished. I’d say there were at least a dozen homes that were bought up right away. But then folks started disappearing.
“I’ll tell you something else about that year. In the spring, before the first one up and vanished, I saw a single coyote walk by my house. And not a pack of ‘em like they normally hunt. Only one.
“I opened my front door and stood on my porch as he walked by. He turned and stopped for a moment, watching me. He was white, like an Alaskan Husky and then: gone. Ran off into the woods and I haven’t seen him since. It was a sign, I’m sure. A vision. Strong vision.”
“So what happened to them? Where did they go?”
“You ever hear the story about the Fly and the Moose?”
“What?” I asked confused. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I should tell it to you, but it’s getting late. Maybe I will on another day. For now, why don’t you just think about what’s been said and we’ll see what happens.”
It was getting late and my parents would wonder where I had been for the last hour, so I stood up, ready to leave when I realized I still had one unanswered question. I turned to Jim as he took another large puff on his pipe and then exhaled. I closed my eyes trying not to become infected by it, if that could even be possible. “So what does Shiriki mean?”
“I thought you’d have figured that out by now,” he said. “Shiriki means ‘coyote’.”
I felt another chill develop but I brushed it away. Jim took another puff and then exhaled deeply. I left and found my way home with little trouble. I had walked these parts countless times, even in the dark. But on the way, I couldn’t help but look from side to side, deep into the trees for that white coyote.
I didn’t see it.
Splish-splash
Tubbs, as Paul called him, hiked back to the high side of the bank when Paul launched himself into the air. His real name was Jason, but because of his weight Paul never wasted an opportunity to give him a hard time. I spoke up for him a time or two but the last time, when Paul nearly deafened me with his cry of applause, I didn’t. Jason had to learn to stand up for himself; it wasn’t something I could do for him. But he had made the largest splash I had ever seen and I clapped him on the back when he got behind Will for another turn.
Will, was another member of our group and he might have been the tallest kid I had ever known. He easily stood six-seven and he still had a few years to grow. He waited for Paul and me to go with the sort of patience that you had to endure when it came to having fun with others. I felt it too, and I waited for Paul to finish so I could yell something in response to his splash.
In truth, I never liked lakes that much, or ponds. It’s hard to explain exactly. I’m not afraid of water, don’t get me wrong. I love swimming pools and diving, but lakes and ponds are a little creepy. It’s the way the mud feels when you step into it. The coldness and tenderness and the way it oozes between your toes as your feet sink in. Plus the water and the way it’s so muddy and murky you can’t see the bottom.
I remember one incident in particular, when I went out to Jim Crowghost’s log cabin about two years ago. Paul and I were out on the lake in our canoe, playing games. We’d dive down near the middle and see how far we could go before we had to come back up for air. The bottom must have been over fifteen feet down, maybe twenty. I don’t know for sure but we did it over and over.
After Paul came up I jumped up high off the center of the canoe and dove in feet first like a rescue diver from a Coast Guard helicopter. I kept my body straight as possible, knowing I had good posture for momentum. I felt the warm water above disappear slowly as I descended down, replaced by ice cold water. It rushed over me quickly and I felt my flesh rise with goose bumps.
All at once I came to a stop as my feet touched bottom. I couldn’t believe it and I panicked. My feet slipped into the mushy mud below and I felt it rush up and over my ankle. The bottom was cold and gritty and I couldn’t get a good foothold to push upward. I could feel my feet slipping further down, as my arms waved helplessly. Then at last I felt something solid, and I gathered both feet together for one large push.
Mud ran halfway up my calf and I felt it sticking to me. I pushed hard. I felt the air in my lungs release as I did and I wondered if I could make it back up before I choked to death.
On my way up my head hit something solid and I realized, after feeling with my arms, I had struck the bottom of the canoe. My lungs were ready to burst and my eyes opened, but I saw only brown, muddy water, yellow from the sunlight above. I pushed the canoe aside and finally surfaced. I took in the biggest breath ever. It was good to be alive.
I saw Paul shaking his head, undoubtedly upset because I had been submerged longer than he had. I heaved my exhausted body over the side and collapsed limply to the bottom of the canoe. I told Paul to paddle to the shore, because I was through.
The picture of me at the bottom of the lake stayed in my mind a long time that day and the rest of the summer. There were nights I’d wake up from a nightmare and the dream would end with my feet stuck in the cold, mushy bottom of the lake as I sucked in a mouthful of that brown water...
I have to admit that Paul had the best form of us all, and when he let go of the rope and hit the water, he made a nice back flip and landed perfectly on his feet. I tried the same move once, but it ended in a painful belly-buster. From then on I kept my tricks simple.
We stayed down by the lake for the rest of the afternoon, swinging from the rope and seeing who had the best landings and the largest splashes of water. Paul and Jason both won, respectively.
That night, when my friends were staying over — it must have been late, perhaps after midnight — I rolled over in my sleeping bag. I did have my own bed, but I didn’t sleep there when I had company. I saw a large lump to my right and heard a deep snore. Jason slept a few feet away and then just behind him, a longer figure: Will. When I looked upward to see Paul sleeping, I heard something in the living room. I recognized the sound. It was the sound of the back door closing shut.
I sat up quickly, pushing my top sheet back and noticed both Jason and Will were fast asleep. Paul’s sleeping bag was empty. I wondered if he had been the one who shut the back patio door. I couldn’t think of any reason for him to leave the house, especially in the middle of the night. I tiptoed out of my bedroom, careful not to step on Jason.
When I reached the back door I peered out the center glass panel, searching the patio for Paul. I didn’t see him there, only the summer furniture. Beyond that I couldn’t see anything other than the backyard which gradually sloped down to the lake. Several old trees were scattered throughout the rear landscape along with one large boat dock at the water’s edge. I didn’t see Paul anywhere behind the house. I checked the edge of the lake where it continued on to the next house and observed a silhouetted figure pass in front of the moon’s light, glimmering from the lake.
It had to be Paul.
I started out of the house in a hurry to see what he was doing, not bothering to find my shoes. The door swung shut and I skipped down the steps from the patio and onto the lawn. After a few steps down the slope, I couldn’t see the silhouetted figure any longer but I kept heading in its general direction. As I neared the water I looked all around but didn’t see him. I started up the high bank where our rope was tied in the oak tree but I didn’t see him there, either. The yard on both sides of our house appeared to be empty and I spun around trying to locate him.
Maybe I only thought I saw Paul come out here, but I had been certain I’d heard the back door shutting. It made the same noise every time it closed. But maybe I merely imagined I heard it. I turned to the lake. Moonlight was reflecting off its surface. I saw something about twenty feet out from shore. I squinted, trying to see it better. Tiny ripples were slowly dissipating, as if something had disturbed the water.
A fish, I thought. Maybe I saw it flip up for only a second, but it retreated back under water before I could be sure I’d seen it. Paul could have been using the restroom. I hadn’t even thought of that when I left my room to look for him.
When I returned to the house I was deeply troubled when I didn’t find Paul in any of the rooms. Eventually I slipped back inside my sleeping bag and fell asleep, deciding to wait until morning to search for Paul. Maybe he decided to go for a walk or something. Or maybe he was a sleepwalker and found some place out in the wild to bed down. When my eyes opened I saw his bed roll as empty as I had around midnight. Something was definitely wrong.
Copyright © 2006 by Thomas R. Willits
