I'm looking for a cabin for four days; what do you have? he asked. Overlooking the lake at $35 a night, I replied. I'm a disabled vet, he said. Ex-marine. But I've got to ask her if it's okay.
A little later, he called back. I can camp anywhere, anytime, any season, he averred, but she wants a cabin, so that's what we'll get. Fine, I replied. Yes, ma'am, 16 years in the marines, and I can sleep anywhere. But what about my dog? He's a service animal. Well trained. Dogs are welcome, I replied.
When's check-in?
3 p.m.
We'll be there around four.
At 7:30 p.m. I called to see if they were on their way. He answered the cell. We got a late start. I really apologize. I should've called. See you soon.
They showed up in an old car at 9:30 p.m. He was big, about 6'4", with a deep chest, wide muscled shoulders, and a left arm with biceps that wouldn't quit. His artificial right arm ended with a hook, and his right leg, also artificial, was at odds with his left tree-trunk of a limb. My dog goes everywhere with me, he said, as he signed the register. I should've called to tell you we were running late. I apologize. I'm sorry. It's truly okay, I said.
I took them down to the cabin, said hello to his wife who was driving. Is there anything else I can do for you? I asked, after I pointed out the bathrooms. Thank you. We can manage now, said his wife with a charming smile.
Next morning was very, very hot. He came to the office, sweat running down his broad face. He was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, and the visible straps of his artificial arm crossed over his chest and back. He mopped his brow with a large, white handkerchief, then asked if there was anywhere he could use a soft BB gun. It's for my 15 year-old stepson, he said, and he's never used a gun before, so I'm gonna teach him. But when I read the rules and regulations of the campground, I saw that you prohibit firearms so thought I'd better check. He took a breath. He'll be under my supervision the whole time, and I've been using firearms my whole life. I'll have to check with my husband as a BB gun is still a weapon, I said.
He doesn't really want to shoot, he continued. But I bought him a membership in the NRA, and he needs to know how to use a gun properly. I'm a life member. This is the first time he's been camping, although in a cabin it's not the real thing. My stepson also wasn't too happy when I told him he had to fix breakfast--on the campfire. Said it was too much trouble. He laughed without humor. He'll be glad of this information if he's ever stuck in the wild, though. Men should know these things.
He asked if we sold beer. Sorry, I said. We're dry around here. Could do with one, he mused, although it'll be gone in a couple of gulps in this weather. I gave him directions to the nearest liquor store. I want some firewood, some ice, and when I send her to the liquor store, she'll come by to pick up the ice. Okay? Fine, I said. He wandered around the store, and picked up some fish hooks, ripping the card as he did so. Sorry, he said. I can't manage the small things very well anymore. Don't worry, I replied, as I fixed up the torn cardboard. I don't, he said. If I can't manage, God will provide.
It was very hot as I went by the cabin, but the campfire was burning brightly. There was no sign of his wife and stepson. He was bending over a bag, taking out aluminum cans and putting them in one of the blue recycling bins. He wasn't wearing his artificial arm, so he was having some difficulty. Leave the cans in the bag by the cabin, I said. We'll pick them up when we get the trash. No, he replied. The cans are mixed up with other stuff, and sorting everything out for disposal is part of the fun. Okay, I said. He was red in the face when I passed him again, and his body was bent at an awkward angle, but he was persevering, and every can was being recycled.
The heat shimmered up from the surface of the lake when I saw him and the boy fishing later that day. But the next day was even hotter if possible, giving the air a bluish tinge through which I saw the boy standing with the dog for a moment among the trees. That afternoon, the heat, mingled with the gray smoke from his campfire, caused the air waves to bend his image as he waved to me from the cabin deck. During those four days, I never again talked to his wife, and I never spoke to his stepson at all.
When I went to clean the cabin, I found it spotless. Except for one or two stray dog hairs, it was as if they'd never been there.
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori (Horace).
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