hands. George darted back into the shelter and returned with binoculars.
He peered through the lenses and after several minutes, silently passed them to me with a small smile. I stuck them to my face, finding the mysterious object through the magnified eyes, then smiled as well, passing the binoculars over to Matt.
“Looks like the Lone Ranger is coming to the rescue,” I said. “What do you think, Matt?”
He took the field glasses from me and peered at the boat, getting larger and more distinct. “Dang!” he shouted, still wearing the binoculars. “I think its Jerry. Yep, it’s Jerry all right. Anybody but Jerry! I’ll never hear the end of it now. What’s he doing here? I wish it were anybody else.” He threw the binoculars to the ground. “This is the pits! Dang and double dang times two!” he ranted, his arms jerking wildly about, his feet kicking clouds of sand in the air as he stomped around in a circle.
“Yo, Matt. He’s coming to save us. Get some grateful in ya and let’s pack up,” said George as he picked up the binoculars and wiped off the sand. “I’m not willing to stay on this beach any longer; I don‘t care who it is.”
“Hey to the shore, hey to the shore! You guys missing anything? Like a boat, maybe?” We could hear Jerry laughing from the open window on his boat. Matt’s boat was towing happily behind Jerry’s, looking none the worse for wear, and a mighty good sight for wet, cold, and hungry eyes. George and I waved eagerly back at Jerry.
“Hi Jerry, nice to see you. Nice to see you, for sure!” I waved rapidly back and forth with both arms, happy and relieved. Matt’s shoulders slumped with embarrassment but unmistakable relief appeared on his face.
“Saw this boat drifting past my camp, just bobbing in the water, nobody in it, and thought about you guys. Decided you could probably use a lift. Not that this boat wouldn’t have eventually made it back to you in, oh, give or take the tides and all, probably about a month. Next time, you might want to tie it to a bigger branch,” Jerry said, looking hard at Matt.
Jerry camped in a small cabin during fishing season, just over on the next island. He was a rough, salty dog kind of guy, burly, bald, and about the most sea-smart person we had ever met. Not too friendly, but he seemed to appear when you needed him. Uncanny, that. We’d encountered his kindness before, but he never explained and never accepted anything but a “thank you.”
One of the lifelong residents of this remote Alaskan island, Jerry knew the waters around Kodiak better than most. He knew about all the hidden underwater rocks that other boats invariably plowed into during low tide and he could navigate in the foggiest weather and instinctively knew when the weather would change, just in time to make for shore. Few other people we knew could read clouds, air pressure, and wind direction like Jerry. All this made for quick and drastic changes in ocean waves, bringing soupy blankets of fog and the dreaded over-the-bow whitecaps that came up out of nowhere, making many a seaworthy boat tip and dive like a duck in a whirlpool bath.
We waded out, climbed aboard and offered profusions of thanks, reimbursements for fuel, and invitations for dinner at our house at his earliest convenience, and everything else we thought he might like. He smiled briefly, accepted nothing, looked over each of us, then his eyes locked on George.
“You all okay?”
George smiled back. “Just fine.” They held eyes for a moment longer, each reading the other completely. Nodding once, Jerry turned and started the engine.
We sat quietly on the way home, each in our own thoughts. I was grateful for the rescue, although I rather enjoyed the adventure, the uppermost thought being, however, that there would not have been any enjoyment at all if we had not been prepared. I looked sideways at Matt. His face was sullen, one could say almost thoughtful. I was hoping he had learned a few lessons himself, but I wasn’t totally convinced. It seemed he was just too lucky to learn.
Some said it was better to be lucky than smart. I hoped to be a little of both. One without the other would leave little control over survival or no real enjoyment in those quirky, unpredictable events that made up life.
4 CLOSE NEIGHBORS
I was wrong. We came home from work one day and found
a glaring pink sheet of paper tacked to the door telling us to move. It stated that our cottage would be demolished along with several others to make way for a new housing development. We packed up our belongings once again in brown cardboard boxes and loaded them in the truck. At least it would be a local move. George was not ready to leave Kodiak—not yet.
It was a drizzling soggy day in July when we purchased a 14-by-70-foot mobile home located in a small park that consisted of sixteen look-alikes, making up two rows sitting side by side and front to back. How fortunate that we now lived only a few yards from Jerry!
For a monthly fee, the tiny park offered running water, sewer, phone hookups, and zero privacy, but at least we owned the trailer. We met a hardy cast of characters, who mostly kept to themselves unless they needed something, or wanted to know what you were doing, or where you came from, or why you drove a Chevy instead of a Ford.
One such character was Old Carl. Each winter starting about the middle of December through the end of February, we woke suddenly at midnight and then at two-hour intervals as the old man next door started up his old van, parked by our bedroom window, to keep it from freezing in the subzero temperatures. George offered to install a block heater, like other people used, but the crusty old-timer kept it his way. Inevitably, the park dogs would sit up and sing their own chorus of howls, barks, and yaps for the first fifteen minutes. Blackie learned to chime in as well, and then all was silent until the van roared to life again two hours later. We learned to stuff our ears with cotton and earplugs, like other people. I wore a snowcap to bed as well and soon got used to it.
The man two trailers down had a cat that would appear on our doorstep every evening just after dinner, like some sort of ritual. Blackie and George ignored him; I obediently set out a saucer of milk with pieces of bread crusts. The cat would sit there patiently for sometimes an hour waiting for his due. When he had cleaned the saucer, his face, and his two front paws, he sauntered back to his own trailer.
Kodiak was a small, friendly town in those days. Few people bothered to lock their doors and the car keys were always in the cars. We relaxed to the same complacency, since few crimes ever appeared in the newspaper.
I was mildly confused then, when I woke on a Sunday morning and padded out to the kitchen. I grabbed a mug from the hooks on the wall and reached for the coffeepot. It wasn’t there. Still stupid from sleep, I looked around the kitchen, even opened a few cabinet doors. Nothing. No coffeepot. I could smell fresh coffee, just couldn’t find the pot. I was puzzled, baffled and finally annoyed enough to awaken George.
I stomped back to the bedroom and shook the long lump of blanket.
“George, George. Wake up.” I nudged him.
“Hmm.” mumbled George. He rolled over inside the fleecy mound and started to snore.
“George. Wake up!” I persisted.
“What?” groaned George with his eyes still shut.
“George, there is no coffee.”
“Well, can’t you just make some?” He slowly turned his head to me, eyes blinking awake.
“I can’t make coffee, George. There’s no coffeepot.” I tried to keep my voice an even monotone, but my impatience seeped out around the edges.
It took only a few seconds for it to sink in. George’s eyes flew open; he flicked back the blankets, sat up and pulled on some clothes from the floor. I jumped out of his way as he stomped down the narrow hallway and out the door.
I frowned as he headed around the back of the trailer, punched through the row of bushes separating the trailers behind us, and stomped up the stairs of Jerry’s trailer and across the deck to the door. He pounded hard enough to wake up the other fifteen trailer residents.
“Jerry.