10
By the time we got across Beeman’s field and had struggled up the cindery
embankment to the Great Southern and Western Maine tracks, we had all taken our
shirts off and tied them around our waists. We were sweating like pigs. At the top of
the embankment we looked down the tracks, towards where we’d have to go.
I’ll never forget that moment, no matter how old I get. I was the only one with
a watch–a cheap Timex I’d gotten as a premium for selling Cloverine Brand Salve the
year before.
Its hands stood at straight up noon, and the sun beat down on the dry,
shadeless vista before us with savage heat. You could feel it working to get in under
your skull and fry your brains.
Behind us was Castle Rock spread out on the long hill that was known as
Castle View, surrounding its green and shady common. Further down Castle River
you could see the stacks of the woollen mill spewing smoke into a sky the colour of
gunmetal and spewing waste into the water. The Jolly Furniture Barn was on our left
And straight ahead of us the railroad tracks, bright and heliographing in the sun. They paralleled the Castle River, which was on our left. To our right was a lot of overgrown
scrubland (there’s a motorcycle track there today–they have scrambles every Sunday afternoon at two p. m.).
An old abandoned water tower stood on the horizon, rusty and somehow scary.
We stood there for that one noontime moment and then Chris said impatiently,
‘Come on, let’s get going.’
We walked beside the tracks in the cinders, kicking up little puffs of blackish
dust at every step. Our socks and sneakers were soon gritty with it. Vern started
singing ‘Roll Me Over in the Clover’ but soon quit it, which was a break for our ears.
Only Teddy and Chris had brought canteens, and we were all hitting them pretty hard.
‘We could fill all the canteens again at the dump faucet,’ I said. ‘My dad told
me that’s a safe well. It’s a hundred and ninety feet deep.’
‘Okay,’ Chris said, being the tough platoon leader. ‘That’ll be a good place to
take five, anyway.’
‘What about food?’ Teddy asked suddenly. ‘I bet nobody thought to bring
something to eat I know I didn’t’
Chris stopped. ‘Shit! I didn’t, either. Gordie?’ I shook my head, wondering how
I could have been so dumb. ‘Vern?’
‘Zip,’ Vern said. ‘Sorry.’
‘Well, let’s see how much money we got,’ I said. I untied my shirt, spread it on
the cinders, and dropped my own sixty-eight cents onto it. The coins glittered
feverishly in the sunlight. Chris had a tattered dollar and two pennies. Teddy had two quarters and two nickels. Vern had exactly seven cents.
‘Two-thirty-seven,’ I said. ‘Not bad. There’s a store at the end of that little road
that goes to the dump. Somebody’!! have to walk down there and get some hamburger
and some tonics while the others rest.’
‘Who?’ Vern asked.
‘We’ll match for it when we get to the dump. Come on.’
I slid all the money into my pants pocket and was just tying my shirt around
my waist again when Chris hollered: ‘Train!’
I put my hand out on one of the rails to feel it, even though I could already
hear it. The rail was thrumming crazily; for a moment it was like holding the train in my hand. ‘Paratroops over the side!’ Vern bawled, and leapt halfway down the
embankment in one crazy, clownish stride. Vern was nuts for playing paratroops
anyplace the ground was soft–a gravel pit, a haymow, an embankment like this one.
Chris jumped after him. The train was really loud now, probably headed straight up
our side of the river towards Lewiston. Instead of jumping, Teddy turned in the
direction of which it was coming. His thick glasses glittered in the sun. His long hair flopped untidily over his brow in sweat-soaked stringers. ‘Go on, Teddy,’ I said.
‘No, huh-uh, I’m gonna dodge it’ He looked at me, his magnified eyes frantic
with excitement. ‘A train-dodge, dig it? What’s trucks after a fuckin’ train-dodge?’