Doug's tent was up. He saw their sleeping bags inside, the pads underneath them. And, of course, the fire. The crackling yellow-orange flames and radiating warmth were really comforting. Especially after what he'd been through.
Doug finished applying the salve and looked up with a slight grin. "That should do it," he said. "Try not to fall down again."
Bob thought for a moment that Doug was razzing him. Then he let it go, smiling at Doug. "Thank you, Doctor," he said.
"No problem," Doug answered, "I'm sure the Writers Guild insurance will pay for it."
"Yeah." Bob chuckled, taking it for granted that Doug was joking.
"Well, I guess you could use one of your little bottles of vodka right now," Doug said.
You got that right, Bob thought.
8:23 PM
Bob leaned back against his pack with a sound part groan, part sigh of pleasure. "I feel alive again," he said. He took a sip of the instant mocha coffee he'd brought along. They had cooked and shared the chicken à la king, two slices of bread, and, for dessert, two cookies and an apple each. He hadn't even minded that Doug had made fun of him for putting some of the condiments that Marian had packed for him on the chicken à la king.
"A little bit of civilization in the north woods, eh?" Doug had said with a teasing smile.
He hadn't even responded.
"Too bad you didn't bring a pair of slippers," Doug said; he had brought a pair and was wearing them.
"Yeah." Bob nodded. Of course you never told me to, he thought, but then I suppose I should have thought of it myself.
"How's the blister?" Doug asked.
When Bob'd taken off his boots, he'd become aware of the blister on his right big toe. Doug had put a bandage on it, one with a hole in its middle so as not to irritate the blister itself. While he was putting it on, Bob asked him, only half jokingly, if there was anything about backpacking he didn't know.
"Not much," Doug replied and proceeded to inform him of ways of knowing direction while hiking.
Moss grew more thickly on the shadiest side of the tree, which would be the north side of trees that were fairly out in the open where sunlight could reach them all day.
Vegetation grew larger and more openly on northern slopes, smaller and more densely on southern slopes.
You could prevent yourself from traveling in circles by always keeping two trees lined up in front of you.
Then, at night, there was the north star . . .
"Enough," Bob said, chuckling. "I'll never remember any of it."
"Well, you might need it someday," Doug told him, "you never know."
"I know," Bob said. "This is my one and only backpacking hike."
"Oh." Doug nodded, an expression of remote acknowledgment on his face.
Bob tried to soften what he'd said by remarking that he could see how wonderful backpacking must be; he was just not inclined toward it, but Doug's nod was no more than cursory.
Doug had been quiet for a while, staring into the fire, and Bob decided that he really must have offended him by so casually negating any possibility of him ever backpacking again. Doug didn't have to do this; it had been and was a generous offer. He had to try to say something to lighten Doug's mood.
"What made you pick this spot for a campsite?" he asked.
"Oh." Doug shrugged. "A number of things."
"Like what?"
"You're not really interested," Doug told him.
"Yes. I am," Bob insisted. "I know I'm a dud as a hiker but I would like to know as much as I can for my novel."
"Your novel," Doug said. He looked at Bob without expression. "Is there a movie in it?" he asked.
Ah, Bob thought. The entrée to peace. "Probably," he said, "there are four good male roles in it, two females."
"Why not just do it as a screenplay then?" Doug asked.
"Oh, no," Bob said. "I don't want to put you through all this just for a screenplay. If it gets fucked up— assuming it gets made at all— there's nothing left to show for it. But if there's a novel . . ."
"Yeah." Doug nodded, conceding. "I understand. That way, if it's good, you
Doug finished applying the salve and looked up with a slight grin. "That should do it," he said. "Try not to fall down again."
Bob thought for a moment that Doug was razzing him. Then he let it go, smiling at Doug. "Thank you, Doctor," he said.
"No problem," Doug answered, "I'm sure the Writers Guild insurance will pay for it."
"Yeah." Bob chuckled, taking it for granted that Doug was joking.
"Well, I guess you could use one of your little bottles of vodka right now," Doug said.
You got that right, Bob thought.
8:23 PM
Bob leaned back against his pack with a sound part groan, part sigh of pleasure. "I feel alive again," he said. He took a sip of the instant mocha coffee he'd brought along. They had cooked and shared the chicken à la king, two slices of bread, and, for dessert, two cookies and an apple each. He hadn't even minded that Doug had made fun of him for putting some of the condiments that Marian had packed for him on the chicken à la king.
"A little bit of civilization in the north woods, eh?" Doug had said with a teasing smile.
He hadn't even responded.
"Too bad you didn't bring a pair of slippers," Doug said; he had brought a pair and was wearing them.
"Yeah." Bob nodded. Of course you never told me to, he thought, but then I suppose I should have thought of it myself.
"How's the blister?" Doug asked.
When Bob'd taken off his boots, he'd become aware of the blister on his right big toe. Doug had put a bandage on it, one with a hole in its middle so as not to irritate the blister itself. While he was putting it on, Bob asked him, only half jokingly, if there was anything about backpacking he didn't know.
"Not much," Doug replied and proceeded to inform him of ways of knowing direction while hiking.
Moss grew more thickly on the shadiest side of the tree, which would be the north side of trees that were fairly out in the open where sunlight could reach them all day.
Vegetation grew larger and more openly on northern slopes, smaller and more densely on southern slopes.
You could prevent yourself from traveling in circles by always keeping two trees lined up in front of you.
Then, at night, there was the north star . . .
"Enough," Bob said, chuckling. "I'll never remember any of it."
"Well, you might need it someday," Doug told him, "you never know."
"I know," Bob said. "This is my one and only backpacking hike."
"Oh." Doug nodded, an expression of remote acknowledgment on his face.
Bob tried to soften what he'd said by remarking that he could see how wonderful backpacking must be; he was just not inclined toward it, but Doug's nod was no more than cursory.
Doug had been quiet for a while, staring into the fire, and Bob decided that he really must have offended him by so casually negating any possibility of him ever backpacking again. Doug didn't have to do this; it had been and was a generous offer. He had to try to say something to lighten Doug's mood.
"What made you pick this spot for a campsite?" he asked.
"Oh." Doug shrugged. "A number of things."
"Like what?"
"You're not really interested," Doug told him.
"Yes. I am," Bob insisted. "I know I'm a dud as a hiker but I would like to know as much as I can for my novel."
"Your novel," Doug said. He looked at Bob without expression. "Is there a movie in it?" he asked.
Ah, Bob thought. The entrée to peace. "Probably," he said, "there are four good male roles in it, two females."
"Why not just do it as a screenplay then?" Doug asked.
"Oh, no," Bob said. "I don't want to put you through all this just for a screenplay. If it gets fucked up— assuming it gets made at all— there's nothing left to show for it. But if there's a novel . . ."
"Yeah." Doug nodded, conceding. "I understand. That way, if it's good, you
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