through one of their long-standing, intentionally bad jokes. These jokes belonged to them, and only them. This was important to Fred. He hated dancing around dull people who didn’t get his jokes.
Max bottomed out on Main Street and gave Fred a chance to catch up. “Snow’s melting like crazy.”
Fred wondered why the mountains looked so much closer this morning.
“Let’s get a move on, dad. I’m growin’ a beard here.” He twisted the ends of his peach-fuzz mustache.
Fred tilted his bristly chin at the spires. “I could grow a better beard on a banana.”
Trooper MacIan’s visit had an amazing effect on these two. In his absence, Max fed his young imagination with heroic visions that made him feel powerful and engaged. Fred simply felt lighter. They walked and talked for several hours, keeping a gauge of the weather, which might change on them at any minute and make things miserable.
After a long silence, Max said, “You know, there might be something to that old, ‘In like a lion out like a lamb,’ thing they say about March.”
Fred stopped to stare at Max. “Yeah, maybe,” he said pensively. Something wasn’t right. Fred sensed an intruder.
They arrived on the plateau of toppled boulders far sooner than they’d predicted. The fear of changing weather and the excitement of searching for clues in a real-life crime investigation had put a spring in their step. They had unceremoniously deputized themselves under the law of virtuous intention.
Max imagined himself handing MacIan the clue that broke the case wide open. The pivotal piece of the puzzle. The linchpin. The MacGuffin. Nothing was more beguiling than imagining Trooper MacIan as his friend. If he could prove his worth, MacIan was the kind of guy who’d stand up for him. Max was sure of that.
They came to a point where the boulder in question beckoned and Max sprinted ahead. Fred was left standing there with a proud smile on his face. He smiled a lot. He would smile at Max in his sleep for hours. But, after so many years, it was now he who was the tag-along. Second banana in Max’s peach-fuzz adventure. Yes indeed, something was definitely different. He didn’t know exactly what, but he could feel it.
Max studied the great rock so intently it appeared to be talking to him. It was highly eroded where it met the ground, forming a snow-filled trough around the base. Max moved to the spot where the body had been and began to reenact the death scene, as he now imagined it.
Fred observed as Max crawled onto the boulder and put his hands and feet where he thought Arthur’s had been. He slipped, but landed cat-like. From this low position he looked straight up the boulder, then down again, and said in a calculating tone, “Maybe he did fall off the mountain. That would be some crawl.”
“Maybe your fancy-ass coat doubles as a glider,” said Fred, angling for a laugh.
Max leapt back onto the boulder and stretched his right hand up as high as he could, just like the dead body. “We thought he was reaching up. Trying to get out of the snow.”
Fred concurred.
“Of course we did,” said Max. “That’s what it looked like when everything was covered in snow.” He wiggled his left hand down the side of the boulder and pointed at the snow around its base. “He wasn’t climbing up, he was reaching down. Look!” Max sprang from the boulder. “See! Look! Look at that.”
A small hump in the thawing snow at the base was now plain as day. Max jammed his hand into it, and voila! He pulled out a canvas courier’s pouch. Max leapt to his feet, dangling the pouch like a dead squirrel. He put it to his forehead to shade his eyes and looked straight up the cliff face. “He could have crawled from over there. It’s possible, but highly unlikely.”
“So maybe he did fall off the mountain.” Fred said, gauging the distance from the boulder to the cliff face. “One helluva crawl.”
They looked at each other, agog. A few days ago they had
Max bottomed out on Main Street and gave Fred a chance to catch up. “Snow’s melting like crazy.”
Fred wondered why the mountains looked so much closer this morning.
“Let’s get a move on, dad. I’m growin’ a beard here.” He twisted the ends of his peach-fuzz mustache.
Fred tilted his bristly chin at the spires. “I could grow a better beard on a banana.”
Trooper MacIan’s visit had an amazing effect on these two. In his absence, Max fed his young imagination with heroic visions that made him feel powerful and engaged. Fred simply felt lighter. They walked and talked for several hours, keeping a gauge of the weather, which might change on them at any minute and make things miserable.
After a long silence, Max said, “You know, there might be something to that old, ‘In like a lion out like a lamb,’ thing they say about March.”
Fred stopped to stare at Max. “Yeah, maybe,” he said pensively. Something wasn’t right. Fred sensed an intruder.
They arrived on the plateau of toppled boulders far sooner than they’d predicted. The fear of changing weather and the excitement of searching for clues in a real-life crime investigation had put a spring in their step. They had unceremoniously deputized themselves under the law of virtuous intention.
Max imagined himself handing MacIan the clue that broke the case wide open. The pivotal piece of the puzzle. The linchpin. The MacGuffin. Nothing was more beguiling than imagining Trooper MacIan as his friend. If he could prove his worth, MacIan was the kind of guy who’d stand up for him. Max was sure of that.
They came to a point where the boulder in question beckoned and Max sprinted ahead. Fred was left standing there with a proud smile on his face. He smiled a lot. He would smile at Max in his sleep for hours. But, after so many years, it was now he who was the tag-along. Second banana in Max’s peach-fuzz adventure. Yes indeed, something was definitely different. He didn’t know exactly what, but he could feel it.
Max studied the great rock so intently it appeared to be talking to him. It was highly eroded where it met the ground, forming a snow-filled trough around the base. Max moved to the spot where the body had been and began to reenact the death scene, as he now imagined it.
Fred observed as Max crawled onto the boulder and put his hands and feet where he thought Arthur’s had been. He slipped, but landed cat-like. From this low position he looked straight up the boulder, then down again, and said in a calculating tone, “Maybe he did fall off the mountain. That would be some crawl.”
“Maybe your fancy-ass coat doubles as a glider,” said Fred, angling for a laugh.
Max leapt back onto the boulder and stretched his right hand up as high as he could, just like the dead body. “We thought he was reaching up. Trying to get out of the snow.”
Fred concurred.
“Of course we did,” said Max. “That’s what it looked like when everything was covered in snow.” He wiggled his left hand down the side of the boulder and pointed at the snow around its base. “He wasn’t climbing up, he was reaching down. Look!” Max sprang from the boulder. “See! Look! Look at that.”
A small hump in the thawing snow at the base was now plain as day. Max jammed his hand into it, and voila! He pulled out a canvas courier’s pouch. Max leapt to his feet, dangling the pouch like a dead squirrel. He put it to his forehead to shade his eyes and looked straight up the cliff face. “He could have crawled from over there. It’s possible, but highly unlikely.”
“So maybe he did fall off the mountain.” Fred said, gauging the distance from the boulder to the cliff face. “One helluva crawl.”
They looked at each other, agog. A few days ago they had
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