The Man Who Ivented Florida

FOUR

By Wednesday, October 21, Joseph Egret felt good enough to make his escape. His joints didn't ache as badly, and he didn't feel medicine-crazy anymore. He thought about trying to contact Tuck, maybe ask him to come up and keep the orderlies busy while he sneaked out. But that wasn't smart because Tuck always had to do things his own way. Had to do it with a lot of style and tricks just to let people know just how fancy-minded he could be.

Naw, he'd escape by himself. Be a lot quieter that way. Hell, if he was real quiet, the nurses might not even notice and, after a week or two, they'd forget he was ever there.

That's what he'd do. Be real-1-1-1 sneaky quiet like them TV Indians. Maybe lift a few scalps on the way out. That made Joseph smile, lying in his bed, looking at the ceiling. Lift the television set, more like it. Be nice to have down there in the Glades. Be nicer if he had electricity, too, but who could say he wouldn't stumble upon a nice little generator some day? And it was best to be prepared. Besides, Tuck had electricity at his place, and that's where he'd be living. Tuck hadn't invited him, but they both knew that's what was going to happen if Joseph made it out.

Joseph snuck into the room across the hall to watch another eerie sunset-he'd never seen the sky so strange, and he was convinced it was one of those earth signs his grandfather had told him about. Maybe the sky was telling him not to linger. The fiery clouds could mean it was getting late. Or maybe it was telling him to take that television set. Hard to say. Joseph returned to his bed to wait for darkness, but he drifted off to sleep. He would probably have slept right through if it wasn't for a dream he had, a strange dream in a world of burning sky and white celestial light in which his grandfather smiled at him, sitting behind the wheel of a shiny convertible, maybe a Cadillac. Which made no sense-his grandfather had preferred Chevys. What made less sense was that the passenger door was open, as if he expected Joseph to get in with him.

You telling me to go ahead and die, Grandpa?

Nope. Tellin' you to get in the damn car. You already dead.

Joseph sat up with a start, breathing heavily in the darkness. He'd had a dream… then he couldn't quite remember what had happened in the dream. Something about dying, and there had been a lot of white light. There was a nice car in the dream, too. But then Joseph remembered he planned to escape that night, and he didn't think about the dream anymore. He swung out of bed.

He got down on his hands and knees and found the bottle of water Tuck had given him, and he emptied it with a long drink.

Tastes good, he thought. Sulphury, like a bay smells.

He also found his deerskin boats and black roper's hat. He put them on, feeling the soft leather, grinning at the weight of his old hat. But that was all he had to wear. They'd taken his clothes, and now he wished he'd asked that nice aide, Marjorie, for clothes rather than snuff and chocolate. Should have asked her to bring a pair of her gentleman friend's golfing trousers and one of those sweaters with baggy arms like Arnold Palmer wore. That woulda been nice, but it was too late now. And he couldn't hitchhike to Mango wearing a damn gown that flopped open and showed his butt.

Joseph stood in the darkness, thinking. Then suddenly it came to him. He knew where to find clothes. Well, sort of. The orderlies had locked him in the rest home's big storage locker once, and he knew just where to go. He slid out into the hall, looking this way and that, moving quietly through the shadows. He could hear lone voices coming from some of the rooms, crazy babbling. Could hear the television turned up loud downstairs, which meant the fat nurse was probably sitting there eating candy. Could also hear the bong-bong that meant someone had pressed their call button, wanting help from the orderlies. Which was bad. Joseph swung around and saw the light flashing over the door of his own room- that damn little bright-eyed bastard trying to get him in trouble again. He considered going back; maybe wrap the IV tube around the little jerk's throat. But no, he didn't have time. He had to hurry.

Joseph shuffled along, almost running. The storage room was behind the double doors at the end of the hall, and he pulled them open. Inside were boxes of all sorts of stuff, Christmas decorations and mops and a box of donated Halloween costumes, kept for the party they had each year so the television people could take pictures and prove how happy everybody at the rest home was. Joseph started opening boxes, throwing Christmas stockings and plastic pumpkins onto the floor. There was a suit in there somewhere. He'd seen it-a gray suit. Then he found the jacket and tried to pull it on over his shoulders, but it was way too small. Couldn't even get it over his arms. He found a dress, a red one with frills, big as a tent.

I'd hitchhike back to Mango buck-naked first.

He threw the dress on the floor with the suit coat. He kept pawing through the box, holding costumes up to his chest, then tossing them over his shoulder.

People get to this place, the crummy food must make 'em shrink.

He held a black costume up, almost threw it into the heap, but then reconsidered. It was bigger than the rest, so he ripped off his gown and tried it on.

"Hum…" Looking down at himself: black costume with a black hood and white bars across the chest and a single white band down the front of each leg.

White stork costume maybel No-o-o…

Joseph thought for a moment. Nope, it was a skeleton costume. That's what he was wearing, a skeleton suit, only his boots and calves stuck way out of it, and so did his wrists. But that didn't matter. He liked the way it felt, nice and soft, plus black was a good color for him. Set off his eyes-a woman had told him that once.

Joseph put his hat on and turned to the door… then stopped, listening: footsteps coming down the hall, squeaking along on the linoleum. Quickly, Joseph flipped off the lights and stepped back against the wall just as the storage room doors were pulled open. One of the orderlies stood there, looking right at Joseph, it seemed, blinking into the darkness. The thick orderly with the chubby face and the tattoo on his wrist. The one who'd whacked him with surgical tubing that time, then tied him up. Joseph pulled his fists to his sides and was just about to leap on the man when the orderly turned on his heels and let the doors swing shut, calling out, "The Injun ain't in here, Hank!"

Joseph relaxed and waited. Amazing. How could the orderly have missed him? It was a good omen-Joseph knew that. A very good sign for a pursuer to look right at him but not see him.

Joseph crouched a little, listening. He could hear the rubber-shoe noises of the two orderlies going room to room. When he could no longer hear them, he peeked his head out and took a look. All clear, so he shuffled past the elevator to the stairs and clomped on down. The fire door at the first floor had no window, so he had to crack it open to look, and there sat the fat nurse and the two orderlies, backs to him, watching television. That quick, they'd given up the search. Maybe a dozen old people beyond the staff, sitting at tables playing cards. An old woman yelling, "Play me a spade, goddamn it! Either bid or get off the can!" Her thin voice rising over the noise of the television.

So how was he going to get past them? He thought about maybe pulling the upstairs fire alarm, sneaking out in the panic. But no, that'd bring the police, and he didn't want the cops after him. He was thinking about it, standing there in the stairwell, when, unexpectedly, the doorknob was pulled from his hand, the door was yanked wide open, and an old man tottered past him without saying a word.

Joseph didn't hesitate. He stood in plain view of the whole room, and there was no other option. He tipped his hat to the orderlies and the nurse, as if he was going for an evening stroll, then walked right out through the front doors.

The nurse and the orderlies never budged. Never said a word.

It was almost as if he were invisible.

As Joseph moved along the night streets, he began to assemble a plan in his head. It was about thirty miles to Mango, where Tuck lived-thirty miles of busy streets and fast traffic. And the orderlies might come looking for him, once their TV show was over. Which meant he couldn't stay out in the open; couldn't risk hitchhiking because, if they caught him, they might put him jail. A boat was the best way to go, run right down the coast and cut in through the Ten Thousand Islands. But he didn't have a boat. Didn't have a dime to call Tuck, either. Or maybe it cost more now. It'd been a long time since Joseph had used a pay phone.

I could steal a car…

That was an idea. Joseph was not a thief by nature, but if some one left their keys in their car, they deserved to be reminded that it was a dangerous world. But that would mean the police. And Joseph didn't like or trust the police. It was a natural distrust, one built up over long years of living just outside the law. As Tuck was fond of saying, "A cop and an undertaker got a lot in common. Neither one of them buggers wants to talk to a man when things is going smooth."

No, Joseph decided, he would not steal a car. But if he found some coins on the floor of an unlocked car, that was another story. Then he could call Tuck and get a ride. Until then, he'd have to walk. Find a way to head south and stay out of sight in case the orderlies came cruising for him.

Joseph hurried away from the rest home, keeping the three-story concrete hulk at his back. He walked past car lots and Burger Kings, then turned into the first residential section he came to. But damn, there was traffic here, too-Florida had become one big car lot. Then he saw a car coming that looked official-had lights on top-so he began to cut across back portions of lawn, ducking under clotheslines and skirting bright windows. For the first time, he began to relax. He traveled quietly, enjoying his new freedom and the scent of the October night. He hummed a little tune, too-a tune he remembered as an old Indian song, the birth song, perhaps, but that was actually the big band hit "Tangerine."

"Tangerine makes a lady da-dum. Tangerine da-dah-de-dum…"

As he walked, he was constantly testing himself, exploring joints and appendages for the various discomforts he had suffered. But there were none. Well, the pain wasn't as bad, anyway. That water… Tuck had been right about that vitamin water. Joseph had known the man for fifty years, and it was the first time Tuck had ever been right about anything.

For once, one of my grandfather's stories has come true…

Thinking that, believing it, produced an odd feeling in Joseph-a strange, floating sense of intoxication, as if he were outside his body, looking down from above. Made him dizzy-that's how strong the feeling was-and he stopped in the shadows of a ficus tree to gather himself.

This is just great. My body's gotten better, but my mind's turned soft. What the hell's going on here!

He stood in the shadows, hoping the feeling would pass.

People who did not know Joseph well considered him a simple man of few needs and fewer thoughts. In truth, he was as intelligent as he was sensitive, and, like most sensitive people, harbored an innate mistrust of his own intellect. Added to this burden was a lifetime of wrestling with his own Indian heritage. His grandfather-called Chekika's Son-had been the great-grandson of Chekika, the giant Indian who had been shot, then hung, accused of killing settlers in the Florida Keys. Chekika, his grandfather had told Joseph many times, was the last of west Florida's native race. In him flowed the blood of the warrior Calusa, a sea people who had built high shell mounds that could still be found on the islands; built them long before the straggler Seminole and Mic-cosukee had wandered onto the peninsula.

Growing up in the Everglades, Joseph's grandfather had told him the Calusa stories; shared the Calusa legends as if they were great truths: On the full moon of the autumnal equinox, owls could speak as humans do; that the souls of brave men soared like eagles, seeking revenge long after they had died; that there was a great plan, a great order to the earth, and that their people, the ancient ones, would one day regain the coast they had once ruled.

But, one by one, as he grew older, Joseph saw the legends collapse beneath the weight of his own worldliness. He realized, in time, his grandfather was just another Indian drunk destined to die in an Immokalee flophouse, an empty wine bottle at his side. He learned that most people, no matter what color, stopped fighting long before their last heartbeat. Finally, he came to understand that the land called Florida would be inherited by those who cared least about it: the concrete merchants and tourists and out-of-state rich people. His loss of faith had long been an emptiness in him, but Joseph was also well grounded in the vagaries of existence: Life was scary enough to make a sled dog shiver, and a man had to get along as best he could.

But now one of the legends had come true: the story of the living water-a spring once sought by the Indian sick to heal themselves. Did he really believe that? Yes… no!… maybe.

Tuck was a con man; about that, there was no doubt. So why, Joseph wondered, did his own mind feel so much clearer after drinking the water? Why did his body feel so much better? He stood in the shadows, leaning against the tree, considering. Before him were expensive ranch-style homes, concrete and stucco, with neat lawns and palm trees potted on little cement islands. In the eastern sky, clouds throbbed with eerie light, as if a bright wind was trapped within, probing for escape. Ghostly looking shapes up there in the night sky, so strange and unfamiliar that a disconcerting sense of doom flitted through Joseph's mind… which was when he remembered the dream he'd had.

You telling me to go ahead and die, Grandpa!

Nope. Tellin' you to get in the damn car. You already dead.

It all came back to him, the whole strange dream. Not a happy realization, either, because Joseph knew the dream for what it was.

Damn death dreams. Always come when a man's got other stuff to worry about.

Yes, no doubt about it. He had had a death dream.

"Some joke, Grandpa!"

Joseph sagged against the tree. He was going to die. Dreams like that didn't beat around the bush. Came right out and said what they meant. Hey… wait a minute. Joseph straightened as a new thought entered his head. In his mind, he tallied the feelings he had experienced in the last hour: unexpected freedom, absence of pain, soaring intoxication. Plus, that orderly had looked right at him without seeing him, as if he were invisible. Same with the fat nurse. Didn't even notice him.

Maybe I'm already dead!

"Oh shit," Joseph whispered.

Maybe he hadn't left the rest home, after all. Maybe this was all just a hallucination. Maybe, just maybe, he really had died and now his spirit was soaring.

Joseph bounced up and down on the ground a little. Don't feel like I'm soaring.

He thought about one of the few movies he had ever seen. In that film, a man got hit by a car. When he awoke, he was standing in line to board a train. His name was on the passenger list, but the man couldn't remember why he was there. But he found out. That man was on his way to heaven! Then another thought struck Joseph: If a train took you to heaven, maybe you had to walk to hell.

Quickly, he pinched himself. Ouch. It hurt, but was that proof?

No. Hadn't the man in that movie kicked over a trash can and hurt his foot? Maybe they let you keep all your physical feelings- except the sinful ones, of course.

There, that was an idea.

Joseph made a cursory check through his brain for dirty thoughts.

Nope, they were still there.

That did it; told him all he needed to know. He wasn't bound for heaven; he was on a one-way trip to hell.

Just about exactly what you deserve, you dirty man…

The back door of the house near which he stood opened, startling him. He heard a voice say, "You stay in the yard now, Dracula!"

Joseph stiffened. "Jesus Christ," he whispered, "Dracula?"

But it wasn't the one he had imagined. This Dracula was a big black dog with pointed ears and skinny hips. It loped across the yard, then froze when it sensed Joseph.

This will be a good test. If the dog barks, I'm alive. If it doesn't… well, I've got problems.

Suddenly, the dog gave a low growl and charged right at him. Joseph grinned-he must still be alive, because that mean dog wanted to bite him! But then the animal banked sharply to the right and disappeared, howling, into the shrubbery. Joseph was thrown into such an instant state of emotional turmoil that he didn't even notice the cat streaking off ahead of the dog.

"Can it be I'm really dead?" Joseph wailed-out loud, for he was certain that no one could hear him. "Am I really a goddamn ghost?"

Then he heard a train whistle from the far distance. "Shit-now I've gone and missed the train to boot!"

He felt wretched. He remembered all the things he had left undone in his life. He punished himself with myriad regrets and accused himself of a thousand stupidities. He groaned and moaned bitterly until the door of the house flew open again and a man stepped out. "Get outta this yard, you damn cat!" Then the man at the door watched in shock as a huge figure dressed in a cowboy hat and skeleton costume went moping across to the next lot, then out of sight.

But soon Joseph Egret, who in his entire life had never allowed regrets to linger, began to recover from the shock of being dead. If he were a ghost, his new form might offer certain opportunities that his old living form had not. He studied the possibilities as he walked past more nice houses. He could steal money most probably. Take from the rich and give to his friends. That would be nice. And he might make a ghostly visit to the women's shower room at the local college. He had always dreamed of a chance to do that. Maybe being a ghost wouldn't be so bad, after all. He'd become a phantom Robin Hood-with hobbies.

By now, Joseph was feeling better. Death would have its advantages-if he was left to his own devices. He didn't want heaven,- he just wanted to be left alone. He would visit his old friends and scare the hell out of them. And no adult better harm a child while he was around! Joseph grinned maliciously. Those fat nurses back at the rest home better be on their toes the next time they reached for a tampon. As for Tucker Gatrell's claims that he had found the living water… well, that just made no sense. But then, Tucker rarely did make sense.

Joseph was on what seemed to be a vast rolling lawn now. Houses surrounded him. He walked up a hill and came to a patch of soft grass with a flag in the middle: Thus he knew he was on a golf course. Joseph had never been on a golf course before. It smelled good. Down the rolling fairway, beyond the tar-slick pond, he could see the clubhouse. It was lighted as if for a party. People mingled outside beneath Japanese lanterns and the swimming pool was Jell-O green. Joseph remembered that Marjorie had said something about a bake sale at the country club. That had been days ago, but maybe they had some food left over. Joseph loved rhubarb pie and he was fond of peach cobbler. He decided to have a look.

As he got nearer, he could smell something cooking on a grill: steaks. Joseph liked steak even better than cobbler. He peeked through a bush and saw a chubby man in a chief's apron turning slabs of meat in a long row. The smell of the meat made Joseph's stomach growl, and he thought, If I'm a ghost, then I'm a hungry goddamn ghost. And if I'm not a ghost, I'll swipe a couple of them steaks, anyway.

Joseph kept a high copse between himself and the party. He watched the people laughing, talking, carrying drinks around. People with money, he could tell that by their clothes. People who knew one another but who seemed tense about something, nervous. Joseph could sense that, too. Then some of the people moved, clearing his view, and he could see why. Beyond the pool, a man and a woman were arguing. The man was tall but slumped, with gray hair. He had a drink glass in his hand and he was talking loudly, slurring his words. Saying mean things.

I'll be damned-

The woman was Marjorie.

Joseph watched this outrage for a time. Marjorie tried to walk away from the man, but he caught her arm and jerked her back. She began to cry, covering her face with her hands. The man pulled her hands apart, then hurried after her as she ran toward the clubhouse. She got to the clubhouse first, and the man stopped short, furious. The door that swung closed behind her read LADIES' LOCKER ROOM.

Joseph did not hesitate. If ever there were a job for a phantom, this was it. That the partygoers did not seem to notice as he sauntered toward the dressing room reassured Joseph. And when the man who had been harassing Marjorie let him pass through the door without question, he felt positively bold.

Being a ghost is gonna be fun, Joseph thought.

Tuck was frying his supper and humming a tune written by his old flying buddy, Ervin T. Rouse, when he heard a car slide to a halt outside. He looked through the window. Big bloated car- Tuck couldn't tell the makes anymore-and Joseph Egret was climbing out. The Indian waved a farewell as the car tore off, throwing dust.

Joseph came into the house, grinning broadly. He carried a heavy grocery sack and there was a swelling beneath his eye.

Neither men were the type for social preamble or reunion niceties. Tuck went back to the stove, saying, " 'Bout time you got the cojones to leave that rat-hole rest home."

Joseph placed the grocery sack on the table. "Got steaks in here-some of them already cooked. Steaks and beer."

Tucker turned the chicken he was frying and got another pan for the steaks. "Stole 'em I suppose." Looking meaningfully at Joseph's swollen eye.

"This?" Joseph touched his face. "There was a lady friend of mine in trouble. This guy got upset when I followed her into the shower room. I woulda ducked, but I thought I was a…" It seemed rather silly now, thinking he was a ghost. "Anyway, I didn't think he could see me. After I knocked him and two or three others in the pool, things got kinda crazy. There was a lady screaming around with no clothes and a fire got started. But they didn't see me take these steaks. If they did, nobody said nothing."

Tuck decided not to pursue it. Later, around a campfire perhaps, it would be a good story to hear. Find out why Joseph was dressed like a skeleton, too. Had to be an interesting story behind that. But now, if the police came… well, it would be refreshing to be able to tell them the truth-that he didn't know anything about it.

The two men ate the chicken and steaks in silence, then Tucker leaned back in his chair, patted his stomach, and said, "Still takin' good care of myself, Joe. Left just enough room for a six-pack." He stood, found a foil packet of chewing tobacco and paper cups. Pushed a cup, then the foil packet across the table to Joseph, saying, "That woman who brung you, she's not coming back?"

"Women love me," Joseph explained sagely, "but they love to leave me, too." He had had two wives and more romances than Tuck, and he knew it was true. "But she said she might come see me someday. Said her gentleman friend was just drunk and hardly ever like that, but she'd see." Joseph said all this sadly, but Tucker recognized the thread of relief in his voice.

"Know exactly what you mean," he said, addressing the undertone rather than the words. "I had to pay a man cash money to take his woman back. Had to do it in secret so's she wouldn't find out. Hardest part was actin' heartbroke. That woman thought she was the best chili cook in the world. Had the windows open for a month after she left, just to air the place out."

Joseph nodded, comfortable in the understanding of an old friend. He had his nose to the foil pouch of tobacco, smiling at the sweetness of it, smiling at being out, alone, and on the loose again. "You going to the porch?"

Tucker had stood. "Yeah, but you ain't goin' nowhere till you put on a shirt and a pair of my jeans. Take off that stupid suit. After that I'll take you on a little walk, say good evening to Roscoe."

When he'd changed, Joseph followed Tuck outside, across the porch to the sand yard. Stars were pale blue in the black sky and thunderheads flickered in the high darkness, east over the Everglades, drawing wind from the mangrove thicket beyond the pasture. The village of Mango, what was left of it, was on a weak curvature of mud flat that created a harbor, and the harbor curved away toward the charcoal haze of the Ten Thousand Islands.

The islands separated Florida's mangrove coast from the Gulf of Mexico.

"Sally Carmel's back," Tucker said. He could see her sailboat moored off the end of the long dock. The halyard was flapping in the breeze, tapping against the mast, and Tucker thought, Whew, what a lonely sound.

"Who?"

Tuck said, "That little girl used to play around here. That tomboy kinda girl that liked birds. I know you remember her mother, Loretta."

Joseph made a soft whistling sound. "You bet I remember Loretta. Ran the fish house. Real tough business woman, and that body of hers. .." He let the sentence trail off, picturing Loretta with her blond hair and the way she'd looked in a shirt with buttons.

Tucker had stopped at the shed, rummaging around until he found a Coleman lantern, saying, "I know, I know, but Loretta's in her grave now, so stop thinkin' what you're thinkin'."

"Just admiring her memory, that's all."

"Uh-huh." He fired the lantern. "Sally moved back a couple years ago, fixed up her mom's old shack"-Tucker motioned toward a white cottage with lighted windows-"fixed it up nice. Had some guy living with her a while, a husband, but then she kicked him out. Snooty kind of guy, thought he was smart."

"Good for her."

Tucker opened the pasture gate, and the two men walked along side by side, going slow, talking. Joseph knew where they were headed without having to ask-to the source of the water. As they walked, Tucker talked about the fish company closing down, about people moving away from Mango so they could make a living. "I still got them five shacks I used to rent. Down there off the mud flat? But they're all falling in. Can't get anybody to rent them 'cause they're such a mess." Then he talked about the state people planning to take the land so they could add it to the national park that extended down the west coast to the Florida Keys. Most of which Joseph already knew, but he let Tucker talk, anyway. Was used to the noise the man had to make; kind of enjoyed it, in fact, because it required so little effort on his part.

Tucker said, "So only a couple of us even bother living here anymore. The Hummels still live where they lived, and there's old Rigaberto with those idiot chickens of his. Them gawldamn birds-now I like a rooster that makes noise in the morning, but the bastards he's got go at it all day. Bunch of little banties, and you know how mean they are. I had a couple nice cats, but the damn chickens run 'em off, stole their damn food out of the bowls. And we got a new woman up the road who raises a garden with pink flamingo statues in it. She gives me collards, and her husband's a hell of a nice guy. And there's a retired church organist lives in that trailer. Come a windy night, she'll wait till 'bout midnight and start banging out 'The Old Rugged Cross' full bore. But sometimes she calls me and I do her heavy lifting, then she has me over for breakfast."

"I like a good breakfast," Joseph said.

"Hell, then tonight when she's asleep, we'll go roll that organ a hers out the door again. Give her a reason to invite us."

"Again?"

Tuck cleared his throat. "Well, somebody give her the idea that, the way the earth spins, things can roll around at night."

Joseph didn't say anything, and Tucker replied to his silence: "A man's gotta eat, don't he?"

The scrawny cattle in the pasture shied at the approach of the men, then calmed, chewing, when they saw it was only Tucker. Roscoe came trotting out, big white horse nodding his head, pawing. Tuck said, "You don't believe me about the vitamin water, look at this." He put his hand on the horse's flank and put the lantern on the ground. "There they are, plain as rain. Roscoe's nuts."

Joseph squatted and looked. "I don't remember you having him gelded."

"Sure did. Vet had him twitched and drugged, and Roscoe still tried to take him apart." Tucker scratched the horse's neck. "Didn't you, boy? Ha! Living out here with no mare, he was starting to act weird, but I see now it was them damn heifers leading him on. Won't happen again, old boy!" Tuck took something from his pocket-a carrot-and the horse followed behind as the two men cut across the pasture, through the low myrtle and palmetto thickets. Mangrove trees at the edge of the bay formed a natural fence at the back end of the pasture, and Tuck held the lantern high, looking for something. "It's around here someplace," he said. "Little opening in the mangroves." He swore softly when he stepped in a fresh cow pie, then tripped and almost fell as he tried to clean his boot.

"Hum…" said Joseph, starring. "What's that thing you kicked?" He picked up something and held it to the light. "Stick with a ribbon on it."

Tucker was still cleaning his boot. "That? Oh, that. Doesn't seem to be much of anything. Golf flag for midgets? Ha-ha."

"Looks like a survey stake to me."

"Yeah, well-you named it." Tucker dropped the stick he had been using, picked up the lantern, and resumed the search. "Florida state flag, that's what it is. I can't fool you, never could, so I might just as well come out and say it plain."

Joseph said, "That'll be the day."

"Naw, I mean it. I was going to tell you, but not tonight. Didn't want to spoil your homecoming. Hell, you know how sentimental I am."

"Uh-huh."

Tucker said, "Here it is!" meaning the path. Then to the horse: "Stay here, Roscoe. I don't want you dropping pies in the water." Tucker stepped over a little arch of mangrove roots, snaking his way through the low trees. Mosquitoes found them-a swirling veil of silver in the lantern light-and Tucker continued to talk as they twisted along the trail, ducking low. "What's going on, Joseph, I used to own 'bout a hundred and twenty-five acres. Owned that whole stretch along the bay, them docks, the shacks-well, hell, you know what I owned."

Joseph knew. Tucker had once tried to get him to buy half of it.

"I was what us businessmen call land-poor. Wasn't making much money on cattle, but the damn commissioners kept raising my taxes 'cause it was waterfront. See"-he stopped to look around at Joseph, emphasizing the point-"that's the way they run all us old fishermen out. Rich people want to live by the water, so they tax waterfront property like it's all owned by rich people. If I was to tell you what I was paying every month in taxes-" Tucker started walking again. "So I had to sell off a big chunk of it just to pay the bills."

"You sell it to the government?"

"Hell no, you think I'm nuts?" Tucker spit. "Sold it to a big company. To a land trust, it's called. Sold a hundred acres and kept twenty-five. My place, the shacks, and the docks."

"Never pictured you selling your land."

"Yeah, but things was tight. Plus, the state was going to take it, anyway. That's what I figured. Them bastards. But I've been fighting 'em. Showin' them they're not messing with some kid. Lemar Flowers, he's been helping me right along. You remember-"

"The judge? Judge Flowers, sure I remember him. He's tricky."

Tucker smiled. "That's the man. Only he ain't a judge no more, just a lawyer. He got into some kinda scrape with a neighbor. The neighbor tried to nudge the boundary lines over by building a toolshed that crossed the line. And old Lemar-I can picture him doing this. Old Lemar, he climbs up on a bulldozer and just runs the toolshed down. Flattens it. He had to stop being a judge after that, that and the way he loves his liquids. But I knew the moment I heard that story, Lemar was just the lawyer for me. The one who could help me fight these state buzzards, keep them outta Mango."

Joseph said, "Mean, keep them from taking your twenty-five acres."

"My twenty-five? Hell, no. Keep them from taking any of it."

"But the rest of it ain't your land no more, so I don't see how it matters who owns it."

Tucker cleared his throat-the sound of a patient man. "See, that's the difference 'tween you and me, Joe. You don't use your brain."

"Yeah," Joseph cut in, "and you're like one of them lizards you grab but the tail comes off in your hand. Being different from you is what I like."

"I'm just saying you don't have my knack for seeing how things work. Don't mean nothing bad by it. But use your head. The state comes in here and makes a park, why, hell, it'd be like livin' in a prison. Them people in uniforms walking around, giving everybody orders. Paintin' everything gray or green. Gad! Galls me just thinking about it. My land! And they're just so dang sneaky about things. The ones in the uniforms, they act high and mighty enough. But them state guys who wear the suits, they're the worst. They come down here trying to shake my hand, smiling at me in that snooty kinda way. You know, like a school principal kinda smile? Like they got all the power in the world. They can squash me like a bug if they want, but they want to be professional doin' it. Bastards ain't never had to make a payroll in their life, ain't never had to bust their balls to pay for a prime chunk of land, but they can stroll around here like they own the place, tell me what I've been doing wrong."

Joseph tried once more. "But if you sold it. If it ain't your land-"

Tucker made an odd noise, a little chortling sound. "That there's where it gets complicated. Yes indeed! Just trust me, Joe. I ain't a man to be taken lightly. You know that."

Joseph nodded. Tuck could have been lying all night, but that much was true. He was not a man to be taken lightly.

Tucker said, "Me and Lemar Flowers, we got it all worked out. Well… parts of it. Me, I'm working out the rest. You know how them state people, they're so sneaky? They come down here trying to push the whole thing down my throat. Tryin' to do it real fast, just wham-bam, thank you, ma'am. Wantin' to do their tests and surveys for all their fancy permits? Well, Lemar, he sets them down and makes 'em agree to hold a meeting. A public hearing, you know, right here at my place before their board or commission or whatever the hell it is condemns my land. Hell, you shoulda heard them scream about that. Those hearings, they always hold up to Tallahassee. But Lemar fixes it so they can't come on my land to do their tests unless they agreed. November ninth, that's the day. A Monday. Plenty of time." Tucker made the chortling sound again. "All I had to do was slow them down a little."

Tucker kept on talking, but he was getting repetitive, so Joseph tuned him out. Tuck was saying a lot, but he wasn't saying everything-he never did-but the whole story would gradually reveal itself, and Tuck's schemes were often interesting. They almost never worked, but they were interesting. Tucker was manipulating him, but Joseph didn't mind. It was like buying a ticket to get into a movie theater. Being manipulated was the price.

Joseph said, "Yeah, yeah, uh-huh," walking along, enjoying the freedom of being out in darkness. It had been a long time since he'd been in a mangrove swamp, and he liked it; liked the way the muck sucked at his boots, sending up a sulphur bloom with every footstep. A bruised kind of smell, like walking on something alive. Then they came onto higher ground and a little clearing- not a clearing, actually, but a hollow walled by trees and roofed with limbs. In the center was an abrupt hill of sand and shell.

Joseph could hear the shells crunching as he followed Tuck up the incline.

"Indian mound," Joseph said.

"Yep," Tucker said softly. "Little one." He turned the lantern's knob, and the light faded with a gaseous hiss. "Didn't even know it was here. Roscoe found it, not me."

Joseph stood, feeling easy. He'd been on many Indian mounds- his people, the Calusa, had built them all along the west coast of Florida. Built them out of shells of all sizes; left pottery shards a thousand years old or more, but little else. Because the mounds were the only high ground around, early settlers had homesteaded them, farmed them, raised their children on them, moving inland only when cars replaced boats as the common means of conveyance. Joseph had spent most of his childhood on one mound or another, but he'd never seen one like this. At the top of the mound was a little circular spring. The spring was lined with rock. Some of the rock had fallen in, and water bubbled out of the rocks. Tucker had turned out the lantern for a reason: The water sparkled with turquoise light, like little fireflies being swirled in the current.

Impressed, Joseph said, "Sure looks like it's got vitamins in it."

"You bet it does."

"Almost looks… alive. Like salt water on a dark night when you stir it around. And I thought you was lying."

"Lying, hah! Not me, Joe." Tuck stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the water, before he said, "Lot of these islands got artesian springs, but I ain't never seen none like this. Has to be some kinda natural piping to get the water up this high. Probably just like your grandpa described it, huh?"

"Nope. He always said it was a river. The legend, you mean? That was supposed to be a river. This ain't no river."

"No, but she perks right along."

"Besides, they already dug out all the rivers. Straightened 'em for boats. If it was real, that river, she's gone now."

"God amighty, it sound's like you're complaining. This'll just have to do."

Joseph got down on his stomach. He dipped his hands in the water and watched it drip from his fingers. He wiped the water over his face, then drank from the spring. He looked up at Tucker.

"This close to the bay, you'd think it'd taste salty. But it don't. It tastes… it tastes like…"

Tucker said, "I know. A little salty, but more like sulphur. But that ain't no big problem. Maybe we can work out some kinda filter system. Or put cherry flavor in it. People like a good cherry drink."

Joseph said, "Naw, I didn't mean-" He was staring into the spring, but then he looked up at Tucker. "Filter? Filter this water? You crazy? Wait a minute-" He stood, wiping his hands, face-to-face with Tuck. "I'll be damned. You don't even believe it yourself, do you?"

"Believe what?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Believe about this water, what it does-"

"Now that's a helluva thing to say, Joe! I'm only the man who discovered it. Well, Roscoe."

"That's the way you always do it, actin' so innocent."

"How the hell you want me to act when I am? I'm tryin' to tell you about what happened. The old bastard kept disappearing, and it took me about a week to track him here. Once I saw Roscoe's personal gear'd growed back, it didn't take me long to put two and two together." Tucker jutted his jaw out. "And tell me this- what's the first thing I did? Go ahead and become a millionaire? Nope. I went and rescued my old buddy from the rest home. Now this is the thanks I get. Calling me a liar."

"You don't got to lie, Tuck. All I'm saying, why run it through a filter if you believe it's got vitamins in it?"

"What the hell do you care if I'm lying or not? Made you feel better, didn't it?" Tucker still had his chin out, a serious expression on his face. "Now, after all we've been through, you saying you don't trust me?"

"I never did trust you. I'm talking about this little spring."

"Why would I make up a story about it?"

"That's what I'm askin'."

"Joe, if I was gonna make up a story about vitamin water, why'd I need you? Think about it a minute."

"Well… I can't figure you. Never pretended I could."

"There ain't a reason in the world, that's why. You're my oldest and best friend, so I got you in on it. Hated to think about you rustin' away in that damn rest home while I'm down here getting spunkier every day, just full of the old Nick like when I was young. You saying that jug a water didn't make you feel pretty good?"

"Yeah, but maybe it's just in my mind."

Tucker hooted. "No offense, Joe, but you ain't got the imagination. You think you imagined your back not hurtin', your joints not hurtin'?"

"Well… they still hurt, just not so bad."

"Gawldamn it, don't you ever get tired of complainin'?"

"I'm just telling you, that's all."

"Then what about that fight you was in tonight? You imagine that?"

Joseph began to nod his head slowly. "Now that's true. That's true enough." Then he offered, "And I was with a woman only a few days after you brought me the jug."

Tuck studied Joseph a moment. "You was with a woman? You mean you-"

"Yep. Sure did."

"Naw."

"Three times."

"I'll be-" Tucker found his footing and crunched his way up to the spring, then got on his belly. "No way. Not three times?" Joseph was nodding his head as Tuck scooped water into his hands and took a tentative drink, listening as Joseph told him, "Not counting the next morning. Five or six times in all. I kinda lost track."

Tucker made a face at the rotten-egg taste of the water, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then put his whole face in the spring. He came up shaking his head. "Whew! I can't get enough of this. Probably a regular soup of all sorts of healthy stuff."

"Yeah," said Joseph, "that's why you can't filter it."

"Huh?" Tuck was standing, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Filter it? Hell no, we can't filter it. I meant change the taste of it, that's all. Get it sweetened up a little so people will buy it. Did I say filter?" He leaned forward to make his point. "Joe, this little spring is gonna open all kinds of doors for us. You know what they sell now? Little green bottles of water from France. I got a couple at the house. Damn stuff's got bubbles in it, and they still get a buck a bottle. You know how much we can sell this stuff for? About twenty bucks a jar, if it's worked right."

"Sell it in jars," Joseph said. He was shaking his head.

"Right. Which brings us to the heart of that little problem I was telling you about."

Joseph said, "Huh?"

Tucker cleared his throat and said, "Them survey stakes I brought to your attention. There's a small matter of me not owning this property no more."