BACK   

= SAD LADY LAKE =

Dark Fantasy

by John Argo

2.

Fifteen minutes later, Jill was in the water doing measured, strong strokes. The water temperature was fine. She felt good, stroking evenly. She took her time, stopping briefly to rest and admire the scenery: Mountains all around, dark-green with old pines. Must be wonderful to live here, she thought, swimming on. The trees must creak and whisper at night! As so often happened, a stray thought occurred to her, that it would be nice to just float like this, to fall asleep, to go down, down, to Timmy... Just then a mosquito whined close and stung her neck. Recalled to sweet hard reality, she slapped her neck and yelled.

Sure enough, there was a cold current in the middle, and for a moment she was alarmed. Being an experienced swimmer, she kept her head as the temperature around her abruptly lowered at least 5 degrees. She cranked up her stroke, easing into full stride. It was scary for about five minutes. The current, though not too strong, was just cold enough so that, without a wet suit, she felt the first tingle of numbness in her feet, the first hint of heaviness in her limbs.

There! The lake water once again encased her in languid warmth, seeming all the cozier because of the cold water just past. She stepped ashore, pulled in the ten foot line, and opened the bag she'd towed. The Kachina dolls were beautiful, and she was glad she'd come across. She was disappointed for Tom, who'd had to stay on the other side trying to kill two hours. She had brought her checkbook and a pen, and bought nearly a thousand dollars' worth of Native American goods. Not that she planned to sell it, but what she bought would fetch twice its price in L.A. She wrote the Native American family a separate check for postage, and carefully tucked her signed receipt into her bag.

"You come in a boat?" asked the Native American Dad.

"Swam."

They looked at each other, parents and children. "Swam," he echoed. "That's a mile with a rip current in the middle."

"I almost made the Olympics," she informed them crisply.

"Be careful," the wife said as Jill walked along the rocky shore. The Native Americans followed slowly. She heard thunder, and looked back just in time to see silver marble the milky sky. Rain drops dropped out of clear sunny air, like a ghostly deception.

"I wouldn't," the Native American said.

"I got to," she said. She thought for a moment—have Tom drive all this way around to pick her up? Maybe they should have arranged that two hours ago. Too late now. The rain came down harder. She bit her lip, full of indecision, staring at the water. "Jeez," she said.

"You know what the lake is called? Manuit. That's local Native American lingo from way back. Means Sad Lady. I'd hate to see you join her in the lake. Come up to our house. We'll fix coffee and you can call your husband."

The Native American wife lifted her jacket over her head. "Hurry!" The Native Americans and their three children turned and ran up to their house as the rain splintered down. Still the sun was bright.

Jill took a deep breath. This was the kind of thing she'd have done as a lark in college. The opposite shore looked so close. She could see the lights of the store there. She saw the camper van glint in the sunlight. She dove in. The water received her warmly, and she surfaced laying down powerful strokes. She felt the rain like knitting needles stabbing her back. After a while, she turned onto her back and kept stroking. She had to squint her eyes, but what she saw alarmed her. The opposite shore seemed farther away. The sky was getting darker by the minute. Lightning arced and haloed over the lake in quivering shapes like teeth.

TOP  |  MAIN

Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.