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The next three weeks were spent skirting the edge of the swamp. They managed to shoot a few wild turkeys with their crossbows, and each night they set lines with bait in the streams they came across. Invariably they would catch several trout for the next morning’s breakfast.
The mountains in the west grew closer and larger with each day’s journey. They passed through a country of rolling hills filled with pine forests. The fragrance of the pine and spruce masked the smell of the swamp. The best part of the day for Dave was always evening, around the campfire when the nightlines were set, potatoes had been dug, and supper was digesting with the help of Halcyon tea. As they got to know each other, the group talked about anything and everything; they talked of the families they missed, their hopes for the future, and of course, with Glenn around, they talked about girls.
On this night, Dave was just settling back when Brendon asked Floyd about a girlfriend at home. Then a debate began about “the ideal woman.” “The ideal woman,” began Glenn in his best imitation of Professor Aberhardt, “is one who dedicates all of her energy to fulfilling every whim and desire of her man.”
“Oh yeah!” muttered Brendon. “How likely am I to find a woman like that?”
Floyd chuckled and said, “You’re dreamin’, Glenn. Why would any woman do that for you? What could she possibly get out of a relationship like that?”
“Why would she do that for me?” said Glenn solemnly. “She would do that for me because her biological makeup wires her up that way and because being associated with someone of my reputation, social standing, and of course general good looks, would make her the envy of womankind everywhere. Just think of how her status in the female hierarchy would be elevated.”
There were guffaws all around.
“I think it would also help if she weren’t too bright,” Tom added innocently as an afterthought.
The others laughed uproariously. Even Floyd and Al were laughing. Dave was laughing so hard that tears came to his eyes.
Trying to divert attention from this unfortunate remark, Glenn turned to Al, who was sitting next to him, and said, “Okay, wise guy. Laugh it up. How would you describe the ideal woman?”
Al composed himself and considered Glenn’s question. “I don’t know, Glenn. On this subject I bow to your superior experience.”
“Oh, don’t encourage him!” said Tom.
“You must have had a girlfriend,” said Glenn. “Tell us about it.”
“Actually, I never had a girlfriend. I don’t even have a sister, and my mother died soon after my father abandoned us when I was twelve years old. Even when I went to live with my father and my stepmother, I hated my stepmother so much that I never really learned anything positive about women from her.”
The circle had become quiet. They had moved from raucous laughter to tomb-like solemnity in scant seconds. Pleased at the diversion of attention, Glenn pressed the matter. “But you must have had a girlfriend in high school. You must have some idea about the ideal woman.”
“No, I can’t say I even had a girlfriend in high school,” said Al sheepishly. “But I did have a number of good friends who were girls, more like sisters than girlfriends, I guess.”
There were snorts of disbelief.
“No, it’s true!” said Al. “You see, my father was a professor of psychology and a Marxist. He detested all religion as the ‘opiate of the people,’ and he wouldn’t let my mother go to church even though she wanted to. After my mother died and I became old enough to stand up to him, I went to church more out of rebellion than conviction. I met a lot of nice girls at church.”
“More out of rebellion than conviction? I could find religion if there were enough good-looking women there!” hooted Vlad.
“Maybe that’s where you should look for your ‘compliant female,’” said Kyle, looking knowingly at Glenn. “Maybe you could find one that would satisfy your every whim and desire out of religious conviction.”
“Let Al finish. We still haven’t heard about the ideal woman,” said Floyd.
“I don’t think any of the girls I got to know as friends would have fit Glenn’s description. Anyway, to me, women are an alien species. I can’t understand how they think or how they react, but somehow the sum total of what they are is an inexpressible delight.”
“My dear, uninformed celibate,” said Glenn. “Your inexpressible delight in womankind is nothing more than your disguised sex drive.”
“I couldn’t disagree more!” protested Al. “If you look carefully at the woman of your darker dreams, she will be an infernal Venus. She will of course be rapturously beautiful, but she will also, of necessity, be wanton and to some extent evil. The whole point is, of course, that we could misuse and abuse this beautiful evil Venus without regret or even a pang of guilt, precisely because she is evil and deserves to be used and then discarded. On the other hand, the girls I was able to get to know as good friends were beautiful, but they were also innocent, and only a complete rogue could lie to them and steal their innocence and trust. Even if a rogue did so, I can’t believe it wouldn’t leave a bad taste in his mouth.”
Al’s exposition had been rendered so passionately an awkward silence followed. Dave, not wishing the awkward moment to linger, said, “For a guy who insists he doesn’t know anything about women, you said quite a lot.”
“Call it a Socratic paradox,” said Al, smiling mischievously in the firelight. “Since I—perhaps only I—correctly recognize that I know zero about women, I actually know more about women than some others,” here he looked at Glenn, “who mistakenly think they know a lot, but what they know is completely wrong.”
“Wrong? Wrong! Your knowledge is purely theoretical, while mine is experimental,” said Glenn, thumping himself on his chest.
“Anyway, Glenn, you’re not doing us any favors,” said Dave.
“How so?” answered Glenn.
“You’ve been telling us time and time again we should live for ourselves. Your philosophy is ‘look out for number one.’ By telling everybody around you, including the women, that they ought to live for themselves, you’re actually destroying what little chance we have to find these women of our dreams who will unselfishly fulfill our every whim and desire.”
After the laughter had again subsided, they headed off to get some sleep.
__________
The ten men crossed another plateau and entered the foothills of the mountains. The hills were clad in a fir wood that made walking difficult, so they faced the constant danger of losing their sense of direction and traveling in circles.
Late one afternoon, as they crossed a shallow ridge, they came upon a long narrow dell bordering a pond that was shaped like the narrow willow leaf point of a spear. At the north end of the pond, a creek from a high alpine valley cascaded over moss covered rocks. About 100 yards to the south, the water from the pool plunged over a rocky ridge to fall churning and foaming to the fens far below. On the east side of the pool, near the waterfall, there was a meadow of luscious green grass dotted with tamarack and pine.
“Let’s make camp here,” said Floyd, leaning his pack against a tree near the water’s edge.
“Stan, you set the night lines for the fish. The rest of us will scatter and look for some food. We’re running low.”
Dave set his pack down at the edge of the forest as he pulled out his foldable shovel and headed back up the slope. He had seen some potatoes not far from the game trail they had been following. He found them quickly and soon had a poncho full of new red potatoes, which he carried back to his pack.
Dave set them down and was just opening his pack to look for a pan so he could wash the potatoes, when he heard Al’s voice in the distance.
“What are you doing, Stan?”
Dave looked up. About twenty yards away Stan rose suddenly from the ground, holding a book. He closed the journal, tossed it onto Floyd’s pack, and stretched himself to his full height.
“What’s it to you, Gleeson?”
“Why are you going through Floyd’s belongings?”
At five feet eleven inches, Al was as tall as Stan but much slighter of build. Stan looked him up and down.
“I hear,” said Stan menacingly, “that fundamentalists are supposed to turn the other cheek if someone hammers them. Is that right?”
Stan was clenching and unclenching his fists as he slowly approached Al. Dave approached quietly from behind.
“I don’t have that problem,” said Dave. Stan turned abruptly, and Dave saw a momentary flash of fear cross his eyes.
“I was only kidding,” said Stan with a laugh.
“What were you doing with Linder’s journal?” asked Al again.
Stan looked from Al to Dave, eyes smoldering. “I’ve been keeping track of the plants I’ve seen, and I just wanted to check our location with Floyd’s maps so my notations will be accurate. I knew Floyd wouldn’t mind.”
“But you’ll tell him, right?” asked Dave.
“Yeah, I’ll tell him,” said Stan as he put the journal carefully back in Floyd’s pack.