Motherfucker, he said.
The windshield immediately gauzed over as if the glass had melted into globs. My dad checked the rearview mirror and rolled down the window and stuck his head out. He pulled over and engaged the emergency brake. He studied his watch.
We have to get off the road.
Where’re we going to go?
We’ll find a place.
He took off his shirt and stuck his head out the window and we rolled along the side of the road. Wet hairs draped his forehead and he looked like he was drowning. After a mile he ducked back inside and rolled up the window. With his shirt off I could see his muscles and that made me feel slightly better.
Are we going to drive like this all day?
No.
Why not?
Too dangerous to drive like this, he said.
He checked the rearview mirror and I imagined the older man and the teenager huddled on the side of the road in the rain and an army truck pulling over to collect them.
My dad rolled down the window and stuck his head out again. He looked tough against the rain whipping his face. I knew we had to get off the road because maybe the army guys would catch up with us, but I did not mention it to my dad.
I used all my energy to push that image out of my head and decided to help my dad. It may have been my first truly mature act, knowing that helping him drive through the rain, instead of being stuck in fear, would make me feel better in the long run.
I wiped my hand over the fogged passenger’s window and right away I saw a dirt road cutting through the jungle and I yelled to him. He stopped the truck. He backed up. He smiled when he saw the road.
Way to go, Eagle-eye Ollestad. See. Never give up.
He swung the truck out wide and we dropped off the pavement and he told me to hold on. He hit the gas and we tore through the tight opening. The truck bucked and metal grinded and the undercarriage thumped the ground. We waggled our way like a water snake through the deep mud. The trail curved suddenly and my dad yanked the wheel and the ass end of the truck slapped some trees. It went on and on and he couldn’t slow down or we’d sink. My eyes were pinned open and I held onto the dashboard and my dad’s triceps flexed with every turn of the wheel. His head was out the window flogging like a cowboy on a bull, ducking under jungle limbs and receding within the window frame whenever his side brushed up close to the jungle wall. I almost asked where we were going but decided that would distract him.
Another close call with some part of the truck tagging a branch. My dad hit the gas and we bounced, then sailed for a moment and landed hard, the undercarriage vibrating up through the seat. Then the engine died. The truck halted and we lurched forward. I felt the truck sink.
My dad spanked the steering wheel with his hand and turned to me.
End of the line, Boy Ollestad.
Is the car broken?
I don’t know.
Will they find us?
No way Jose. They’ll whip right past that road. We almost did and we were going a quarter of the speed.
I nodded. He seemed right. And he had shared the previously unspeakable-crazy-scary thing with me—that the army guys might come looking for us—and I was comforted by his admission. It’s good to be one of the fighters for a change, I thought.
What do we do now? I said.
Walk down to the beach. See if we can find some shelter.
Are there houses around here?
You don’t bust your ass cutting a trail like this for nothing, Ollestad.
He carried a surfboard under each arm with his duffle over one shoulder. I carried my suitcase. The mud came up to my knees in some places and we hugged the edge of the trail, searching for firmer ground near the trees. A swath of banana plants gave us something to wedge our feet against and seeing the familiar green fruits clustered around the thick vines reminded me of the plants surrounding Grandpa and Grandma’s house.
With each step we had to unplug our feet from the earth. It reminded me of all those hikes I did with my dad in search of virgin powder. I told him so.
Remember your killer snowplow? he said.
Yeah. I could ski anything with it.
You skied the top of St. Anton all the way to the bottom in a blinding snowstorm with ice under the powder in that snowplow.
When did I start skiing parallel?
Let’s see. I think in ’73 when we took the train to Taos for Christmas.
Oh yeah, I said, recalling the plastic Indian he bought me, and how I would sometimes look at it and think about my dad dying, declaring that I wanted to die too if he died.
Do you think I might win a race this winter?
Don’t worry about winning, Ollestad. Just keep trying. The rest will come.
Do you think I’ll be in the Olympics one day?
Sure. Better yet you’ll get a scholarship to Harvard or Yale.
What’s that?
It’s when they invite you to go to their school and play a sport for them.
Dad planning my life so far in advance added pressure, as if the mud and the jungle had grown thicker.
Are we ever going to get there? I whined.
My dad stopped. The spackles of mud on his face and mustache and up his legs made him look like some kind of human chameleon of the jungle.
It’s easier if you…
Just hike straight through without stopping. I know.
He laughed.
Besides there’s nowhere to sit down, he said and laughed again.
Not having a place to sit because we were surrounded by mud and jungle and overhead by thick clouds about to burst did not seem even kinda funny.
I wish I didn’t come, I said.
And I slogged past him.
Well, Ollestad. I’m glad you did.
I don’t want to ski race anymore, I called back without turning. I’d rather do karate.
Your mother’s the one who needs to learn karate.
I paused, startled. My dad had never said so much about my mom and Nick before. This was my big chance to speak out— tell Dad how Nick called me a liar and insisted I’d grow up to be a failure. This was a good time to ask my dad to do something about Nick’s cruelty. But all I did was grunt and plod on.
The hillside climbed to a ridge that wandered back toward even bigger hills. Up ahead I saw the trail drop abruptly. Where it appeared again down below, the jungle grew in ribbons over grassy marshland. There were some cows and tall coconut trees and then another hill and I hoped that on the other side finally awaited the beach, shelter and rest.
I guzzled some water. I was sweating and the heat was like a thick cloak and my head burned with a fever.
I’m burning up, Dad.
We’ll jump in the ocean and it’ll cool you off.
As much as it made sense, that’s not what I wanted to hear.
