Clothes for Wolves

We don't need another Crazy Peters

The kayak was not what he expected. Any picture he could call to mind of this particular water vessel was of a long slender wooden boat with a circular opening in the top. He wasn't a big fan of being closed in. If he couldn't stretch out his arms and legs, he'd get anxious; and the first thing he did to a fresh made bed was untuck the sheets. He was much relieved to see he could sit on top of this plastic vessel. He wiped off the earwigs and slugs, picked up a long double-bladed paddle, and hauled the slender boat to the water. He tried to remember what Winnie had told him: straddle the kayak and ease into the seat. In a rather clumsy fashion he managed to get into the moulded seat without getting too wet; and after some seconds of imbalance, he pushed himself off the muddy bottom and then dangled his feet over the side to wash off the eel grass that had stuck to his legs as he entered the lake. The water at the surface felt refreshing as the ever-increasing power of the sun beat down on him. There wasn't a breath of wind on the lake, and he was already thankful for his bottles of water. He turned himself around, pointed the nose of the kayak towards the larger of the two islands, and took several heavy strokes before pausing to admire his seamanship. When he got into the middle of the lake, he turned around to mark his progress.
It was a completely different perspective of Lakeside from the water. The through road ran snakelike upward until disappearing at its precipice on its way east. The most distinctive feature was Jeep's wall, which sat like a giant staple on the landscape. There were many houses surrounding his grandfather's unkempt property, all of which Mary had told him belonged to the MacIsaac's.
When the MacIsaacs first moved to Lakeside, they only built four homes on the lots surrounding the Peters'; one each to the west and north and two to the east, but their descendants had multiplied and now nine houses clustered around Jeep's. To the west was Martin MacIsaac, a descendent of Ian the farrier. His construction business was lucrative, and he could now afford to work from a distance. He spent most of his days on the golf course trying to improve his game, but truth be told the only thing that got better was his uncanny ability to find a good lie anywhere on the course—his eighties were more like nineties. His son Kenneth, who lived on the other side of the two-lane road, had taken command of the company; and under his supervision, it saw a hefty profit each year. This was partially due to the ability of the MacIsaacs to find and hold a monopoly on most any enterprise.
To the north of Jeep's lot, and on the opposite side of the road, were three generations of MacIsaacs descended from old Angus the Arsehole. His fiery temperament and superiority complex had made its way successfully through the bloodlines. There were now five houses perched on the hill overlooking Jeep's, and through the years the descendants of Angus had waged childlike wars against their neighbor. Jeep didn't care; he loved it.
To the east of Jeep's wall were the homes of the descendants of Arthur and John MacIsaac. They were much more lenient towards Jeep and held strong to the enduring debt owed to the man who had occupied the residence before him. The MacIsaac clan had also built an elaborate wharf, and their many toys lined the dock below Arthur's. They buzzed around the lake incessantly during the summer, not so much for entertainment, but in a vain attempt to rile up Jeep. The more they tried to make him mad, the broader his smile became. Twice he had their watercrafts confiscated after they made landfall on his property, and they were now no longer allowed to get within spitting distance of the Devil's Rowboat.
Thomas looked around and decided he would just paddle around the larger of the two islands and maybe walk the shoreline for a bit. He was getting the hang of the kayak now and felt comfortable in his ability to return home safely, but he didn't want to go too far. He made his way towards the northern shore of the island with the idea of circumnavigating it and keeping the land close by and to his right for shade.  However, by the time he had spanned half the distance, the undeniable urge to void his bladder hit him; and he made his way more diligently to the fabled shores. He turned back to see how far he'd come and saw an elderly man hurrying towards the MacIsaacs' dock. Thomas continued on his way and was less than ten strokes from the island when he heard a motor starting on the opposite shore. He drove his small plastic boat onto the bottom and not worrying about his balance, exited the plastic kayak. He relieved himself just inside the tree line; and as he turned to get back in the kayak, he watched as a small aluminium boat made directly for him.
He became aware that the man in the boat was urgently trying to get his attention.Thomas stood on the shore waiting for him and in a couple of minutes the man had slowed his boat just offshore and let the engine die.
"Get away from there," he shouted. "What are you fucking stupid or something? Don't you know where you are?" He waved his hands, empathically urging Thomas to get back in his boat. "You're standing on The Devil's Rowboat son. It's not safe."
Thomas got back in the kayak and once more pushed himself off the muddy bottom. He turned and brought the kayak to within a few feet of the stranger's vessel. On board was a grizzled character who must have been closer to seventy than sixty. His hair was cut short and his face was clean shaven, so that the redness shone through clearly. He was obviously exhausted from the journey, and his chest heaved with every breath. "You never should have done that. It's lucky for you I saw what you were doing. That place is full of pan traps. My grandfather had a limp because of that crazy bastard and his traps," he said, pointing towards the Peters' house.
"Well not him exactly, but he's no better," he added. "They're fucking crazy the lot of them. You're just lucky he's not home today," he said while pointing again to the shoreline at Jeep's. "Or you might have had a buckshot of rock salt to pick out of your ass. He's crazy, he'd do it. You wouldn't be the first either." He pulled up his shirt, revealing several small indentations starting at his lower back and disappearing below the belt line. "And that's just for retrieving a lost oar. He's crazy I tell ya. Crazy as the fucking birds."
"Where'd you come from?" He asked, both knowingly and questioningly. "I've never seen you before. You're lucky I'm here to warn ya about him. Don't go anywhere near that house. Those Crazy Peters are a menace and have been for over a century. Steer clear my boy." He paused to take a breath and looked harder at Thomas. "So, what'd you say your name was?"
"I didn't," said Thomas. "My name is Thomas Patterson if that means anything to you, but I sense you already knew that. I'm sure you recognize the kayak and that you already know exactly where I came from." He looked straight into the stranger's eyes and waited for his response.
"You listen to me boy," said the old man as the red on his face spread down his neck and to the tips of his ears. "Yes, I know exactly who you are, Thomas Patterson. But hey, I'm just looking out for you." His voice changed to a silky, more pleasing tone. "Look, I'm not one for superstition, and I certainly don't believe there's gold anywhere on that island, but something happens to those Crazy Peters when they start digging. They change. This island has an evil name and if you dare to step foot on it, well, I guess that's your business. I'm just trying to be helpful. There's more at stake than a backside full of buckshot or a bum leg. Everyone knows that island will break your mind." He looked hard at Thomas. "We don't need another Crazy Peters around here. Do you hear me boy? If you wanna get along with the locals, you'll remember this conversation."
"I appreciate your advice," replied Thomas. "And I will take it at face value. May I ask with whom I've had the pleasure of speaking?"
"Martin MacIsaac is my name," he said as he turned over the starter. The motor spit and sputtered for a moment before settling at idle. "You should remember that too if you ever need anything around here." He pushed the throttle forward and scarred the water as he went.
Thomas watched as Mr. MacIsaac raised the front of the boat out of the water and sped towards the opposite shore. He floated for a little while thinking about how surreal everything was here. He wanted to be pissed at his parents for dropping him in the middle of this, but he wasn't. It wasn't about Dex this time and he liked it. He turned back towards the shore, but thought better about exploring the island. He'd heed the warning for now. He didn't really know anything about it and thought any information was worth taking under advisement, even though he desperately wanted to check it out. He paddled to the far eastern portion of the island and let himself drift again. From here the lake opened up, but he had little desire to go much further and felt safer knowing he could hug the shore until he returned.
In a little less than an hour, he was making his return and pointing his nose towards the shore below Jeep and Winnie's. He had decided he enjoyed kayaking much more than walking. They both gave him the opportunity to clean any cobwebs and form any new questions. He had a few more questions after his meeting with Mr. MacIsaac, but he still had no one he could ask.
A gentle breeze now stirred the water and he was happy for it. It had reached the expected twenty-nine degrees, and his t-shirt was stuck to him, making the adventure unpleasant. He began his final phase of the journey, and for the first time since Mr. MacIsaac's departure, he could hear the sound of a motor, and it was getting louder. To his right he could see a Jet Ski closing in on him. Before long, Thomas knew the watercraft had no intention of slowing down or changing its present course, so he put his paddle into the water and stopped his kayak while awaiting the inevitable. Moments before direct impact, the Jet Ski swerved to the right, pushed a large wake into the side of his kayak, and sent him tumbling into the water. He could hear faint laughter as he clawed at the kayak, trying to get back on. After a few moments of struggle, he managed to maneuver his way back onboard and watched the swells of his assailant lap against the shore of the little island.
In under ten minutes, he was back on dry land, sopping wet, and shaking. He had only been in Lakeside for two hours and he already wanted to go back to Mary's. He cursed his way back up to the house and stood outside wondering what he should do. He took off his t-shirt, threw it to the ground, and then sat down with his head in his hands. He wasn't sure if he could do this. He wanted to go back out West, Christ he'd prefer travelling the world with his parents. Then he thought about Dex and changed his mind yet again. Maybe there was some of the old Peters' blood coursing through his veins. He stood, picked up his t-shirt, and opened the door. Winnie hadn't moved.
"I fell in," he said. "Just on the shore when I was trying to get out. I'm a bit of a klutz."
She looked at him suspiciously before answering. "Well, it was your first time. Did you enjoy it? I mean, before you fell in."
"Yeah, it was great," he replied. "What should I do with these clothes?" He held out his t-shirt and waited. She stood up slowly and hobbled into the room that opened up behind her, returning several moments later with a towel.
"Take off what ya got on and throw them over the clothesline. I'll get you something to wear. You're about the same size as Jeep," she said, looking him over. "It might not be fashionable, but at least you'll be warm." He seriously doubted that warmth would be an issue. He stepped inside the door and she disappeared again. He took off his clothes, tossed them just outside the door, and wrapped the towel around himself. Warmth was definitely not an issue. He should have just worn his wet clothes inside—they would have been dry in seconds. "Here, come get this," she said as an arm and a pair of shorts appeared through the open doorway. He crossed the room and grabbed the proffered clothing. They were certainly not fashionable. A purple flower blossomed at the crotch, and petals of pink and green finished the spectacle. He slid them on and laughed at himself.
"You dressed?" She asked from the other room.
Thomas looked down at himself and turned his hands palm upward. "Ya," he said.
Winnie made her way back into the room slowly and took her familiar spot at the table. She passed him a shirt to complete the ensemble, and he slipped it on with a thank you. He walked back outside to the clothesline that was strung from the southeast corner of the house to the southwest corner of the shed and hung up his wet clothes. When he sat back down at the table, Winnie pushed the bag towards him again and held up two fingers. Thomas began his third chore of the day, and Winnie asked him if he wanted a cup of tea. What was the obsession with tea? He thought to himself before politely refusing. He looked around, absorbed his surroundings again, and laughed to himself. If his father could see him now. He smiled and grabbed the scissors.
"Was there much traffic on the lake?" Winnie asked. "It's usually pretty busy this time of year and the lake is seldom this calm."
"Not too much," he replied. "A couple of boats and a jet ski. Not very good wind for sailing I guess."
"It doesn't normally stop them," she said. "It's getting late in the season and summer's almost over for most people. The tourists will all be gone soon and then everyone settles back into the routine. When does school start?" she added, changing the subject.
Thomas counted on his fingers while moving his lips. "Twelve days," he replied.
"How do you feel about that?" Winnie asked.
"Not sure how to feel about it," he said. "I try not to think about it too much. I kinda like to just throw myself into things and see how it all unravels. I'd rather think about stuff that I like, than drive myself crazy. I think it'll be okay," he added like he meant it. He wanted to sound cool around her.
He was feeling light headed again, but this time he was relaxed and comfortable. He looked at Winnie as she stared down at her newspaper. She was an interesting lady for sure. She was probably attractive when she was younger, he thought. She would be average height if standing straight, and it appeared that her lethargy and habit hadn't had much of an impact on her figure. She looked at him and smiled.
"Can I ask you something?" Thomas inquired.
"You can ask me anything," returned Winnie as she laid down her crossword puzzle.
"What's with the wall?" said Thomas. "It seems a little extreme."
Winne laughed and nodded her head in agreement. "This fucking wall. I laughed like a fool when I first saw it. Jeep's father Manny built it...he was a beautiful man," she added thoughtfully. "I'm not entirely sure what Jeep inherited from him. They're so different in so many ways. Manny used to say that Jeep is the reincarnation of his grandfather, Old Tom. Apparently he loved the attention too, it's like they almost crave the negativity, and like in any good story they have their villians."
Thomas thought back to encounter on the lake and said nothing.
"Anyway, once the MacIsaac's started building in Lakeside—that was when Manny started his defence of the Peters' property. Manny was always more subdued and wouldn't say shit with a mouthful. He hated the attention and shied away from it, but that didn't stop the little feud. I guess the MacIsaac's thought they could bully Manny away by surrounding him, but he wouldn't budge, he just ignored them, and walled himself up inside this little compound. When he couldn't ignore them anymore, he just left." She reached for the newspaper, but put it down again and stretched her thin arms above her, then rested her hands cross fingered on top of her head.
"Why couldn't he ignore them?" asked Thomas. "What did they do?"
"Showered him with praise," she said wryly, while inspecting his facial expression for a response.
She removed her hands from her head and looked to the ashtray before continuing. "He saved a little girl from a fire," she began. "It was Manny's neighbour, Arthur MacIsaac, who was at fault. He was burning last years hay: mostly because that's what they do around here, but partially because he knew the smoke would go over the wall. I know it's childish, but that's the little feud again. He didn't know his daughter Jenet was playing in her favorite spot by the wall, but Manny did...by the time he reached little Jenet she had stopped screaming. He managed to bring her safely to her mother and from that moment he was a hero, albeit a reluctant one. They tried to thank him over and over again, but he just hid from them. He hated the attention and couldn't handle it, so eventually he left and never returned. Nobody dug again until your grandfather moved here."
"You remind me of Jeep," she said. "You look a little like him when he was younger too. You have the Peters' eyes, but I think there's a lot more similarities behind the eyes."
"Does he dress like this all the time?" Thomas asked as he scanned his outfit again.
She laughed hard and answered, "Yup, but that particular number you're sporting would be church clothes for Jeep—that is if he'd ever step foot inside one. He's got a blind eye for fashion, but that's all part of Jeep. He's a strange one." She looked at the ceiling and laughed again. "So Thomas Patterson, what do you like to do with your time when you're not choosing your own thoughts?" she continued. "Do you play those video games?"
"No, not really. I like reading and listening to music. I'm somewhat of a loner. I had a couple of friends, but they were just people I hung out with at school. It's different when people assume you're something you're not. I never knew who to trust, so I didn't get very close with anyone," he explained. "I like it here though. It's like a fresh start for me. At first I thought I was gonna hate it, but it's slower here and I think I like that."
"That it is. I don't know if Mary told you much about Jeep," she said with a little apprehension. "But you might be getting a little more attention than you want around here."
"Yeah, I know," replied Thomas. "We'll see how it goes when school starts."
"Well, if you can fly under the radar it shouldn't be too bad once me and Jeep leave. The talk usually dies down once Jeep stops his antics," she said.
"I'm not sure where we're going this time," she added, changing the subject again. "I just leave it up to Jeep. Last year we spent the winter in the French Rivera at our chalet, then we went back to spend the spring at the castle. Jeep likes going 'home'," she said, making little quotation marks with her fingers. "It's home to the Peters' clan in Cork. It's windy and rainy, but Jeep loves it, so I put up with it. I guess we could do Europe again. Did you know that we are very close personal friends with all of the royal houses of Europe? Well, except Britain, Jeep would never have that. I hope we go South this year. It's been forever since we were in Fiji. Jeep doesn't like the flight, but it's incredible when you actually arrive. The air's distinct there, and if you think it's slow here, well life's just different there and everything seems to be so simple and easy. I think either Fiji, or maybe Ecuador. If I could leave here and stay somewhere else, it'd be Ecuador."
Thomas sat amused by the rambling and wondered why everyone, well most of the people he had conversations with around here, talked so fast. Not that it had a quick pace, the thoughts just jumped really quickly, and you had to pay attention to be able to follow an often-illogical sequence. They spoke as if you already knew details that hadn't been revealed. Violet was like that, and he was learning that Winnie had her moments.
"When do you leave?" he asked, feeling a sudden need to be in control of the conversation. It didn't work.
"Well, Marshall arrives at the end of October and we leave a week later, so that'd be the sixth or seventh of November I guess. Not that long," she said. "If you need to get a hold of us while we're away you just call Marshall, he'll get you what you need. He's a nice enough man." She paused, and seeing the question behind his eyes, she continued in an attempt to fill in the gaps.
"You see Jeep is really paranoid," she said. "About people coming around and nosing. Most of the locals don't believe in all that gold stuff, but there's a few, like the MacIsaacs, who like the idea of money for nothing. They've been caught trespassing before. So every year when we leave Marshall shows up and takes over the premises."
"Who's Marshall?" Thomas inquired in a desperate attempt to catch up to speed.
"Marshall Stevens is one of Jeep's closest friends. He's a Native who lives on the reserve, but he stays here every winter as a favour to Jeep to protect the premises. He's had a couple of run-ins with the younger MacIsaacs; and he's scared the shit out of them enough that they leave the place alone, so it's a pretty easy life. Besides, Jeep's got everyone terrified of the island because no one believes he's gotten rid of all the traps, and there's not a soul who dares step foot on it."
"Traps?" asked Thomas.
"The wall wasn't the only protective measure Manny took.  He covered the island in pan traps to keep the curious away. They're gone now though. We don't really worry about the island, so much as the house."
The rest of the day was pretty uneventful as far as reality went. Thomas and Winnie sat and talked about several things. She regaled him with tales of far off places and names of people he didn't know. She talked about royal balls in Germany and how much fun carnival was. She spoke with conviction, but Thomas guessed it was this solitary life that led her to make up such stories. Or maybe it was the half ounce she smoked every day. Mary had told him that they had a little place in Arizona where they spent the winters and escaped the cold. "Just let her talk," she told him. "She's harmless, and who cares if she'd rather live in an imaginary world. It's not for you or me to judge."
Mary and Jeep arrived just before four thirty, and after a few pleasantries, Thomas made his return journey back to Gracieville. It had been an eventful day and right now he needed to process a few things. As they were pulling out of the driveway, Mary turned to Thomas and asked, "So, how was it?"
"Interesting," he said and that was all.