The children have been quiet a long time. A second birdsong comes from above. A fish splashes. Malorie has never seen this river. What does it look like? Do the trees crowd the banks? Are there houses lining its shore?
They are monsters, Malorie thinks. But she knows they are more than this. They are infinity.
“Mommy!” the Boy suddenly cries.
A bird of prey caws; its echo breaks across the river.
“What is it, Boy?”
“It sounds like an engine.”
“What?”
Malorie stops paddling. She listens closely.
Far off, beyond even the river’s flow, comes the sound of an engine.
Malorie recognizes it immediately. It is the sound of another boat approaching.
Rather than feeling excitement at the prospect of encountering another human being on this river, Malorie is afraid.
“Get down, you two,” she says.
She rests the paddle handles across her knees. The rowboat floats.
The Boy heard it, she tells herself. The Boy heard it because you raised him well and now he hears better than he will ever see.
Breathing deep, Malorie waits. The engine grows louder. The boat is traveling upstream.
“Ouch!” the Boy yelps.
“What is it, Boy?”
“My ear! I got hit by a tree.”
Malorie thinks this is good. If a tree touched the Boy, they are likely near one of the banks. Maybe, by some deserved providence, the foliage will provide cover.
The other boat is much closer now. Malorie knows that if she were able to open her eyes, she could see it.
“Do not take off your blindfolds,” Malorie says.
And then the boat’s engine is level with them. It does not pass.
Whoever it is, Malorie thinks, they can see us.
The boat’s engine cuts abruptly. The air smells of gasoline. Footsteps cross what must be the deck.
“Hello there!” a voice says. Malorie does not respond. “Hey there! It’s okay. You can remove your blindfolds! I’m just an ordinary man.”
“No you cannot,” Malorie says quickly to the children.
“There’s nothing out here with us, miss. Take my word for it. We’re all alone.”
Malorie is still. Finally, feeling there is no alternative, she answers him.
“How do you know?”
“Miss,” he says, “I’m looking right now. I’ve had my eyes open the entire trip today. Yesterday, too.”
“You can’t just look,” she says. “You know that.”
The stranger laughs.
“Really,” he says, “there’s nothing to be afraid of. You can trust me. It’s just us two on the river. Just two ordinary people crossing paths.”
“No!” Malorie screams to the children.
She lets go of the Girl and grips the paddle handles again. The man sighs.
“There’s no need to live like this, miss. Consider these children. Would you rob them the chance to view a brisk, beautiful day like this?”
“Stay away from our boat,” Malorie says sternly.
Silence. The man does not answer. Malorie braces herself. She feels trapped. Vulnerable. In the rowboat against the bank. On this river. In this world.
Something splashes in the water. Malorie gasps.
“Miss,” he says, “the view is incredible, if you don’t mind a little fog. When’s the last time you looked outside? Has it been years? Have you seen this river? The weather? I bet you don’t even remember what weather looks like.”
She remembers the outside world very well. She remembers walking home as a schoolgirl through a tunnel of autumn leaves. She recalls neighboring yards, gardens, and homes. She remembers lying on the grass in her backyard with Shannon and deciding which clouds looked like which boys and girls from class.
“We are keeping our blindfolds on,” Malorie says.
“I’ve given that up, miss,” he says. “I’ve moved on. Won’t you do the same?”
“Leave us alone now,” she commands.
The man sighs again.
“They can’t haunt you forever,” he says. “They can’t force you to live like this forever. You know that, miss?”
Malorie puts the right paddle into a position where she believes she can push off the bank.
“I ought to remove your blindfolds myself,” the man says suddenly.
Malorie does not move.
He sounds gruff. He sounds a little angry.
“We’re just two people,” he continues. “Meeting on a river. Four if you include the little ones. And they can’t be blamed for how you’re raising them. I’m the only one here with the nerve to look outside. Your worries only keep you safe long enough to worry some more.”
His voice is coming from a different place now. Malorie thinks he has stepped to the front of his boat. She only wants to pass him. She just wants to get farther from the house they left this morning.
“And I’ll tell you what,” the man suddenly says, horribly near, “I’ve seen one.”
Malorie grabs for the Boy and pulls him by the back of his shirt. He hits the steel bottom of the rowboat and yelps.
The man laughs.
“They aren’t as ugly as you’d think, miss.”
She shoves the paddle against the bank. She is floundering. It’s hard to find something solid. Feels like twigs and roots. Mud.
He is going to go mad, Malorie thinks. And he will hurt you.