Could've fished every evening had we the desire. Sometimes just seeing and hearing the Aspen flow was enough. A big part of fishing is getting out of the house and being outdoors. We already had that aplenty. About the only indoors we'd had for the last month was the tent. Some nights we just didn't have the energy to do more than read. More often than not it was pushing eight by the time dinner was done and camp was put in order. Hard to turn the weight of pages when you've been swinging a hammer for ten hours much less wade and work a rod.
After the longest days we'd simply sit and talk. Maybe bring up what was on our minds while we worked. You'd think we'd have been talked out after a day together but on the job conversation tended toward what we were doing at the moment. Could be attention to detail is genetic as both Emil and I tried our best to draw every mark dead on, saw each line exactly as marked and drive every nail on the money. He followed code to the letter with the idea all those exacting measurements and requirements were the result of centuries of thought. Emil said we were building on the shoulders of those who came before. It was up to us to show the ancients the respect they deserved. Also wouldn't hurt if the cabin didn't fall down.
That evening we took our leisure and last cup of coffee under the Sentinels. The duff beneath their limbs softened the earth for sitting and their trunks not only provided a place to lean but were also coarse enough so we could scratch our backs like bears. In short, we found comfort there.
We sat for a while. Didn't say a thing. Just watched the river and listened to bird song, lost in our thoughts. Emil'd go quiet once in a while but it wasn't his style. After a few minutes it was time to egg him on,
"So what's on your mind?"
"You Archie. That and your draft situation. Can't leave it alone. I get started on it then drift off into my time in the war. Spent better than two years in the Army and the last twenty reliving it in my thoughts and dreams. Ask Ted, he'll tell you the same. Probably shouldn't have gone in. But I didn't know that 'til after. War changes a man and rarely for the better. Changes him deep inside, so deep you don't notice it for a while. The crap you have to go through isn't something you want to dwell on so you cram it down where it can't get at you and move on to the next hill, then the next beach. During the day it's not so bad but at night, in your sleep when your guard is down, it all comes back. It was bad for a few years. Nightmares about being trapped in the war. Then trapped in the Army waiting for my discharge that never seemed to come down. In these last few years, the dreams have grown farther and farther apart. Haven't had one since we've been up here."
"Anyhow, all that has me thinking of you. Odds are pretty good you'll end up in Vietnam in a war that makes no sense I can see. There's an old saw about not getting involved in a land war in Asia. It's kind of a joke these days but nowhere near as funny as that domino theory malarky the government is spouting. Leave 'em alone is what I say. There's nothing to gain. But we won't and young men like you'll end up in jungles and rice paddies fighting an army that has home field advantage. From what I know of you, you'll clear up your mess with the draft and find yourself in a bigger mess. Such is life. About the only advice I have is to do what you feel you have to do. For better or worse. Amen."
Sure brightened my day. And for the moment made school look a lot better. Didn't need a conscience with an uncle like Emil. He was becoming as ingrained as a father. Though I knew he meant well and no doubt was right, I was starting to hope he'd leave my issues with the Army alone. After all it was my problem not his.
We sat. Quiet. But not in my head. Three or four voices were going at it in there. I was mad at Emil for not leaving me alone. I was mad at myself for putting myself in the spot I was in. I was mad at the world for giving me the chance to screw up big time. And all three of them were pointing their collective fingers at me and going, "Nyah-nyah-nya-nyah-nyah." So I tried to pass the buck,
"If it was as bad as you say it was how come you and Ted never talk about it when you're together. Seems to me that's what old guys who were in the war do."
Emil was quiet for a long time. Stared off at the stream. Turned to me, "Archie me lad, Ted knows what it was like and knows I do too. That's enough. There's nothing to talk about. Simple as that. This is how it goes, I have no interest in talking about being in combat with those who weren't there. They wouldn't understand. And there's no need to bring it up with those who were. As for the old guys who gas about the war and all its glory, most of them piloted desks in Omaha. Might be wrong about that but I don't think so."
"That's about all I have to say about that. 'Bout the only thing I know for certain is the sun'll come up tomorrow and there'll be an unfinished roof waitin' on us."
We went to bed early that evening. It'd been a cool and threatening since lunch, not unusual in the north country. Up in the Arrowhead it can frost on the Fourth of July and snow on Labor Day. Neither for us that night but about the time my toes started to warm in the sleeping bag the first raindrops fell on the tent roof. Good sleeping weather. Not so good for building.
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