No River Wide

Southern Review, The, Spring, 2007 by Robert Boswell

" Wait here for me, " she says.

" I know what you ' re doing, " Duncan tells her. " They wouldn ' t cut it down if they didn ' t have to. "

" I just want a minute. "

The young man standing at the base of the tree sees her coming. He ' s blond, thin, and vaguely unsettled. He ' s a boy who never liked school but had relied on its routine. Without it he ' s at loose ends, restless and lethargic at the same time. Today he ' ll trim small limbs from the tree ' s highest branches. " Watch for snakes, " his boss told him. The boy thought he was kidding. Snakes in Chicago? They were only a few blocks beyond the city ' s margin. " Believe it, " his boss said. " They go after bird nests or they sun on the limbs. " What would his boss say about this woman approaching him? Watch out for older women

. She ' s decades older than he is, but she ' s pretty, and he likes the way she dresses--old clothes that don ' t go together, in an interesting way. He decides he ' ll have sex with her, given the chance, even if it costs him his job. This thought pleases him. He has now this decision, this solid thing around which to build his adult life.

" Are you one of the tree men? " she asks.

The boy nods. He likes being called a man. He lifts a chainsaw to add to his manliness. He ' s had the job all of three days, and he overslept this morning. He can ' t imagine doing something like this (work, he means) for the rest of his life.

" Does it really have to come down? " she asks. " I know what they ' re saying, but is it dangerous or is that just an excuse? "

" I don ' t in reality know trees. " He offers an uncommitted shrug. " I ' m not afraid of heights or a chainsaw. That ' s how I got this job: '

" I ' m not trying to interfere, " she assures him. Her hand touches his arm, a reassuring and flirtatious pressure. " I ' m just curious. "

The touch makes him bold. " You don ' t look old enough to own a tree like this. "

She smiles at him, the hand on his arm suddenly warmer. " No one is old enough to own this tree, " she says. " That ' s my point. But I ' m plenty old. "

" A person wouldn ' t think so, " he says. " I ' m Aaron Jack. Friends call me ' A. J. ' "

" I ' m Greta. " She starts to say more but his boss calls for him.

Actually he yells, " Where ' s that jackass kid? "

" I ' ve got to go, " A. J. says. He tips the chainsaw as a gesture of farewell.

Where her hand held his arm remains warm, as if she ' s passed on a fever. Once he ' s strapped into the harness and among the high branches, he considers unbuttoning his shirt to examine the spot, see if it ' s swollen. He ' s clumsy in the harness, which is like a child ' s swing with a seatbelt. Just lifting the chainsaw makes him twist in the air. Every time he thrusts the blade against a branch, he ' s pushed backward. His tools, tethered by cords to the harness, knock against his feet. Hours pass, yet he ' s still near the top of the tree when he spots Greta on the street. He wants to see where she goes. " A little higher, " he calls to the crane operator. She turns on Roosevelt Avenue and disappears, but he feels he can track her right through the obstructing houses. He ' s wrong, of course, but he does find her the next block over. The house she enters has a red tile roof.