srightaboutthetar:itledtowithinhalfamileoftheshore。ButwhenIgotbackthere,withmyboy,andwesettledintoacamnearafarmhouseandintothekindofsummertimeIhadknown,Icouldtellthatitwasgoingtoberettymuchthesameasithadbeenbefore—Iknewit,lyinginbedthefirstmorning,smellingthebedroom,andhearingtheboysneakquietlyoutandgooffalongtheshoreinaboat。IbegantosustaintheillusionthathewasI,andtherefore,bysimletransosition,thatIwasmyfather。Thissensationersisted,ketcroinguallthetimewewerethere。Itwasnotanentirelynewfeeing,butinthissettingitgrewmuchstronger。Iseemedtobelivingadualexistence。Iwouldbeinthemiddleofsomesimleact,Iwouldbeickinguabaitboxorlayingdownatablefork,orIwouldbesayingsomething,andsuddenlyitwouldbenotIbutmyfatherwhowassayingthewordsormakingthegesture。Itgavemeacreeysensation。
Wewentfishingthefirstmorning,Ifeltthesamedammosscoveringthewormsinthebaitcan,andsawthedragonflyalightonthetiofmyrodasithoveredafewinchesfromthesurfaceofthewater,itwasthearrivalofthisflythatconvincedmebeyondanydoubtthateverythingwasasitalwayshadbeen,thattheyearswereamirageandtherehadbeennoyears。Thesmallwaveswerethesame,chuckingtherowboatunderthechinaswefishedatanchor,andtheboatwasthesameboat,thesamecolorgreenandtheribsbrokeninthesamelace,andunderthefloor,boardsthesamefresh-waterleavingsanddebris-thedeadhellgrammite,thewissofmoss,therustydiscardedfishhook,thedriedbloodfromyesterday’scatch。Westaredsilentlyatthetisofourrods,atthedragonfliesthatcameandwent。Iloweredthetiofmineintothewater,tentatively,ensivelydislodgingthefly,whichdartedtwofeetaway,oised,dartedtwofeetback,andcametorestagainalittlefartherutherod。Therehadbeennoyearsbetweentheducklingofthisdragonflyandtheotherone—theonethatwasastofmemory。Ilookedattheboy,whowassilentlywatchinghisfly,anditwasmyhandsthatheldhisrod,myeyeswatching。Ifeltdizzyanddidn’tknowwhichrodIwasattheendof。
Wecaughttwobass,haulingtheminbrisklyasthoughtheyweremackerel,ullingthemoverthesideoftheboatinabusinesslikemannerwithoutanylandingnet,andstunningthemwithablowonthebackofthehead。Whenwegotbackforaswimbeforelunch,thelakewasexactlywherewehadleftit,thesamenumberofinchesfromthedock,andtherewasonlythemerestsuggestionofabreeze。Thisseemedanutterlyenchantedsea,thislakeyoucouldleavetoitsowndevicesforafewhoursandcomebackto,andfindthatithadnotstirred,thisconstantandtrustworthybodyofwater。Intheshallows,thedark,water-soakedsticksandtwigs,smoothandold,wereundulatinginclustersonthebottomagainstthecleanribbedsand,andthetrackofthemusselwaslain。Aschoolofminnowsswamby,eachminnowwithitssmallindividualshadow,doubling,theattendance,soclearandsharinthesunlight。Someoftheothercamerswereinswimming,alongtheshore,oneofthemwithacakeofsoa,andthewaterfeltthinandclearandunsubstantial。Overtheyearstherehadbeenthisersonwiththecakeofsoa,thiscultist,andherehewas。Therehadbeennoyears。
Utothefarmhousetodinnerthroughtheteeming,dustyfield,theroadunderoursneakerswasonlyatwo-trackroad。Themiddletrackwasmissing,theonewiththemarksofthehoovesandtheslotchesofdried,flakymanure。Therehadalwaysbeenthreetrackstochoosefrominchoosingwhichtracktowalkin,nowthechoicewasnarroweddowntotwo。ForamomentImissedterriblythemiddlealternative。Butthewayledastthetenniscourt;andsomethingaboutthewayitlaythereinthesunreassuredme,thetaehadloosenedalongthebackline,thealleysweregreenwithlantainsandotherweeds,andthenet(installedinJuneandremovedinSetember)saggedinthedrynoon,andthewholelacesteamedwithmiddayheatandhungerandemtiness。Therewasachoiceofiefordessert,andonewasblueberryandonewasale,andthewaitresseswerethesamecountrygirls,therehavingbeennoassageoftime,onlytheillusionofitasinadroedcurtain—thewaitresseswerestillfifteen;theirhairhadbeenwashed,thatwastheonlydifference—theyhadbeentothemoviesandseentherettygirlswiththecleanhair。
Summertime,ohsummertime,atternoflifeindelible,thefade-rooflake,thewoodsunshatterable,theasturewiththesweetfernandthejunierforever,andever,summerwithoutend;thiswasthebackground,andthelifealongtheshorewasthedesign,thecottagerswiththeirinnocentandtranquildesign,theirtinydockswiththeflagoleandtheAmericanflagfloatingagainstthewhitecloudsinthebluesky,thelittleathsovertherootsofthetreesleadingfromcamtocamandtheathsleadingbacktotheouthousesandthecanoflimeforsrinking,andatthesouvenircountersatthestoretheminiaturebirch-barkcanoesandtheostcardsthatshowedthingslookingalittlebetterthantheylooked。ThiswastheAmericanfamilyatlay,escaingthecityheat,wonderingwhetherthenewcomersinthecamattheheadofthecovewere“common”or“nice,”wonderingwhetheritwastruethattheeolewhodroveuforSundaydinneratthefarmhousewereturnedawaybecausetherewasn’tenoughchicken。