“I can try. But really it should be you. You are more little dan me. Dese branches aren’t very big.”
We walked over to the tree and looked up. There was one fruit that was hanging low enough that Bodo could almost reach it - almost, but not quite. He jumped up several times and only barely missed it.
He crouched down. “Here. Get on my choulders. Den you can get it.”
My eyes widened. All I could think about was how bad I smelled. I really didn’t want my body parts being that close to his nose until I’d had a shower. Or two.
“Uh, no thanks.”
He looked up at me from his position near the ground. “Why not? Are you afraid of heights dat small?”
“No.”
“Okay, den. What’s da problem?”
“There’s no problem.”
“Hey,” he smiled. “Dat’s my line.”
I smiled back. “Never mind. Let’s just go back.”
He shook his head, sticking his lips out in a pout. “No. I’m not going anywhere. Get on my shoulders and get dat fruit. Don’t be afraid of da little tree.”
“I’m not afraid of the tree, idiot.”
“What are you afraid of, den? Me?” He pointed to his back, his face looking at the ground now. “No. You’re not afraid of Bodo. Come on, den. Get up dare.”
“No,” I said, getting frustrated now. He just wouldn’t take no for an answer and I didn’t have a good explanation to give him that didn’t involve divulging my hangups.
He stood up and walked over closer to me, forcing me to take a step back to maintain a comfortable distance between us.
“We’re a family now. You can tell me what da problem is.”
“We’re not family … we’re maybe in a tribe together, but you have to do more than go on a half-day bike ride with me to earn family status.”
He raised his eyebrows up and down a few times at me and smiled. “Yes, but I got you dat big butt seat with da bike, right? Dat was something special, I think.”
I laughed. “Yeah, that was good. My butt’s not nearly as sore now.”
“See? Bodo’s a good guy. Climb up, okay? Let’s get dat skinny guy Peter some fruit. He’s gonna starve to death soon.”
That was like driving a knife in my heart for some reason. “Wow, you play dirty, don’t you?”
He shrugged, unapologetically. “I’m Cherman. We’re tough people. We suffer and we get up and we keep going. I have been told dat I am very methodical and persistent.”
“Are all Germans like you?”
“I don’t know. All da ones I know are like me. But not as good in da face or da body as me.”
“Of course not,” I said, laughing. He was probably right, but there was no way in hell I was going to admit that now or ever.
“So. You’re getting up now, right?”
“As long as you don’t mind the fact that I stink to high heaven.”
“What is high heaven? Is dat your … you know … private placess?”
I nearly gagged, accidentally inhaling some drool. I tried to correct him before his brain could wander any farther down that lane. “Gah, no! Holy … Kack! … No. Shit. Jesus, Bodo, it’s an expression. Stink to high heaven means you smell bad. Everywhere, not any particular part of you.”
“Ooooh, I see.” His face turned a little red. “Well, dat’s embarrassing, isn’t it? I’m sorry. You can slap me if you want. I deserve it.” He held out his cheek for me.
“No, never mind. You didn’t know.” The truth was, my high heavens did stink, and I was pretty sure I wanted to be the only one who knew that.
“Okay, I can solve dis problem. I will get on your shoulders,” he suggested.
“Are you nuts? You must weight one-seventy or one-eighty.”
“Maybe. But you don’t want to get on my choulders and Peter is slowly starving to death right now, so it’s da only way.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine! Bend over, stupid. And hold your breath so you don’t smell my stink.”
Bodo pinched his nose and squatted down so I could climb up, which I did while trying to ignore the bright red heat of embarrassment that climbed up my neck and reached my ears and face.
I grabbed the orange and one other that was nearby. “Okay, put me down.”
“Wait, dare’s anudder one over dare!” he said, jogging off to another tree.
“Oh my god, you’re going to drop me!” I screeched, grabbing his hair and holding onto the oranges with my forearm against my stomach.
“Get it. Dare’s tree of dem.”
I made a sling out of my shirt and dropped all the oranges in, glancing down and noticing for the first time he had stopped plugging his nose. “Plug your nose!”
“Oh, sorry!” he said, reaching up to pinch his nostrils again. “Anudder one!” he said, starting to run again.
I held onto his hair at first but it wasn’t working, so I reached under his head and grabbed his chin. I could feel stubble there and it reminded me of my dad. It was strange to have a memory of my dad wrapped up in this moment with Bodo. It made it easier for me to laugh along with his teasing, which I was finally realizing this was. He wasn’t just a dopey German guy. He was a dopey, silly, fun German guy.
“Get dem. One, two, tree, four. Now we have a picnic.”
“Fine. I have them all. Now put me down.”
“Okay,” he said cheerily, headed back towards Peter, taking long strides that reminded me of riding a horse. He was really tall.
“Any day now…”
“Okay!”
We came through the last row and arrived back at our bikes and Peter. Buster was barking and running around.
“Put me down before Buster tells every canner within five miles we’re here.”
“Okay, you asked for it!” said Bodo, before he reached up and put his hands under my thighs.
I only had enough time to yell, “What the hell are you…!” before I was launched up into the air above Bodo’s head.
The oranges went flying in every direction as my arms and legs sprang out, trying to find purchase with something solid and only meeting air. And then a split second later, I landed, cradled in Bodo’s arms. He’d thrown me up above him and caught me like a baby.
“Uh huh! How about dat move? You like dat one, yes? Like da circus!”
“Bodo, put me down, you ass.”
He inhaled strongly and made a confused face. Then a face like he smelled something distasteful. “You are right. You do smell.”
I started hitting and kicking him in a flurry of fists and feet, no finesse to my moves at all. I just wanted to get him the hell away from me and my smelly self.
He dropped my legs so I was standing and then released me the rest of the way, ducking away from me and putting his arms and hands up to protect his face and head. Once far enough away that I couldn’t reach him anymore, he went running away into the trees, laughing hysterically the whole way.
Peter was dying - curled up on the tarp and holding Buster to him, laughing and snorting so hard I thought he was going to vomit. Then he farted and laughed all over again.
“Holy shit, you guys have problems,” I yelled, stalking off with a beet red face to find a private place to pee and bake in my humiliation.
By the time I got back to the tarp, Peter and Bodo had calmed down and set out a lunch for us. We each got a bottle of water, a chip, two oranges, and a dried hunk of beef from one of the army-navy meals. It looked like a feast.
“Wow, Peter, this looks awesome.”
“Yeah, it’s like a real meal almost,” he agreed.
“I put my food in da trailer too. You can give it whenever you want. I leave it for you,” Bodo said to Peter.
I was too embarrassed to look at Bodo, so I looked at Buster instead, giving him a small chunk of my meat. I noticed the guys did the same thing. Buster also didn’t mind oranges, apparently.
When I finished I got up and found the square of plastic and the water bucket. “I’m going to set up the water catcher. I’m sure it’ll rain later.” The clouds were already coming in from far off. Florida could be counted on for rain every day in the afternoon during this time of year. “Peter, show Bodo the bleach and the cooking water so he doesn’t accidentally drink those.”
“Okay.”
My water catcher was nothing sophisticated. I just took the plastic square and hooked two corners to two sticks stuck in the ground, using clips that my dad had given me from his desk - binder clips - and then put the other end of the plastic in the bucket on a slant. The rain hit the plastic and ran down into the container. It was big enough to catch a volume of water that filled our bottles each day, which was convenient. Less than a drop of bleach, just a finger-dab really, was enough to sterilize anything that might be wrong with the bucket or the clouds above our heads, germ-wise. I still wasn’t convinced there wasn’t some weird form of pollution going on.
I went back to join the guys and found them already sleeping under the tree. It was hot and muggy as hell, so the shade made for the most decent napping situation we could hope for. The rows of trees caused a slight wind tunnel effect which was slightly cooling on my sweaty skin.
I figured Buster would wake us up if anyone came around, and our stuff was camouflaged with the green tarp, so I laid down next to Peter and fell asleep without worrying overly much about being attacked. Having Bodo there, even though he wasn’t a skilled fighter, made me feel better. Our numbers were growing, and so were our odds for survival.
Once again I was awakened by booms, only this time it wasn’t thunder. The rain had already come and gone. The noise I heard was the sound of exploding cars.
“What the …,” I started to say, but Peter’s hand on my arm stopped me in mid-sentence.
“Shhhh. Someone’s blowing up the cars,” he whispered.
Another big explosion sounded in the distance, and then a fireball burst up from the highway somewhere.
“Dare are some craaazy people out dare tonight,” whispered Bodo. He’d moved over to my other side, kneeling and trying to peer through the trees.
“What should we do?” whispered Peter.
I looked at their two faces, barely able to see them in the dark. My watch said it was around midnight. “I’m not sure. Stay put, probably. I’m afraid if we move they might see us.”
“What if they decide to come into the groves?” said Peter, his fear almost palpable.
“We’ll need to hide. We can take the tarp off the ground and get under it. Or we could climb up into the trees.”
“I don’t think we should leafe da bikes and da trailer alone.”
“I agree,” said Peter.
The sounds of shouting, yelling, and occasional singing greeted our ears. Flashes of memory hit me, visions of the beer cans and liquor bottles spread around the pool area of the cop’s house - where the canners were having their bar-b-cue.
“I think they’re canners,” I said.
“Me too,” said Bodo.
Peter grabbed my arm, squeezing it. “Bryn, I’m not afraid to admit that I’m scared out of my wits right now.”
I patted his hand. “Me too. Don’t worry about it. They’re not going to come out here.”
“How do you know?” he whispered, panic lacing his words.
“I don’t. I’m just hoping.” But really, I was thinking that it was very likely they’d come out here. Someone had been picking these oranges, and it was probably someone coming from the highway. We’d already seen some burned cars, so that told me the canners lived nearby.
“I think we better get ready to hide,” said Bodo. “The sounds are getting closser.”
