Читать книгу Tom Thomson's Last Paddle - Larry McCloskey - Страница 12

A warm, inviting fire crackled as brilliant early sunlight burned mist from the still lake. The girls, dressed in dry clothes, ate fresh lake trout with voracious appetites. The stranger—or Tom Thomson, which was even stranger—watched the girls devour the fish he had caught and cooked, his pipe playing along his teeth and a warm smile dancing at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Even though the circumstances of their togetherness felt odd, a comfortable mood had settled among the threesome as they nestled beside the fire in full view of the lake and the splendour of the awakening day.

As she finished smacking an enormous mouthful of fish, Dani noted that the expression on the stranger’s face had changed from solemn to smiling. She thought the situation was perhaps too calm for comfort. “Mister, that was the best fish I ever ate!”

Caitlin smiled with satisfaction and smacked her own lips. The stranger made a slight courteous bow.

Tom’s old grey hat sat at the back of his head, hardly noticed since he had pinned on one of his homemade fishing lures more than eighty years ago. Tom’s decrepit pants were the colour of charred wood, far removed from their original beige. His elbow showed through his flannel shirt, a dulled plaid of washed-out red and indistinguishable white.

They look like they’re a hundred years old, Caitlin thought, which was pretty close to the truth.

Hope I can make my overalls last that long, Dani mused hopefully.

With her plate now clean, Dani was ready to become serious again. She grabbed the straps of her clean, dry overalls to show earnest intent and to wipe her sticky fingers. Her chest heaved as she formulated the question for her interrogation but, caught between comfort and confusion, she hesitated. Finally she simply asked, “What the heck are you smiling at, mister?”