The Wrong Way Home

MORNING DAWNED CLEAR and Steven was anxious to cross the river. The melon farmer tasted the air with his finger and the water with his toes and agreed that it was time to go. He instructed Steven to strip naked and put his clothing in his pack on the raft.

“I will go first, pulling the lead raft,” the farmer instructed. “You will come behind with the second raft in tow and will hold the front raft by this rope,” he continued, pointing to a short length of rope at the back of the first raft. “We should stay as close together as we can. The rafts will sway with the current and try to get away. We have to keep them under control.”

They stepped into the cold water of the river and unfastened Steven’s raft from its moorings. Steven immediately felt the current pull at the raft and sweep it downstream until it was at the end of the rope he held wrapped around one wrist and in his hand. The farmer loosened the lead raft and Steven grabbed the trailing rope as it came past him with the raft slewing in the current. The melon farmer stepped out in the lead and began towing the raft.

“Is there anything else I should be doing?” Steven called to him.

“Just tow your barge,” answered the melon farmer, “and if you are in over your head, hang onto the rope.”

The crossing was proving uneventful. Though the current pulled constantly, it was not so much that it cost Steven a great effort to guide his raft. After three hundred trudging steps along the mucky bottom of the river, the water was still only up to Steven’s knees. With the village shore now only half the distance away that it had been, Steven could see people gathering by the river and suddenly felt self-conscious about approaching completely naked.

“Melon farmer!” Steven called. “Why did we take off all our clothes? The water is only knee-de...”

Steven’s observation was cut off by a mouthful of water as he plunged over a drop-off and found no solid riverbed beneath his feet. It was only the farmer’s last-minute advice that saved Steven. He did not let go of the rope. When he surfaced, his arms were stretched out as far as he could reach with the lead raft rope in his left hand and the following rope in his right. The rafts were now fully stretched out downstream, anchored by the farmer’s strong swimming strokes on the other side of the raft to Steven’s left. After an eternity in which Steven pondered how to count the steps he was floating over, his feet scraped bottom and gradually the riverbed rose beneath them again.

Just feet from the village shore, Steven rose up in the water as it became abruptly shallower. On the shore were gathered more people than Steven had ever seen in his life, watching and cheering as the farmer victoriously towed the rafts farther in. Half a dozen men splashed into the shallows and began helping to guide the rafts up on the shore. Both the melon farmer and Steven were given blankets to wrap themselves in for warmth as the townspeople fell upon the rafts and distributed the melons. Steven’s pack was unceremoniously dumped on the ground next to him as the farmer was decked in festive clothes by gathered admirers.

Steven reached for his pack and found a foot positioned directly in front of it. He looked upward at a tall gangling figure that stood looking down at him, outlined against the sun so that Steven had to shade his eyes to make out the broad grin on the youngster’s face.

“I’m Jasper,” the young man said stretching out his hand to help Steven stand. Even when Steven was fully upright, Jasper was a head taller.

“I am Steven George,” Steven said.

“Which one?” asked Jasper.

“It’s all one,” Steven responded, surprised.

“Okay Stevengeorge,” Jasper answered. “Do you want clothes like the melon farmer, or do you just run around naked?”

“I have clothes in my pack, there,” Steven said pointing behind Jasper. Steven started pulling the clothes from his pack and putting them on. There were more people in the town than Steven had imagined were in the world. Still, Steven seemed almost invisible by comparison to the melon farmer. Only the simple young man named Jasper paid any attention to him at all.

“He’s really popular here, isn’t he?” Steven asked as he placed his hat on his head, his pack on his back, and took up his walking stick.

“He brought the melons,” Jasper said as though that said everything. Steven wondered that his role—having nearly drowned in transporting almost twice as many melons as the farmer could have alone—was not valued at all. The farmer was still surrounded by celebrating people and a large number of women and girls who seemed to hang off every part of his decorative robe. “There is a feast at high sun,” Jasper continued. “You can come, too.”

“Thank you,” Steven said.

“That’s a nice hat,” Jasper said shyly.

“Thank you again,” Steven said. “There sure are a lot of people.”

“This is nothing compared to the city I used to live in,” said Jasper. “I wish I knew where that was.”

“Really?” Steven said in disbelief. “I’ve never seen so many people. My little village is much smaller than this. I’ve seen the same one hundred seventy-four people my whole life. The melon farmer is the first person I’ve ever met who wasn’t from my village or the mountain village.”

“And now I’m the second,” Jasper said excitedly. “That’s almost like being first.” Oddly, Steven understood that logic. “Are you lost?” Jasper asked.

“Oh no,” Steven said, proudly. “I’m 99,172 steps from home. Across the river. That way,” he added pointing back across the river. “How far are you from home?”

Jasper looked stricken.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I couldn’t find my way back. I’ll tell you the story if you’ll tell me about your hat,” he said excitedly. Before Steven could agree to the bargain, they were interrupted by an imperious command.

“Idiot!” yelled the officious-looking man. “Bring the farm helper to the banquet.”

“Come on,” urged Jasper. “We don’t want to be late.”

“Why does he call you idiot?” Steven asked.

“Because I’m too stupid to go home,” Jasper answered. They got to the feast and Steven was seated at a small table far from the festivities where he could see that the melon farmer was honored like a hero. But the food was good and plentiful, even though Jasper was constantly being summoned to perform some menial task. People didn’t seem to be very friendly to strangers here. Steven surreptitiously adjusted his hat on his head. People looked at him in silence, but didn’t ask about the hat or its significance. Steven was certain he could trade the story better now that he’d had experience.

After the meal, Jasper caught hold of Steven’s arm and dragged him to the head table. It was obvious that the council had been told about Steven because the mayor began immediately to address Steven.