April Fool by William Deverell Read Free Book Online

reeking of its well-smoked essences. His accomplice, who seems to bear no other name than Dog, is built like a fireplug and speaks about as often. Somehow, these two stalwarts have become part of Arthur’s life, like extra appendages that one must learn to live with, however non-functional.
    As he steps into his gumboots, Arthur sees Dog toss a tree-climbing harness into the cab of the truck. Closer observation reveals that Stoney’s jacket is speckled with saw chips. Both seem exhausted, dirty as if from hard work, however unlikely that would be on this pleasant April morning.
    â€œYou fellows are up early.”
    â€œHaven’t been to bed.” Stoney extends a can of beer. “You drinking these days, Arthur?”
    â€œAfraid not.” Why is it generally assumed that Arthur must one day, after fifteen years, finally succumb? “What have you gentlemen been up to?”
    â€œFirst off, we’re celebrating our new company, Island Landscraping. You heard that Dog and me, we bought a backhoe, eh? Kind of used and beat up, but we got it running smooth as silk.” However tired, Stoney is a tireless gabber, especially when under the influence of Garibaldi’s infamous main crop. “I’m in hock for the parts, though, and I was thinking, that low spot over there, where all you got is horsetails, what you need is a pool–that’s the only thing this property lacks.”
    â€œWe already have a pond.” Back of the barn, where the geese nest.
    â€œFull of weeds. I’m talking about going down fifteen, twenty feet, for swimming.”
    Stoney probably overheard him and Margaret talking about a swimming hole. “It’s still rainy season, Stoney, but if Island Landscraping survives as a going concern until August, we shall then consider its bid.” The low spot is saturated with spring runoff; he has visions of a backhoe sitting forever in a wet hole a hundred yards from the house.
    â€œNaw, you want to do it early, so it fills up, otherwise you got an ugly hole for four months. I know where I can lay my hands on a pump, it just needs an overhaul. That’s all clay down there, eh? The walls will hold real good even in April. Anyway, what’s happening is we had a little stall just up the road, and theflatbed’s full of tools we’ve got to return to the other volunteers. We can be back in an hour with this old fella.” He pats the hood of the Fargo, a fond gesture, proprietary.
    â€œI will drive you.” Stoney and Dog climb in beside him, and they head off. “You have not spent the whole night idly. What else were you celebrating?” A tribal rite, perhaps, in which one’s head is sprinkled with sawdust and fir needles.
    â€œProject Eagle. Dog and me are up there with the ringleaders. We may need to retain you in case we get in shit. Don’t think it wasn’t a death-defying experience, eh? It got dark, and all we had was flashlights and a kerosene lamp. Dog did the finishing touches, the barrier, he can go up them trees like a squirrel. I did the roof. We had all the pieces pre-assembled, sent ’em up on ropes and pulleys.”
    Arthur is still not fully awake, not following this. Project Eagle?
    â€œI hammered in my last shake just as it was getting dawn. I told everyone, if I’m up here, I might as well stick around, but that got vetoed, they claim I ain’t got enough staying power. They were drawing lots about who would go up there when me and Dog left to drop off the tools. Actually, we stopped off at Honk Gilmore’s, he’s got some primordial bud, man.”
    Arthur’s anxiety grows with every word. “Pause here, Stoney. They were drawing lots ? To go where?”
    â€œWe had about thirty people hammering away there. The Gap. Right in the middle of the road that ain’t going to happen if we got a breath left in us, right, Dog?”
    Dog nods, half-asleep. They have now pulled up