Chapter Three: Arthur vs. Honesty
[Three days earlier]
The criminal hung his shovel and pickaxe in the tool shed and carried a galvanized metal bucket and a two-liter jug of pink soap over to the concrete slab.
He slung off his orange leather gloves and unlaced his equally orange work boots; all four items had # 88588 stamped on them in black ink. He threw the government issued equipment by the fence and turned on the water spigot.
On such a hot day the cold spring water was really refreshing; he soaped up with a generous amount of liquid horse shampoo.
Right in the middle of his bath a couple Danubian tourists, just back from a trail ride, opened the gate and walked down the stone path. As the man and woman got closer they frowned at him, whispering to one another, looking all indignant and superior.
Arthur snapped in English: "Haven't you ever seen a guy take a bath before?"
Arthur dumped a bucket of cold water over his head. Most of the water intentionally missed him, hit concrete and splashed widely. He wiped soap off his face and turned to watch the couple pick up their pace and hurry off.
"Gloating bastard," Arthur fumed, "strutting around here in his pants... and his shirt and stuff! And that stupid bitch... just taunting me with her cotton socks... comfortable tennis shoes... pockets..."
"Someday I'll have pockets!" A couple horses rose up from eating hay and turned their heads in his direction. "That's right, I'll get a... a vest, with pockets all over it... front and back, and then I'll put on a pair of pants! And a belt and then..."
The rant went on until most of the horses moved to the other side of the pen and his skin started to itch. Arthur glanced around; he was relieved that no one had been listening to or watching his outburst.
Arthur looked at the horses and proclaimed: "There's nothing wrong with talking to yourself, everybody does it. Just... um... out in the sun too long, working too hard, not getting enough sleep... that's all. Yep, I'm perfectly normal, average really." Arthur waved to the horses. "Nothing to see here, move along."
Arthur rinsed off the dried soap and by that time he was getting hungry. Wet skin dried quick as he walked down the worn rock path that zigzagged through a stand of pines and ended at the low wide building that held the kitchen and dining hall.
There were several campers leaving and several staff going in the front door. Arthur entered through the kitchen; criminals like him ate either out back by the chicken coop or standing in the kitchen if it was cold or wet.
Arthur walked through the service area where the cook doled out food to a line of campers over a waist high counter. The cook was a large sturdy built woman, with a broad friendly face and some gray in her tightly braided black hair. She was energetic despite her age, despite being overworked; and always happy to talk to staff and campers. Arthur thought it was extra peculiar how she talked to him, a convicted criminal and a foreigner, as if he were family.
The cook smiled warmly, pausing with a tray in one hand and a ladle in the other; she shook her head.
"I'm so behind today... Akthur, could you go in the storeroom and bring out more trays?"
The storeroom had one doorway that faced the kitchen and another that opened into the staff dining room. Arthur heard Hook's distinctive voice. Through the sizable gap between door and frame he could see Hook, a couple other rangers, two handymen, and various family members seated at the same long table. Gretya sat opposite her father.
Hook berated his daughter in front of everyone, calling her stupid, disrespectful, dishonored and he kept saying something about protocol and his table. Arthur took an angry breath. Gretya must have finally broke down and told him about the boyfriend. Gretya looked so small and frail.
Arthur turned and quickly grabbed an armful of aluminum trays; best not to keep the cook waiting, she was one of the friendly people at the camp, and the food was really good.
The cook thanked him as he placed the stack of trays down on the countertop, calling him by the Danubian word for son. As he waited for her to get caught up Arthur thought over the whole situation with the ranger and his daughter. Hook had punished his daughter severely for sneaking around with a boy, Arthur wondered what would happen if the tables were turned. It would be awfully interesting to find out.
Arthur ate his supper standing on the back porch and then he carried his tray and empty glass inside. The cook was putting away leftovers.
"You want more Akthur?"
"No ma'am, I'm full."
"Come here, eat some more, you too skinny" She chided. "Let Langka put some meat on your bones. Here, have more desert, Akthur," She raked a pile of blackberry cobbler into his empty tray. "This make you strong like bear," she winked, "or fat like pig!"
"Uh, well..."
Arthur finished desert though just barely, when she tried to push more on him he had to be firm. "No ma'am, please... if I eat any more I won't be able to move and I have a lot of work to do."
"What work? You work all day."
"I have to haul water up to the stables."
"What, water pipes break up there?"
Arthur felt a little shy. "No ma'am, it's... uh... punishment for breaking another regulation. I have to fill a big horse trough with creek water every day this week."
"Akthur," The cook frowned. "I worry about you. You good boy; why you get in so much trouble?"
Arthur looked down, scratching at the back of his head. "Um... I don't know... my mother used to say that I have a talent for being difficult," Arthur grinned. "Or maybe I'm just not very bright."
"Bah..." She waved a hand dismissively. "Akthur, you not dumb. Difficult... mmm... maybe. What you do this time?"
"Curfew violation," Arthur shrugged. "I really didn't think it was that big of a deal... but it turns out they're pretty touchy about me wandering around unsupervised, you know, outside the collar zone." Arthur put his empty aluminum tray by the sink.
She glanced down at his marked skin, frowned. "Hmm hmm hmm... It looks like the police be mad at you too."
Arthur nodded. "The police are always mad."
"Well..." She smiled in her casual good-natured way. "The police have hard job, they do their best."
"Yes ma'am." Arthur agreed. They had beaten him several times; the police, most definitely, do their best.
As Arthur walked back up the forested hill toward the stables, he just couldn't stop thinking about the ranger and his daughter. It would feel so good to get back at Hook for filing a complaint with the police, for slapping him around, for all the extra work, and for the cruel treatment of Gretya.
Arthur considered the girl: "The worst part is that she probably thinks she deserves it, Danubians are so weird like that. Would it kill them to have some self-pity or bitterness? It's so frustrating to have to avenge a girl who doesn't even know she needs avenging!"
"No," Arthur folded his arms and stopped at the brown wooden gate of the horse pen. "I'm not going to do it. It's not my business. I barely know the girl. I have nothing to gain. I'm not going to start another scheme... not after the way the last plan failed."
He was firmer with himself this time. "I'm going to be a good obedient criminal just like my spokesman wants... reform myself... I'll get on the right path... the correct path... I just need to stay on the damned path!"
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[One day earlier]
Gretya lugged the galvanized metal bucket along, setting it down every ten meters or so to rest worn out arms. Fifty meters back, Arthur also climbed the forested hill, hauling water up the narrow dirt trail one bucket at a time. He was quickly gaining on her as the distance Gretya carried her burden became shorter and shorter.
Then the exhausted girl stumbled but managed to not dump all the water. She leaned forward with hands braced on her knees, breathing heavy, frowning at her soggy feet.
Gretya took a sharp breath when she heard the criminal approach, then relaxed as she recognized him. Loose strands of brown hair stuck to her wet forehead.
Arthur set his water down on the trail a few meters below the teenager. For a while they smiled stupidly at one another catching their breath, too exhausted for much conversation.
Arthur recognized the girl but they had never spoken more than a greeting. Gretya looked about fifteen, with big brown eyes, wide mouth, dark brown hair down to her elbows, a slight frame, and shoulders obviously not built for heavy loads.
"Have to carry that all the way back to the camp?"
Gretya nodded shyly. "You too?"
