He ran the boat close to the bank, seeking fish in a little pool below a small drop.   A Rome plow was working close by.  A tall poplar toppled before its blade, a puff of black smoke rising above the bank.  Then the engine idled.  A few moments later a figure came running over the lip of the bank, his passage stirring up a cloud of dust.   He half ran and half fell down the side of the bank.

The man jumped feet first into a pool.  A bee buzzed over Prentiss’ head, moving faster than he would have thought possible.  The man stood up in the chest-deep pool.

“Bees!” he shouted.

He swatted at a bee and dropped beneath the water again.  Another bee buzzed over Prentiss’ head and circled out over the river, a tiny dot moving fast.  The man stood up again and scanned the space above the river for more bees.   Prentiss sculled the canoe into the pool.

“Knocked over a bee tree,” the man said.

He had a couple of welts on his face.  Prentiss gave him some ice to put on them.

“How come they didn’t get you?” the man asked.

“Don’t know,” Prentiss said.

He could not recall ever having been stung by a bee.

The man’s name was Fred.  His grandfather had driven Rome plows in Vietnam.

“Snakes and bees,” Fred said.  “That’s all he wanted to talk about.  It’s like those Viet Congs weren’t even a problem.  He always said blue smoke would drive away bees.  I need to get my hands on some blue smoke.”

Prentiss offered him a beer.  They sat together in the canoe, their feet hung over the sides and resting on the river bottom.

“How long before it’s safe to go back?”  Prentiss asked.

“Maybe an hour,” Fred said.  “You go on down the river.  I’ll be all right.”

“We’ll drink another beer.  Then I’ll go.”

They sat there and worked on the second beer, neither of them saying much.  Prentiss thought of observing that there was no shade but decided that would be an obvious and stupid comment.  No doubt Fred was thinking the same thing.

“Where’d you learn to drive that dozer?”  Prentiss asked.

“My daddy drove ’em too,” Fred said.  “I just got on one and did it.  Then I drove ’em in the Army.”

So there it was again, Prentiss thought.  But there was no way he was going to join the army.

They both heard the sound of an engine. 

“ATV?”  Prentiss said.

“I hope it’s not my supervisor,” Fred said.  “It’s all right to hide out from bees in the river but not sit here and drink beer.”

“You don’t have to tell me about that.”

“That why you’ve got time to fish.”

“Every day is Saturday.”

Then a figure appeared on the river bank.  It was a woman dressed in jeans and a lime green t-shirt.  She wore a large straw hat.  In one hand she held a smoke pot.  She wore a big pistol at her belt.

“Hey, I’ve got ’em calmed down,” she said.

            “It’s that bee lady,” Fred said.