I laughed. “The Netherlands?”

“It’s the best I could come up with,” he said, slapping the water with his paddle. “Can we stop for a while, please. I’m too tired to go any farther. I give up.” He rested the paddle across his thighs, looking back at us.

“I think dat’s a good idea,” said Bodo from behind me.

“Okay, I’m outvoted. First good pull-over spot you see, park your canoe, Peter. We’ll figure out the rest.”

Peter paddled with renewed energy, and five minutes later pointed out his choice. “There! That’s where I’m aiming.”

We were in a darker part of the cypress bog now, trees completely covering the space above our heads, leaving a canopy that started about fifteen feet up. Peter had taken a fork in the river to the left about a mile back. I would have gone right, following the small and unobtrusive signs the canoe rental people had attached to nearby trees, but I was letting him lead the way.

The spot Peter was planning to have our picnic was spooky - definitely not the spot I would have chosen - but I knew he was at his wit’s end, so kept my mouth shut about it.

His canoe ran into a system of tangled roots that belonged to a huge tree with branches hanging over the water to reach the other side. Peter scrambled not very gracefully out of his boat and balanced on a long narrow root, his sneakers bending in half over it, making him look like a giant scraggly bird gripping the thing with its talons. He was doing what he could to hold the canoe in place, so we could join him. “Ready for you, guys,” he said, grunting a little with the effort of holding his canoe.

Buster was the first to follow his orders. He jumped out easily, sniffing around ambitiously.

I decided to forget trying to paddle into any sort of organized parking spot next to him since my capabilities were so limited. I eyed the water, looking all around me for clues that a gator was waiting to eat me, slapping at the mosquitos that had come out in the shade to suck my tired blood.

Deciding that there were no hungry-looking gators in evidence, I got out of the boat and into the water, grumbling to myself the whole way. “Stupid swamp … Stupid mosquitoes … Stupid gators.”

“Stupid canoes!” added Bodo.

I looked up at him from the water and smiled, knowing that at least for me, the old adage is true - misery does love company.

Peter held his hand out and helped me schlep out of the water. I hated the squishy feeling in my shoes, but tried to ignore it. We were going to be living in a swamp; chances are, squishy shoes were going to be a regular part of my life. Buster came up and started licking them.

I shooed him away so I could use the chain and then the rope to secure the boats to our landing site without squashing him.

Bodo was the last to arrive, getting out in the water like I had to come join us. “Well,” he said, a huge grin on his face, “dat was exciting, wasn’t it?”

Peter looked at him, just shaking his head. “Are all Germans as crazy as you, Bodo?”

“Maybe. If you think being happy about life is crazy, den yes.”

“Bodo, how is it that you were wandering around the highway all by yourself that day that we saw you?” It was a huge puzzle to me that a guy like him, funny and so positive, had been alone. It seemed like he’d be the type of guy that would have a flock of people around him.

“Well, maybe I will tell you dat story anudder time. Right now, I want to eat. All dat gator evasion hass made me hungry.” He was massaging his biceps for effect, looking over to the boats that held our food.

I studied his face in profile, trying to figure out if he was purposely avoiding my question or if he was just being a guy - more concerned with his stomach than anything else. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Eventually we’d learn his story. I didn’t ever feel threatened around him, so I wasn’t worried that he was going to spring a I’m-a-reformed-canner-story on us.

“What do you guys want to eat?” I asked.

“Nothing that has to be heated. Too much trouble,” said Peter.

“Beans and chips iss good,” suggested Bodo.

“Beans and chips it is.”

We dragged the boats over and busied ourselves with handing out food and water for everyone. Gathering the water bottles to hand them out, I noticed that we were low.

“As soon as we find our final spot, we need to set up a water catcher. Or just later today, if we haven’t found something by then. This is the last of the good stuff,” I said, holding up my bottle that was half empty.

Peter stood. “I’m going to go take care of business,” he frowned at me, “and don’t say what I know you’re thinking about saying, Bryn. Just because we’re swamp dwellers now, doesn’t mean we have to act déclassé.”

“Oooh, gettin’ all fancy on us now, are we? What is that? French?”

“Shut up,” he said, disappearing into the trees with Buster happily bouncing off behind him, leaving Bodo and me alone.

“What does dat word mean dat he said … déclassé?”

“It means common. Don’t act rude, basically. He doesn’t like it when I ask him if he’s going to doodle.”

“What is doodle? Dat’s when you draw on a paper, right?”

I smiled. “Yeah. That’s what it means.”

“I don’t understand why he gets mad about drawing. It’s not rude to draw. I am good with doodling myself, actually.”

I tried to hid the smile on my face behind my water bottle. “Oh, you are, huh?”

“Oh yes. You would be surprised, I think. I doodle all over da place when I’m in da mood.”

“Like where,” I laughed out.

Bodo looked at me confused, but continued. “I doodle in da house, of course, and also at school.”

“Doesn’t everyone, though?” I asked, all innocence.

“Yes, but does everyone doodle in the bathroom? I don’t think so. Dat’s where I do it sometimes.”

“Oh, I do it there all the time. Or I used to anyway. Now I just do it outside.”

“Yes, well, when we find a new place, I’m gonna doodle dare.”

“No you’re not.” I said with a straight face.

“Yes I am,” he assured me. “You will see. I’m gonna doodle right on our house, to make it look nicer.”

Peter came walking up. “What are you guys talking about?”

I smiled. “Well, Bodo was just telling me here that he likes to doodle. He doodles all over the place. In fact, he’s planning to doodle right on our house, to make it prettier.”

Peter looked at Bodo aghast. “What is your problem? That’s just sick! I’m not going to let you guys turn into savages just because we’re living in this wild place.”

Bodo’s face was the picture of cluelessness. “I don’t understand. What is so wrong with drawing pictures on our house? Dey will be very nice, I promise.”

Peter rolled his eyes and sighed loudly at Bodo, and then glared at me. “Bryn. That is so, so wrong. On so many levels.”

I was laughing, unable to stop. When Bodo asked Peter, “What is dis? Why is she laughing?” And Peter answered, “Doodle is another word for poop. As in shit? Get it?” I lost it completely. Bodo giving me the evil eye, and then swearing he was going to get me back, only made it worse.

“Bodo,” said Peter, taking on his hoity-toity tone, “I’m going to address this next question to the grown-ups in the room. Do you want to go see the awesomely amazing thing that I saw when I was … away just a minute ago?”

“Doodling!” I gasped out before collapsing in giggles again. I had no idea why bodily functions were so entertaining to me right now, but I decided not to fight it. I was getting totally high from the brain chemicals and I wanted more.

“Come on,” said Peter, leading Bodo away.

Bodo cast a few bemused glances back my way, making me think that I’d probably shown him one of the uglier sides of my American personality, but I totally didn’t care. If he couldn’t like me for me, he could go join Celia at her shell shop.

My laughter faded out, tempered a little by the idea of Bodo leaving to be with another girl somewhere else. My stomach felt a little funny, and not in a good way. Is that jealously I’m feeling? Weird. I’d never really had that feeling in relation to guy before - probably because I’d never really had a boyfriend or wanted one so bad that I let thoughts of competition bother me. The only thing I can remember being jealous of in the past was someone’s krav maga level. Interesting.

I wasn’t sure if I was pleased or distressed by my growing feelings for Bodo. It made me uncomfortable that they seemed to have a life of their own, completely out of my conscious control; but they also made me happy in a way. I pictured what it would be like to kiss him and felt my face going pink. I quickly brushed the thought out of my mind. The last thing I needed to be doing was mooning over some guy who was probably only playing around when he asked for hugs. Unrequited crushes sucked. I’d had them before, so I knew.

A few minutes later, after I’d cleaned up our lunch mess, Peter and Bodo returned with Buster at their heels, the expressions on their faces telling me something big was up.

“Bryn, you have to come see dis,” said Bodo, holding out his hand to help me up. “Come on. We’ll show you.”

I took it and stood. “What is it?”

Peter walked back the way he had come. “Just come on. You’ll see.”

I followed behind the guys, trying to keep up in my slippery shoes. I could hear gross squishing sounds as my weight pushed water out of all of their crevices, making me wonder what would happen to the skin of my feet if they stayed wet all the time. Are they going to be permanently pruned? Start to rot off?

before I could contemplate the full magnitude of that awfulness, a structure appeared. Rising up out of the swamp was a shack. Actually, it was more than a shack. It was like a full-fledged hut, with a palm-thatched roof and poles holding it up above the water and everything. The only thing it was missing was walls, which probably didn’t matter much because it was so damn hot and humid in here, they would have just blocked the breeze anyway.

“What the heck?” I said, walking up to stand next to Bodo and holding onto his arm to keep from slipping down into the roots that were woven beneath my feet and keeping us suspended over the water.

Peter whispered, “See the paintings on that post over there? I think this is indian land.”

“Yeah,” whispered Bodo loudly. “Dose are da kind of doodles I wass talking about.” He gave me a quick frown before looking back at the structure.

I stifled a laugh. “Is it empty?” I prayed it was, because we had stupidly left all of our weapons back at the canoes. I had no sooner gotten that prayer completed when I heard a voice behind me that made my hair stand on end.

***

“Who are you?”

Buster was barking his head off, running over to get in between me and the newcomer.

I turned slowly to face him, my eyes nearly bugging out of my head at the sight that greeted me. I felt like I’d been transported into the pages of my high school history book. I reached my foot out and hooked it around Buster’s chest, dragging him back to me and then shoving him farther over so Peter could pick him up and try to quiet him down.

“Wow,” said Bodo, taking in the guy’s shaved head and the tribal tattoos that covered his chest and arms, obscured only by a small vest made out of some kind of cloth that had bright designs woven into it. “Now dat’s what I call some warrior doodles.”

Peter cleared his throat while he held the dog’s mouth shut. “We’re not a threat to you. We just came here looking for a place to live. Away from the crazy people.” Buster struggled a little bit, some muffled barks making their way out.