Fathers
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I found a canoe. I had taken a job for a few days cleaning out an old shed behind a house on the shore bought by somebody in the city. The realtor said that I could stay in the basement under the house for a few days and earn some cash for emptying the contents of the shed into a dumpster, sweeping the floors and wiping the place down.

I don’t know what type of canoe it was – it was open like a long narrow dinghy, or maybe a punt? I don’t know boats. But it was light enough to carry and had one unbroken paddle. It was in good order but very dry, so I oiled it using a brush and some wood oil that was also headed to the dumpster.

I figured that when I was done, I could maybe paddle around the cove and pull it on land and sleep under it. I was never into wilderness camping, but I had been living on the road for months and learning to get by. I had learned that I could sleep anywhere, but to eat I needed to hang around the back of diners or supermarkets, and you don’t find those in the woods. I had pulled together some stuff that could feed me for a few days, so it seemed like time to do something other than just existing.

When I collected my cash from the realtor and pushed off the shore, I found that I had time to reflect on where I was and how I got there. The calm waters of the cove can do that. You just hear the sound of the paddle and watch the ripples on the water. It empties the mind and allows buried thoughts to flood back in.

I could blame my father for everything, but mainly for throwing me out, but I was really the one to blame. I was a Mommy’s boy, and without a Mommy I was lost. Her death affected him too, but I never noticed or cared. I was only interested in me, and my comfort. My father was showing me that comfort has to be earned. After living on my wits I had learned that, but how do you go back? It did not seem an easy thing to do.

I paddled on, with no destination in mind except to round the next headland. I spent just one night under the canoe before I came to the last bay before the sea. There was a beach and a boathouse with a jetty, and on the hill above there was a house, with views of both the cove and the open ocean beyond the rocky cape.

There was a freshwater tap by the boathouse, and I needed to drink. It seemed like a good place to stop, so I pulled up my canoe and turned it over, using the foot boards to prop up one side as I had the night before

It was not long before a man came down from the house. He was maybe fifty, but tall and fit-looking. I was readying myself to be told to move on by the owner, as seemed to be the way for me. But he smiled and nodded a welcome.

“I hope you don’t mind but I drank some of your water,” I said. My mother always told me to be polite. It costs you nothing but you may get something back.

“You are welcome to,” he said. “I don’t allow camping on my back beach but given that you look a little down on your luck, you can stay here for the night if you like.”

He was looking at me and I could see what he was thinking. By that time my clothes were worn through. I had hoped to use a little of the money from cleaning the shed to buy something, but I figured that I would do some paddling first.

“If you have any clothes, you might be throwing away, I would happily take anything you have,” I said.

“I don’t think that we are a size match,” he grinned. He was much taller than me. “I do have some clothes in your size, but you would not want those.”

The smile fell off his face in that moment. I could see that he was looking at me differently – strangely somehow. It seemed for a moment that he had changed his mind, that I would be told to clear out.

“You actually look like you could do with a shower and a hot meal,” he said. “If you wear the clothes that I have up at the house I can offer you that, and you can then keep the clothes if you want them.”

I cannot tell you how good a shower and a hot meal sounded. I was filthy to the extent that I felt I needed to be scoured to get clean, and I reeked of the boat oil and the dry seaweed that I had used for a bed the night before. As for a hot meal, if you are lucky there is still a trace of heat in a half-eaten burger in the trash can behind the diner.

“Thank you, Sir,” I said. “That would be very nice.”

“Don’t call me Sir,” he scolded with a smile. “Call me Pop.”

Pop sounded like an odd name. Short for …? Maybe Porter or Powell? I just said – “Okay, thanks Pop.”

I followed him up the path to the house. It was a wide path and clearly there were the track marks on an ATV that would carry loads up from the beach. But there was a road into the house too, and the house itself was much bigger than it appeared to be from the shore. It had been designed to blend into the maritime vegetation while still having sun and views for every room.

“Before you have a shower, let me show you the clothes you will be wearing,” said Pop. He led me across the huge open plan living area to a bedroom overlooking the cove. It was clearly a girl’s bedroom. He opened the closet and it was full of girl’s clothes. Still the penny had not dropped – not until I saw him smiling.

“So, you want me to wear these clothes?” I must have looked at him in disbelief, but it was clear to me that was exactly what he wanted. If I had been anybody else, or not in such a reduced condition, I probably would have made my excuses and headed back to the beach, but it was clear that it was just him and me, and I was hungry. So, I said – “Okay.” Just that, and nothing more.

“There is an ensuite bathroom through there, and all you need to get clean,” he said. “There is underwear in the drawers. I will make us something nice to eat. And we can have a drink as the sun goes down.”

And then he was gone. I stood for a moment to look around. It was clear that I was standing in a multimillion-dollar home, but it seemed likely that it was only a second home, or maybe even a third. The location appeared to include a piece of land almost completely surrounded by the sea. The land alone would be worth a fortune. And the clothes were the clothes of a young woman from what I could see – a daughter perhaps?

The ensuite was huge and had a window with a view above a bath, separate from the shower. There were soaps and shampoos and lotions, and the whole room seemed full of different perfumes which seemed to make me feel slightly light-headed.

As I took off my clothes, my shirt ripped right across the back. If I had any thought of putting my old clothes back on, that thought disappeared. I would have to hope that the occupier of the room might have something suitable.

I ran the shower to a heat only a notch or two away from too hot to bear, and I stepped under the water. The water caressed me like my mother’s hug, reminding me of what I missed. It felt like sinful luxury.

I let the water run through my hair, taking out the natural slight curls so that the real length of my hair could be revealed – well past my shoulders. There was shampoo – expensive and with a strong floral scent. I used it and then washed it out and did it again, and then I used conditioner. It seemed like the only way to get clean.

I used the body wash and the loofah to scrape away the dirt. Even some hair seemed to come away from my body, being as dirty as it was. When I finally stepped out of the shower, I felt truly naked – not just without clothes but in the state I was born in – clean and pink.

There was a comb and brushes on the dressing table and I used those to get the knots out of my hair. After the initial effort that seemed effective. I decided to wrap it in a towel as my mother would, while I looked for something to wear.

I had assumed there would be something that might be close to gender neutral. Every girl has jeans and a plain top – right? Not this girl. Everything was a dress. Everything. It all looked very comfortable for the warm air of that evening, if you were female, but none of it was right for me.

The underwear was hopelessly feminine too, but as I was wearing nothing except the towel turban I needed to put something on. The truth is that when you see yourself in the mirror in lacy panties a dress seems no worse, so I tried one on. It was riding up at the back and I knew what was needed as my mother may have mention something about wearing a slip. I found one, in silk.

I think that there is something about silk of clean smooth skin that is almost mesmerizing. It certainly seemed that way. I felt cool and comfortable. I looked in the mirror. I looked like a girl.

Is this what Pop wanted? Was he some kind of weirdo who might attack me, or was this just a little joke at my expense? I was even hungrier by that point, so I was happy to choose the latter. I dried my hair a little and ditched the turban before walking out into the living room.

The first thing that struck me was the smell of good food. I know what good food smells like. I even know the taste, because some expensive restaurants throw out food that is not up to a standard way higher than a cheap joint. This smelled fantastic and was without the dumpster odors.

Pop was standing in the kitchen preparing a salad. He looked skilled, and he was holding a very large knife.

“I have suddenly realized that I haven’t asked your name,” he said. “But given what you are wearing I would suggest that maybe you might want to choose another name, just for tonight?”

“Sure,” I said. “You choose if you like.”

“You look like a Cherise to me,” he grinned. “Just for tonight.”

“Okay,” I said. “My name is Cherise.” I said it in a stupid voice – my imitation of a girl’s voice.

He put down the knife and clapped his hands. He said – “I hope you don’t think me cruel for insisting that you wear my daughter’s clothes. It is just that I could see that they would fit you perfectly, and they do. And it has been so long since she has been here. She used to love it here.”

“Why doesn’t she come here?” I asked.

“She is in Europe,” he said. “There are so many interesting places there that our place by the sea cannot compete. Now let me get us a drink. What about champagne? I have plenty well chilled.”

“Why not? I have never tried it.”

“Well then you must,” he said with a look of some surprise. Why? Would he really expect some young tramp to drink expensive fizzy wine? The cork popped and the liquid crackled in the tall shapely glasses.

“My family have no money,” I said, as I took the glass he handed to me. I took a sip. It prompted me to add – “I wish we had, then I could drink this every day.”

“It is not chance that pleasure is to be found in expensive things,” said Pop. “We attach a high value to things that give us pleasure. Great food. Fine wine. Property that offers views like these.” He swept an arm from the sun setting over the cover across to the sky’s colors reflected in the ocean on the other side. “And beautiful women.” He looked at me.

“That is the only thing missing for you tonight,” I said in the deepest voice I could muster. It seemed that I needed to put him straight.

“Please don’t think that I am some kind of pervert,” he said. “Forgive me this little game. You are right, that is what I am missing. But you do it so well. In particular the voice of Cherise was perfect. You even move like a woman.”

Did I? It was not deliberate. I was wearing sandals with a slight heel, and maybe the silk of that slip made me feel a little lighter on my feet. Or was it something else? I did feel different. Perhaps, not like me. More like Cherise.

“The shower was heavenly,” I said raising my glass to him in gratitude. I said it as a woman might. The voice of Cherise – the word “heavenly” - this little game – just for one night.

He reached out to touch his glass with mine, just like in the movies. I felt as if I had been granted 24 hours on a higher plane. It might never happen again.

“Are your parents still alive?” he asked.

“My mother died last year,” I said. “My father is still alive, but I am not welcome at home anymore.” It was probably a lie. Maybe Dad would take me back.

“Grief is hard,” said Pop. I was in the same position. Be patient with him.

“You must be a great father,” I said. “Look at all you can give to your children.” I cast an eye over the surroundings again.

“Material things do not shape overall happiness,” said Pop. “I said that we value pleasure, and we can buy sensations, but true happiness is a state of mind, and you don’t have to be rich to be happy. What you need for that is people that you love.”

“I loved my mother, and she loved me,” I said. I suppose that he made me realize that I was sad, and this was my reason for being that way.

“A mother’s love is special,” he said. “Like all mammals, the young are born unable to care for themselves. A mother must look after them until they are mature enough to survive by themselves, or until they can find another who will care for them. But a father’s love is different, even across the animal kingdom. A mother loves unconditionally, but often a father’s love is transactional. A father can expect something from his child in return. Performance perhaps, or submission, as in the animal world.”

“Are you like … a zoologist or something?” I asked him.

“I like to call myself a naturalist,” he said. “But in the Victorian sense – a man wealthy enough to take his interest in nature around the world, and to be able to enjoy a place like this house, set in 100 acres of private parkland with maritime and estuarine ecosystems. I am fortunate in many things, but not others. But for now, let me serve up our meal.”

He dished out a meal of a cake of sliced potatoes and a French stew, with greens. It was delicious. There was red wine too – the half of the bottle that was not in the stew. I set about the business of eating without conversation, while he watched in amusement.

I was finished and he was still eating.

“I am sorry for eating so quickly,” I said. “So, tell me, how can you consider yourself in any way unfortunate?”

“What I need in life is to apply what I have to somebody I care about,” he said. “I need an object of affection to spoil with the wealth I have. I spoiled my wife, but it killed her – she ate and drank herself to death. I spoiled my daughter, but while she loves me, she now has tastes that take her away from me. I have everything but nobody to share it with.

“Except tonight,” I said with a wry smile. I raised my glass again, to thank him.

“We could add another night or two?” he asked.

“Dressed like this?” I said. “I am not a woman.”

“You could be,” he said. “A woman can enjoy wealth so much more than a man, and they will be thankful for it. I have a son too, but he hates me. Back to the animal kingdom again – only one male can rule the pack. You raise a son to be like you and he will want to destroy you. I don’t want that again. But the real problem with both of my children is that they know no different. They have always lived like this. You are something else. You have known hardship so you can better appreciate luxury.”

“I am new to this, but I do like it so far,” I said.

“You have only just begun,” said Pop. “Let me treat you tomorrow. I will send you to the spa my wife used to go to. You can get your hair done and a beauty treatment, and be pampered. A small pleasure but one she adored. You really need to experience it. Why not try this life, and see whether you could live it in place of the life that you have been living?”

Surviving is not living. I knew that then and I know it even more now.

The fact is that when you sample a life like that, it is all you want. I am not even sure that you need to be plucked out of starvation and homelessness to reach that realization.

And after a few days living as Cherise I learned that he was right – no male wants to be kept, but for a woman, somehow it is completely acceptable. It gave me a chance to start afresh, as somebody else.

Pop only had one demand. He wanted me to settle things with my father. As a father himself he disliked estrangement and he sympathized with my father. The only problem there was that I was no longer my father’s son.

Pop also said that he would not wish to take my father’s place. For that reason, when they finally met, and enjoyed one another’s company, Pop was to be my husband, not a replacement father. How that happened is another story, but it hardly needs to be told. When a man gives you everything you ever wanted, and more besides, you have to fall in love with him.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2022