"Yeah, you're right," Jim laughed, "That's not his real name.  Well, his name is Bob, we call him Dirty Bob, but not to his face.  He doesn't really like it."

      "But why, doesn't he bathe?"

      He laughed again, "No, no, that's not it at all.  He likes the girls, you'll see." Then, chuckling under his breath, toothpick hanging out of the corner of his mouth, he repeated, "Doesn't he bathe?" as he started the outboard motor.

      Bob was over seventy, tall and lanky with a kinda scraggly beard.  He was wearing overalls and work boots with a layer of mud on them.  He had worked hard all his life and had the strength to prove it.  In his work clothes, and from across the river, the "doesn't bathe" hypothesis did seem plausible.

      When we got to the island Jim introduced us, said he still had business in town, and asked Bob to show me the way to Paula's cabin.  Bob lived on this island in the delta.  He was the caretaker, handyman for Jim.  He cleaned up the cabins in the late summer, vacuuming the poisoned mouse remains and such, before the duck hunters arrived in October.  He helped with the farm work most of the rest of the year.  He could fix anything.

      Paula's cabin was locked and nobody was in.  Bob said, "I can show you where they are if you like.  They're just over the hill, past the end of the sunflowers at the far end of the cornfield."  It was getting dark and I knew they couldn't shoot past sunset so I followed Bob back to his place.

      He said, "It gets pretty crazy around here once them hunters start arriving.  They're not really hunters, most of them, just trigger-happy men with guns and fancy trucks.  But they think they're hunters, and to prove it they'll shoot at anything.  See that goose over there?"  He pointed at a large white one swimming just off shore.  "There used to be two of um.  They shot her mate."

      "You're kidding."

      "Nope."

      "But she's not a duck, she doesn't even look like a duck, she's white."

      "Don't matter, he took off outta the water and they shot him - by mistake, if you know what I mean."

      "Sounds like it gets pretty dangerous around here."

      "Yep, you gotta be loud as possible once them hunters get here.  I start whistlin' all the time or talkin' to myself real loud.  Let 'um know you're comin' and chances are you won't get your head shot off.  And the sad thing about that goose is, geese mate for life, not like people."

      "That is sad."

      "You bet, and they live a pretty long time."  We sat on the dock behind his cabin, watching the goose preen herself, as the last of the sun set, and the bugs began to swarm.  "You know you really should get in before them bugs eat you up.  Do you wanna beer?"

      "No thanks, I should really go see about dinner, someone must be back by now."

      "OK then, but they have been workin' pretty late.  If there's no one there yet, feel free to come on back by."

      "Thanks."

      "It's nothin'."

      Paula said, "Watch out for Dirty Bob.  He seems nice but he is a lecher.  John and I were the first ones here.  We came out a couple of weeks in advance to try and get things arranged and some preliminary work done before the whole crew arrived.  One weekend John had to go home and I was here alone.  Saturday night, Bob took a motorboat over to go to that bar down the street, the one where Jim met you.  At 2:30 in the morning I woke up.  I heard him yelling my name across the water.  I thought he was hurt or something and I was still trying to make a good impression because we still hadn't signed the final contract with Jim yet.  So I got dressed and went out to see what was going on.  He was standing on the opposite shore wobbling.  When I asked him what he wanted, he yelled back that he was too drunk to drive a boat even, and something about Jim being asleep, so could I take one over to pick him up.  So I did.  On the way back, all of the sudden he said, 'You sure are a beautiful woman' and squeezed my knee."

      "What did you do?"

      "I played it down.  I said, "Why thank you Bob," and changed the subject.  Luckily it's not that far across the river.  The next day when I went over to Jim's to finish the negotiations, they asked me about it.  They said they heard Bob yelling.  He woke them up too.  So I told them he wanted a ride back to the island.  Jim and June both were on the floor laughing.  They said he goes across the river every Saturday night to get drunk. Sometimes they even go with him and then give him a ride home, but no one ever goes to pick him up.  He sleeps in his truck on the other side.  He parks it over there most of the time anyway. It's more convenient.  That way they can take a boat over instead of the barge.   Afterall, you hardly need a truck on the island but you do need it to get into town.  Anyway, they couldn't believe I fell for it.  They were so amused.  I think that's why they signed the contract to let us come out here.  Sheer entertainment value."

      Jim needed the barge to bring his truck across the river - he had gone into town for some supplies, parts for the tractor or generator or something.  He said if we unloaded the equipment he would see to it that it got to the set.  Bob brought a tractor around and hitched up what looked like a low, flatbed wagon.  Then, he spent the morning helping me and Pete carry the gear off the barge and onto the flatbed.  It was heavy stuff and some of it too awkward for one person to carry.  Bob kept asking, "Why are they making you do all the hard work?"

      "Someone's gotta do it and there's no one else available right now."

      "But they shouldn't have you carryin' around all the heavy stuff.  They should make one of those big guys do it."

      "They're all busy with the shoot, and besides I don't mind."

      "I hope they're payin' you enough," he finally said.

      "Well actually, I'm taking time off work to be here and I'm not getting paid at all."

      He stopped and looked me straight in the eye, "What?  Why the hell are you here?  Are you rich or somethin'?"

      "No just stupid...I'm here to help out Paula - she's my friend.  I mean sure, some people are getting paid, I'm just not one of them.  They are feeding me though, and it's not like I'm spending any money here."

      "But you work so hard, you just said you were up 'til 2:00 settin' stuff up.  They should make one of them guys unload this stuff - they shouldn't be makin' you do it.  I've half a mind to tell Paula what I think about it too."

      "Oh, don't worry about me Bob, and please don't say anything to Paula.  Besides I'm not the only one workin' for free.  Hey Pete, are you getting paid for this?"

      "Nope."

      "Well it just ain't right, it ain't right." He shook his head and then began to whistle.

      Once we were finally done loading the wagon Bob moved the tractor under a tree.   We sat on the back of the flatbed, in the shade, drinking water, and waited for the crew to appear for lunch.  That way we knew it was safe to take the tractor out there without the noise interfering with the sound recording.  My feet dangled in the air.  Pete and Bob were both tall enough to touch the ground; Bob scratched holes in the sand with his heel.

      Bob took credit for the Sasquatch legend at Mt. Shasta.  He said he and his buddies were bored and drunk one night and made these shoes that left big old footprints in the snow.  Then they went for a walk - they took turns walking around.  They all thought it was pretty funny.  "Never thought people would really fall for it the way they did, they weren't even very good prints, but they fell for it and we kept 'um goin', for a while.  For the laughs.  Then we got tired of it and stopped."

      A couple days later we finished work early and those of us who could stand the freezing temperature of the snow fed river water, went for a swim.  Bob sat in his lawn chair, which was permanently anchored to the dock.  I crawled out of the water to dry off.  Bob said, "You know that cabin you're in is still pretty dirty.  I haven't had a chance to get in there yet...been workin' on the roof of the far cabin before it starts to rain.  You should move into the one I'm stayin' in.  It's a lot cleaner.  There's still a spare room with a couple of bunks.  You deserve it.  Rob's over there all by himself, like some big shot, and there's eight of you stuffed in that dirty place."

      I told Eileen about Bob's offer and she jumped at the chance.  She went right over to Bob's and asked if we could both move in.  I don't think Bob appreciated her, she complained bitterly and Bob didn't say a word when she was around.  Paula was amazed that Bob invited us.  "We practically had to beg him to let Rob stay there," she said.  "After that we were afraid to ask any more of him.  Jim says he's a pretty solitary guy."  She was happy the main cabin had fewer bodies.

      After dinner, Eileen stayed in the main cabin and I took a couple of beers back to Bob's to thank him.  His place was much nicer.  He said, "You know I broke out of jail back in Nebraska.  I was 24 years old servin' a two year sentence but I was young and couldn't stand being cooped up like that.  So me and a couple guys broke out.  I was out over forty years and when they did catch me, a couple years back, it was purely an accident."

      "Oh no."

      "No, no, it was the happiest day of my life.  I was in the hardware store pickin' up a bunch of supplies but I didn't have no basket.  I was only goin' to get a saw so I didn't get a basket but then I was walkin' down the aisles and I kept seein' stuff we needed.  My arms were full but I needed a screwdriver and a file.  So I stuck 'um under my belt and went up to the counter to pay.  But I forgot about the screwdriver entirely.  When I left the store, they picked me up for shopliftin'.  Ironic, ain't it, most folks think you need a file to break out of prison but that particular file put me back in."

      "But how'd they find out?"

      "Fingerprints I s'pose.  Anyway, I was so relieved 'cause I didn't have to lie no more.  I'd been an escaped con for over forty years and all that time I couldn't live like a normal human bein'.  I couldn't get a real job or a bank account.  Hell, I didn't have a social security card.  I never stayed in one place very long, I couldn't.  And I had this great big secret gnawin' at me from the inside.  It even broke up a couple of marriages.  I couldn't settle down and I couldn't tell the truth.  Both my wives could tell I was lyin' about something but of course they didn't know what it was.  They both accused me of cheatin'.  We'd fight, eventually they both left me.  My second wife stayed the longest but in the end she left too."

      "That's awful."

      "Yep, but I couldn't blame 'um.  Afterall it was my fault."

      "But what happened when the cops caught you?"

      "They sent me back."

      "That's horrible."

      "It wasn't that bad.  I was just about the oldest man there and I held the record for bein' out the longest.  I was kind of a hero.  I got lots of respect.  And now, I'm a free man.  I was so old I just had to serve out my sentence.  I was out in no time.  I'm free.  Ya know I've lived here longer than anywhere else in my life and I'm gonna stay right here 'til I die.  That was the happiest day of my life."

      Rob left the shoot early; he couldn't stand the insects, especially worrying about the black widows, which seemed to be following him around.  Bob was much more relaxed with him gone.  The day before I left he said, "I have a present for you.  I found it when I was cleaning out the room at the end of the hall.  It used to belong to my ex-wife.  He disappeared for a moment and when he came back he was holding a white polyester jumpsuit with a design of very large black roses.  "It should fit you just right.  My second wife was about your size and it must have been hers.  But I wouldn't try it on 'til you wash it first, if it was hers it's been here awhile and it could be kinda dirty."

        It had bell-bottoms and long flared sleeves, large lapels a zipper up the front and a sash at the waist.  I thanked Bob and took it with me when I left.  I was intrigued by the detail of the pattern - the black roses, the leaves and thorns, the twisted stems creeping over the bodice and around the arms and legs.  But it was polyester.

      Bob said, "You gotta write me ya know," and handed me his address.  "Send me one of them postcards of the San Diego beach bunnies in their skimpy little bikinis."