Witches’ Brew
by Eric Bodlak
“A small error in the beginning is a grave one in the end.”
—St. Thomas Aquinas, On Being and Essence
Two weeks ago, on a night as clear as any she could remember, Zoe awoke to the sounds of summer. Bullfrogs were drumming, and the restless drone of insect wings built and blended with the creak of tree limbs and leafy whispers. August hummed with a thousand different lives, but each called to her with its own song, and she wanted to be near them. She went outside barefoot and sat down under the stars, staying until the last notes of their fiery, unchanging wonder had vanished into the morning blue.
After breakfast, Zoe and Amanda, her oldest friend, roamed the streets of their small town, laughing about the time they had made up names for themselves and convinced some of the senior boys from a nearby school that they were visiting students from Berlin. Their ruse had led to a double date, some free food, and a good story, but they would soon be attending separate colleges,and their stories were about to diverge.
Now she found herself in a new place, surrounded by new friends and, in an unforeseen moment of insecurity, said what she thought would bolster her standing within the bounds of her budding social group: “I did it once.”
“It” referred to the leap from the cusp of Cauldron Falls, through fifty-five feet of empty space, and into the roiling waters of the Cauldron below, where a violent undertow eased the force of impact but added its own perils. Everyone in northern New England claimed to know someone who had made the jump, but in fact, almost no one did. Now, or so she told them, they could make such claims truthfully.
“Really?” one of them named Justin asked. He looked impressed.
“Yeah,” she said. “It was terrifying.” She laughed. “There may or may not have been
alcohol involved.” Now, everyone laughed.
“That explains it,” said Justin. “I wouldn’t have picked you for the daredevil type.”
“Oh, I’m not,” she assured him.
“Would you do it again?” asked Priya.
“I don’t know.” Zoe cocked her head. “I guess I’d have to see how I felt in the moment.”
“I’d do it if you did,” said Justin. He seemed serious. Zoe looked him over and decided that she’d jump from any hypothetical height if he were watching. “Deal,” she said.
When Justin stopped by her room on Thursday night to let her know that he, Priya, and his cousin Adam were planning a hike to the Cauldron for the upcoming Labor Day weekend, Zoe feltless certain. The truth was that she really wasn’t much of a daredevil when it came to things like speed or heights. She didn’t like it when she wasn’t in control, and she especially didn’t like it when gravity controlled her. She figured that had something to do with her fall from an apple tree in third grade or the time when she and her cousins crashed a sled through the wall of a chicken coop, and she had ended up with a neat row of stitches above her left eye.
But, she feared, she would have to get over it or be found out. They would be hiking the entirety of the Bear Creek-Upper Lake Loop, and the return trip would take them by Cauldron Falls, where she knew there’d be pressure to repeat the jump. She told herself she probably wouldn’t do it. She could say that it all looked a lot scarier this time or that she wouldn’t jump sober. Anyway, she had said it would depend on how she felt when the time came. She agreed to go.
§
Adam was waiting there when they arrived at the trailhead an hour late on Friday afternoon, and a cloud of dust swarmed like flies around Justin’s silver Jeep Commander. “I think it’s going to rain tonight,” Justin said, unbuckling his seatbelt, “so the trails might be pretty muddy in the morning.”
Priya rolled her eyes. She lived down the hall from Zoe and was one of those girls who spent what seemed like hours preparing herself each day, and Zoe was surprised that Priya was interested in hiking at all.
Adam, however, appeared ready to go. He was pacing outside his car, his olive backpack already strapped into place along with what looked like a miniature guitar, and Zoe wondered how much earlier he’d arrived. She and the others climbed outside the Jeep and unloaded their gear while introductions were made.
“You must be Priya,” Adam addressed Zoe with an amused look on his face. She couldn’t quite tell if he was joking, but Priya set him straight before Zoe had a chance to respond.
“Adam goes to Northeastern,” Justin informed them, “so you’ll have to forgive him for being a little different.”
“Ah. Now I understand,” said Zoe, smiling.
“Yeah. Well, it’s either that or the red hair.”
“It’s true. We are elite in terms of the uniqueness of our hair color, and we’re also less likely to contract cancer of the prostate.”
“See what I mean?” said Justin.
They locked the cars and began the snaking ascent up into the moss-covered green of the old-growth forest. Zoe was stunned by the immediate majesty of the trail itself, which was carved directly into the side of the gorge. The right side was exposed to reveal an explosion of conifers, oaks, and maples emerging from the ravine as it sloped toward the river below.
“An engineering marvel,” said Adam.
“A nerd,” said Justin.
They hiked until a little after dark when they reached their designated campsite and the predicted rain began to fall in waves. Tilting her headlamp skyward, Zoe thought that the streaking droplets looked like sci-fi galaxies smeared irreversibly by tremendous speed. She attempted to harness this insight as she and Priya put up their tent in the cold, but the effort proved unsuccessful.
Justin and Adam finished assembling their tent first, and Adam came over to help the girls position and secure their rainfly.
“Thanks,” said Priya.
“Thanks,” echoed Zoe.
“No problem. It’s a shame Justin got you here so late. We could have gotten everything set up while it was still dry and we could see. I’ve got some extra clothes that aren’t wet, so let me know if you need anything,” he said to Zoe in particular.
§
The rain fell all night and into the morning, and it was drizzling when Zoe awoke to the twin smells of coffee and bacon. She heard Priya laughing outside the tent and discovered that everyone else was already awake and eating breakfast. Justin and Priya were seated side-by-side on a fallen log, sheltered by a large tarp that had been strung between two trees, and Adam was crouched above a small propane stove.
“Good morning, Sleepiest-head! Welcome to our breakfast haven!” Adam gestured dramatically from his post.
Justin laughed and shook his head. “Weirdness: the price of immunity to prostate cancer.”
“It’s hard to say if it’s worth it,” Zoe joked back. She noticed that Priya was sitting so close to Justin that their shoulders were touching, a fact that bothered her more than she would have expected.
They set out again after breakfast, but at a slower pace than the previous day, on account of the trail’s general soupiness. By lunchtime, however, the skies had cleared, and they were hiking on top of solid rock, which translated to a marked improvement in footing.
Stopping at an overlook with a view of one of the route’s many waterfalls, everyone ate snacks for lunch. Afterward, Justin and Adam competed against each other in a game that involved throwing rocks at other rocks, Priya tried to nap, and Zoe watched a yellow warbler tracing the cascade toward an uncertain end in the valley below.
“Are you thinking about jumping from that one, too?”
Zoe looked up to see Justin. He was tall, and his eyes were green. “Yeah, I was,” Zoe smiled, “but swimming up the falls to get back to the trail seems pretty inconvenient.”
“That’s true,” said Adam, appearing at Justin’s side. He held out a granola bar. “Did you really jump at the Cauldron? Justin told me about that.”
Zoe accepted the gift. “Yeah. A while back.”
“Well, you’re a lot braver than me,” Adam said, “I know at least a few people have died
doing that.”
“Speaking of brave,” he continued, “we found a cave. You and Priya should help us check it out.”
They all followed Justin off the trail, where they squeezed between a pair of stone slabs to reveal an opening in the rock wall deep enough that the sunlight failed to unmask its mystery. Adam pointed.
“I’m not going in there,” Priya said.
“Well, that’s no fun,” said Justin. “What about you?” he asked Zoe.
“Absolutely.” She switched on her headlamp, which she realized she had been wearing around her neck since last night. Adam had his headlamp on him, too, and he led the way. Inside, it became clear that the
cave was no labyrinth, but it was a decently sized cavern populated with some large outcroppings and boulders that Adam wasted no time in summiting. Justin didn’t have a light, so he stayed close to Zoe as they explored the cave’s most secluded section, and she felt a rush of excitement when he threaded his hand into hers. She looked up at him and smiled, and he blocked the beam with his forearm, making a sound of mock anger. “Young lady, I’m going to have to ask you to turn that light off,” he said. “For safety.” She obliged, and they kissed quietly until they were exposed in a sudden burst of illumination. It was Adam. He said nothing, turned, and went back outside, and they followed him moments later.
§
That night, they established their campsite at Upper Lake, this time well before dark. They were now more than halfway around the loop, and tomorrow’s miles would all be downhill. Zoe had blisters on her heels, and the downhill part sounded agreeable to her. Plus, she’d finally be reunited with her “old friend,” the Cauldron, she thought with amusement.
“What’s so funny?” Justin asked.
“You are,” she said.
The campsites at the lake were outfitted with plate-steel fire rings, so open flames were allowed. Adam had Priya help him get a campfire started, and soon enough, they were all eating canned-chicken spaghetti from collapsible bowls. It was a cloudless night, and once Adam had finished his dinner and hung his supplies beyond the reach of bears, he broke out his miniature guitar. He sang songs that were much sadder than the reality of the evening, and Zoe found the dissonance jarring. Priya revealed that she also played, and her turn was more upbeat, buoyed by an enthusiastic appreciation for pop music. Justin locked eyes with Zoe and dipped his head toward the lake.
Later, pulling their dry outer clothes back over their soaked skin, they heard the rhythmic call of a barred owl, and something splashed in the distance. Justin looked out at the glassy water and the mirror image of the sky. “Damn, if this isn’t perfection.” The scene was backed by a chorus of cricket harmonies, and they could hear Adam singing faintly about World War III. The Milky Way was doubly visible, and Zoe pretended briefly that they were standing in the hub of a giant galactic wheel, perhaps the source of locomotion for some ancient alien race. She looked at Justin. Perfection indeed.
By the time they had made it back up the path and reclaimed their position next to the fire,
Adam had stopped playing. “It’s frightening, isn’t it?” He was looking upward.
Justin laughed. “What are you talking about?”
“The enormity of it all. The openness. Stars and nebulas and supernovas blazing away.
Beautiful, for sure. But there are lightyears between them, and each one is freezing to death alone in the cold.”
“Wow, aren’t you a downer?” Justin said. But he was looking up thoughtfully.
“It’s true, though,” said Adam. “Someday, there’ll be nothing but gas up there. Or anywhere, for that matter. And it will be colder than anything we can imagine.”
“That’s sad,” said Priya.
“The stars are so pretty.” Zoe concurred.
Adam nodded. “But that’s not even the worst of it. When the stars go, they’ll take with them all of human history. Every joy and triumph. Every story and every song. Every love. Every lover. It’ll be as if none of them ever existed. As if none of this ever happened at all.” He gestured at the landscape around them.
“But it did happen,” said Justin. “Tonight happened. Yesterday happened. And the day before that happened. You lived. They lived. And I lived. Nothing can change that.”
“But how is it any different in the end?”
No one spoke. Adam continued, “When I was a kid, I used to daydream. I’d spend hours envisioning perfect narratives where I accomplished everything I’d ever wanted, where it all worked out. But, eventually, I’d realize that none of it mattered if it didn’t remain. And I always ended up feeling sick.” He threw a handful of needles into the fire. “It’s why I believe in God. Only He can salvage the story’s ending.”
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t believe something just because you want it to be true,” said Justin.
“I know,” said Adam, “but if you can’t prove it either way, shouldn’t you prefer to live in a world that lasts?”
Justin shrugged and leaned back again, peering upward. He said nothing for a moment, then stood up. “I think I’ll leave you to your philosophizing.” He stretched and looked at Zoe.
“Ready for bed?”
She nodded and got up herself. Priya lingered momentarily, but then she, too, left Adam there, staring into the darkness like a man who had discovered that death was not lurking far away, that both he and the stars were already gone and had been so from the beginning.
With no threat of rain, they spread their sleeping bags out on the tarp, and Justin went right to sleep, but Zoe fidgeted beside him, occasionally glimpsing bits of sky through barely opened eyelids. And then she would open them all the way to make sure that the light had not yet been extinguished. Closing her eyes again, she’d think of the stars deflated and dead, frozen forever in the infinite blackness. And she could hardly bear it.
§
White rivulets roared toward destruction in the pool below: the Cauldron for which the falls were named. “Wow,” said Adam. “When did you do this?” he asked Zoe.
“It was a few summers ago, right before school started,” she said.
“What about now?”
She laughed, a little nervously. “I don’t know. We just got all that rain, and it seems like it’s flowing faster than it was the first time. Plus, I’m stone-cold sober,” she said, sticking to her script with an exaggerated shrug.
“Actually,” she heard Justin behind her, “that’s what this is for.” She and Adam turned around. Justin was holding a bottle of Flag Hill apple brandy in his hand. He removed the cap and took a swig. Grimacing, he offered the bottle to Adam.
“I don’t drink,” he said quietly. Priya looked uncomfortable.
“I guess it’s up to us, then,” said Justin, passing the brandy to Zoe. “I’ll do it if you do it,” he reiterated his previous offer, motioning at the waterfall.
“Give me a minute,” she said, sipping the bottle.
“Guys, I don’t think it’s a very good idea.”
“Well, it’s not up to you, now, is it, Adam?” Justin responded.
Zoe sat with Justin next to the No Jumping sign at the edge of the drop-off, while Adam and Priya ventured off-trail to filter and fill the water bottles.
Justin put his arm around Zoe. “If you had to have an extra body part, what would you choose?”
“Does it have to be a human body part?”
“Let’s say no.”
“Then I’m tempted to want wings, but the way you asked the question makes me think that I could only have one wing, which doesn’t seem very practical, so I think my answer is ‘gills,’ or
‘gill,’ I guess.”
“Very interesting,” said Justin, “and almost certainly very attractive. Now ask me
something.”
Zoe thought for a bit. “Are you ticklish?” she asked.
He hesitated. “No.” Zoe tested him, and he writhed, contorting his body away from hers.
“Stop it! You’re killing me.” Zoe laughed.
“You’re killing all of us,” Priya called back.
Justin pinned Zoe’s arms to her side, “Are you ready for glory?”
“I am.” They removed their shoes and socks, and Justin stripped off his shirt. Zoe was lightheaded, and she could feel the dirt sticking to her feet.
“Hey, guys!” Justin shouted. “Get over here. We’re ready.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Adam said, sounding stressed. Priya rounded the corner with her fingers looped through a quartet of Nalgene bottle caps. Justin peered over the ledge, taking Zoe’s hand. She stepped forward, dislodging a handful of pebbles so that they tumbled into the water below. Their disappearance was swift and complete, and she immediately felt nauseated.
She inched backward. “I don’t want to do it.”
Justin stared at her for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. “Neither do I.”
Zoe also began to laugh, and she couldn’t stop, and they backed away from the falls, lest their convulsions send them over the edge anyway.
“Unbelievable,” said Adam. He snatched the Flag Hill from its station, gulped, set it down, took a few running steps, and jumped as far as he could.
Justin and Zoe cheered. They waited for Adam to resurface.
“Fuck,” said Justin.
§
In October, Zoe watched the claret-colored leaves sinking beneath the maple next door, their veins exposed and skeletal in the declining light. Her phone buzzed—Amanda, again—but Zoe let the call run to voicemail. The window was not quite sealed, and she shivered suddenly. Getting up to close the sash, she could hear only the wind outside, but then something rustled in the leafy decay below the window frame, and she looked down to see a black cat relocating one of her kittens to safety. Zoe locked the window, and the cat lifted its head at the sound. In its mouth was a rat, struggling for air.