Black Ribbon

the water, she doesn’t come out until she’s good and ready.” He paused before finishing the Chesapeake-person joke that must date from the arrival of Sailor and Canton. “And,” he said, she’s never ready.”
    When I’d seen Eric at the meeting earlier that day, he’d reminded me vaguely of some old-time Hollywood leading Wan. Now that he was knee-deep in the lake, I realized that the association wasn’t vague at all: Eric Grimaldi looked like an age-ripened Johnnie Weissmuller, Olympic swimmer turned movie star. Weissmuller wasn’t much of an actor, but it didn’t matter because as Tarzan he usually appeared either half-s u bmerged or swimming a silver-screen version of what
    my grandmother still calls “the Australian crawl.” Like Weissmuller, Eric was a strapping guy with hard, prominent lats, traps, and pecs, and he had Weissmuller’s healthy, friendly face and big features, too.
    “I could watch her forever,” I told him.
    Phyllis Abbott’s face lit up. “Oh, Eric has!” she commented. “Frequently.”
    Eva Spitteler had been standing in the shallow water a few yards away from the rest of us. She was alone. Moored to a tree on the bank above the cove, Bingo was barking and yelping. Next to Eva on the edge of the dock lay one of the resort’s thick red towels and what I assumed was a bottle of sunscreen. Beach towels were one luxury that we campers were expected to provide ourselves; we’d been asked to bring them, and a politely worded sign in my bathroom had reminded me that the towels there were not for use in the swimming area. I'd complied. So had almost everyone else. The red towel on the dock was the only one in sight. Eva Spitteler reached toward it, picked up the plastic bottle, and poured liquid into the palm of one hand. Instead of spreading the stuff on her skin, she rubbed it on her head and lathered her hair. When she dunked, the clear lake water turned cloudy. Bingo silenced himself. Foam rose, followed by Eva’s bulk. She took a deep breath and plunged back in.
    “That’s disgusting,” someone muttered.
    “I saw her carrying that bottle of shampoo,” someone else reported, “and I wondered if I should say something....”
    “Well, you should’ve.”
    “Wouldn’t you think anyone’d know better?”
    “And right here where the dogs are! I mean, it could get in their eyes, and they could all get conjunctivitis!”
    Canine ecology.
    When Eva surfaced, no one said a word to her. She grabbed the towel, blotted her face, and directed at me what felt likethe evil eye. “You ought to just haul that dog right in,” she decreed. “I wouldn’t put up with that for a minute.”
    Stimulated perhaps by the sight and sound of Eva, Bingo had resumed his barking. I was tempted to tell Eva that I wouldn’t tolerate that for a minute. I really wouldn’t have put up with Bingo’s noise; I’d have taken him into the lake.
    As placidly as I could, I said, “Rowdy’s happy doing what he’s doing.” Assured that I wasn’t going to drag him in, Rowdy was investigating pebbles, pawing at the water, watching people and dogs, eyeing the swimmers, and probably marveling at what fools they were.
    “It’s very dangerous to allow one of them to defy you like that.” Eva had swung onto the dock and was dabbing at herself with the red towel.
    During our exchange, Eric had used the water toy to lure Elsa toward the shore. I had the impression that the handsome man and his beautiful dog were playing a game that both enjoyed. Moving purposefully, one eye on Elsa, Eric climbed onto the dock, begged Eva’s pardon, politely warned her to make way, and called to Elsa. When he reached the end of the dock, he bent down to rap his fist on the wood. Elsa got the message. Her eyes glinting, she veered toward the dock, swam fast, sprang out, and shook off. A Chesapeake has a coat like a duck’s feathers, insulating, oily, and water-repellent. In seconds, Elsa looked dry. With a final shake, she became a chocolate-colored streak that sped down the dock past Eva and toward Eric, who was swinging the rubber water toy by a short piece of attached rope. “Elsa, go get it!” he called. He spun the toy and sent it sailing out into the lake. Seconds later, Elsa flew past him and made a spectacular water entry.
    Applause broke out.
    “Fantastic!” I yelled.
    “Any retriever’ll do that,” Eva grumbled. “You just aren’t used to them.”
    I nearly choked. Not used to them? My parents