Old tent springs leaks, goes down in flames
We stood in the shade of the Old Man's tent which towered above as tall as the Empire State Building. "You boys set up under those trees over there," he pointed at several oaks and pecans 30 yards from the fragrant canvas tent.
For some reason the Old Man had given in to our incessant whining and allowed Cousin and I to set up a separate tent during one of our weekend camping trips up on Muddy Boggy in Oklahoma.
"It's a good thing we have this pup tent," I told Cousin, kicking the bundle at my feet. "It'll be a lot easier to set up than that old thing Dad always uses."
Cousin wasn't listening. He was staring at a dark line of clouds settling toward us from the north. "I think I want to stay with them tonight."
"Don't be stupid," I said, shoving the poles at him and grabbing the lightweight canvas. "I can't believe he's gonna let us have our own tent tonight. This is the first time."
"Those clouds look scary. Look at the lightning."
"It's just heat lightning," I said, dredging up a term I'd heard the old men use during our frequent summer campouts.
The Old Man and Uncle were driving long tent stakes into the ground around the big tent while we assembled our smaller Boy Scout version.
"Think we'll need to stake it down?" Cousin asked, glancing over at them.
"Naw. Our weight will hold this one down. They just want to make sure the big tent won't blow down."
Our expertise honed in backyard camping trips paid off, and the little tent was soon erected, albeit somewhat lopsided. We hurried back to the big tent for blankets, pillows and cots.
"Whoa there," Uncle said when he caught me dragging one of the wooden World War II cots through the camp. "Those are ours. And besides, your tent is too little for cots."
"No, it isn't," I argued, pointing at Cousin and his cot sticking half way out of our little tent. It was so tall that it pushed out the side wall, much the way straight-walled outfitters tents look today.
"Bring it back," the Old Man said, glancing at the sky as the first fat raindrop slapped into the sand at his feet. "Hurry up."
Together, Cousin and I ran the cot back where it belonged. Then we grabbed a couple of snacks, some Cokes, a pillow and for some reason, a box of matches. We'd no more gotten inside our tent and tied it shut when the skies opened up, and it rained so hard animals began to pair up.
Somehow we'd erected the tent perfectly. A slight slope pulled the water away from us, and the walls were tight enough that rain drummed on the canvas. It grew darker, and Cousin dug out a flashlight he'd snitched from his dad.
He flicked it on, and we settled into our sleeping bags in the middle of the tent, lying on our backs and staring at the ceiling while it rained. I began to get sleepy from the noise, a full stomach from the snacks and two Cokes.
My eyes were just starting to close when Cousin mumbled something. "I heard at school that if you touch canvas in the rain it will leak."
We lay there pondering the statement.
"If it leaks, we'll get wet," I said, stating the obvious.
"I bet it isn't true."
"Then why are we sleeping right here in the middle without touching the walls?" I asked.
"Because Dad says that's what you do it when it's raining."
Cousin aimed the flashlight at the canvas above us.
"Don't touch it," I said.
He poked the canvas with his finger and water immediately formed at the indention. In seconds, the leak became a rivulet, and then a stream. Cousin crowded toward me. "I'm getting wet."
"You idiot!" I said, shoving him. "I told you not to do that. Get back to your side."
Cousin thrashed for a minute. "Dang it! There's another leak over here where I brushed the wall. Lemme on your side."
"Stay away," I said, throwing out an arm. I hit the flashlight with my hand, and the bulb winked out.
We lay in the damp silence while torrents of rain continued to beat against the tent. "It's getting wetter over here," Cousin said. "Is it leaking on your side?"
"I don't think so." I struck one of the wooden kitchen matches, and it flared to life. Unfortunately, I held it a little to close to the ancient canvas, and in two seconds a blue flame licked up the dry inside seam.
"Fire!" Cousin said.
"Don't worry," I said. "The canvas is damp. It won't burn."
Ten seconds later we stood in the rain while every inside seam flared to life. Though the canvas was wet, most of the seams weren't. They burned hot for a moment, then went out as the tent collapsed and smoldered.
We tracked water into the big tent where the Old Man and Uncle were just laying down on their cots. We told them what happened, expecting a whipping, but they both laughed.
"Just as long as you're all right," the Old Man said. "That tent needed throwing away years ago. Y'all make pallets there on the floor."
We folded a couple of Mama's quilts on the floor and made pillows with our shirts. Thunder rumbled and the rain continued to fall as we all lay down for the night.
Uncle snapped on his flashlight to examine the tent one last time. "You know, someone told me in the army that if you touch the inside of a canvas tent while it was raining, it would leak ..."
• Reavis Wortham's e-mail address is r.wortham@tx.rr.com.
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