The Constant Heart (26 page)

At night, we had some brook trout and my father found some mushrooms, a variety called chicken of the woods, which he sliced and cooked in a little oil, and we ate those with the trout. We still had a couple of new potatoes left, but not so many, and we each had three of them apiece. Sara sat by the fire and my father and I went down to the river.

The water was inky and lined with silver where the current showed, and the trees on the far shore were dark against the stars. We sat down on the rocks, which we felt through our pants as being a little cold.

I put my arm around him and felt him heaving against me as he cried. You know, you don't ever think you are going to feel that from your father. It is one of those inconceivable things that are surprising even though, under some circumstances, you expect them to come.

“Sara's right,” he said. “Maybe we are saying good-bye.”

The stars moved a little as though I were drunk and trying not to throw up, and, of course, that would have been the worst of all possible things. So I put my hands behind my head for a moment, just like the nonexistent Adimi.

“I don't know about that,” I said.

“I do,” said my father. “No lies, Jake. We've never done that.”

“No,” I said.

I took his hand, which seemed now like some sticks in a paper sack.

“Let's just sit here for a while,” I said.

“Yes,” said my father. “That's best. How warm your hand is.”

I
T IS HARD to say how you know that you are being watched. Probably it is not the presence of something but the absence of it, some birdsong, or a natural collection of sounds that aren't there anymore. Often when I am worried I will see things that aren't there or imagine that the thing I am afraid of is finally going to get me. So I thought I would just keep my mouth shut and say nothing. And, of course, it brings out other worries, items that you have buried somehow but are suddenly right there on the surface. Sara took me aside and we sat by the stream, our feet in the emerald water that was so cold it ached.

“Jake,” she said. “I don't want to ask this.”

“You mean, could my father die up here?”

She just took my hand. Then she said, “That water is cold, isn't it?”

“It comes from melting snow,” I said.

“Oh,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “He could die.”

She nodded.

“He's taking more of those drugs.”

“How much more?” she said.

“I'm not really counting anymore.”

She put her hand in the stream and said, “It's cold but I bet that's not the kind of cold your father is feeling. I bet it's a different kind.”

She wiped her hands on her jeans.

“You can feel it right now,” said Sara. “I think we're being followed. It feels a little like that other cold. Not the water one. I don't know what to call the other one. A sort of temperature of the dark.”

A lot of times you look back on something and you think, Well, I should have done this or I should have done that or the other or somehow I shouldn't have let “A” happen, and from the point of view of being warm, safe, and at a distance, all these things are probably correct, but in the middle of it you can't tell what is right, and, of course, the critical thing is that you don't want to do anything to make it worse. So that means you just go along, looking over your shoulder and more or less pretending that things aren't how they really are. And it is easier to do this when the sun is out and the sky is filled with clouds that look like enormous pieces of cotton stuffing.

I found a case that a caddis fly makes out of gravel, a little mass of bead-like stones that were held together by the silk from the larva, and held it out for Sara to see. She thought she could catch some of the larvae and take them home and put them in a jar full of sequins so as to let them make their houses out of them. I was trying to imagine what this might be like, mostly little purple things, I guessed, when she looked at me and said, “Listen. Do you hear something?”

“What?” I said.

“Just listen.”

I didn't hear anything at all, although it wasn't quiet. A cobble rolled down the bank, into the rubble at the side of the stream. Just a click. Was that something we didn't normally hear?

“It's nothing,” I said. “It happens all the time. During the day the stones heat up and when they expand, sometimes they move a little bit and they finally roll down a hill into the stream.”

“Is that right?” she said.

“Sure,” I said. “Come on. Let's see if we can catch some of these fish.”

In the evening we sat by the fire. It was a little cool and my father and I had put on extra shirts and Sara put on a sweater she had bought. It was a color I think of as British pond scum, since it was army surplus and was an unobtrusive green that only the British could love. It had leather patches on the shoulders, which, I guessed, were for commandos to stand on when you helped them over a wall and they had to stand on your shoulders.

Sara saw the light first. It was just a flicker, like a firefly, but it became more constant and started to look like a beam that swung back and forth in the big timber. Some of the trees were dead and leaned one way and another, as though an explosion had taken place. Some of them were just stumps. The beam showed the movement of insects, their wings just filaments as they darted one way and another. MD's boots came along and made a hard thumping where the earth was packed down. He turned out his light and stood in the glow from the fire.

“So, here you are, sneaking up this way,” he said.

“We didn't sneak,” I said.

He shrugged.

“Let's not quibble,” he said. “So tough and brushy and filled with berry vines up here you can't even use an ATV. Had to hoof it. Mind if I sit down?”

“Yes,” said Sara.

“A regular spitfire. I like a woman with spirit. Brings out the best in me.”

He sat down.

“You catching any fish up here?” said MD.

“Couple,” I said.

“Just a couple. Can you beat that?” He turned to Sara. “How about you? You catching anything?”

“A couple,” she said.

“On what?” said MD.

“He showed me,” said Sara, pointing to me.

“You'll have to show me,” he said.

“A wulff. We caught them on a wulff,” I said.

“I'll have to remember that,” he said. “A wolf. They always work, don't they?”

We sat in the dusty glow from the fire. Sara pulled her sweater up to her neck and held it with one hand. She waited there, almost as though expecting a blow.

“I know what you think of me,” said MD to Sara. He kept his head down. “I guess you think I've done all kinds of bad things. Isn't that right? But there's more here than meets the eye. There is the lower layer. I know a thing or two.” He winked at Sara. “Isn't that right, spitfire? Sure. Who else knows how lonely the universe can be, the way I do? No one. I'm
not afraid of being alone, don't you see? You can take that to the bank.”

“Is that right?” said my father.

“Why, of course. But I have my charms,” he said. He looked at Sara. “Don't you think so, spitfire? Don't you think I know what's in your heart, when you're in the mood? Why, you and I are like two peas in a pod.”

“I don't think so,” she said.

MD laughed now, his head down, his face in the shadows.

“Well, maybe not when we've got company. Privately, it might be another matter.”

“Let's change the subject,” I said.

“You are the funniest of all. You think she can be redeemed, don't you?” He went on laughing. “I don't know when I had such a good laugh. It
is
funny. Say, tell me, don't you think you are going to find something you can depend on? Tell me, aren't you on the verge of finding some kind of order? Your kind are easy to spot. I know you like the back of my hand. Well, I'm here to tell you there isn't any order. No, sir. There's nothing but trouble.”

“How do you know anything about it?” I said.

“Oh, I spent a little time courtesy of the state. They had a subscription to all these science magazines. Nothing else to read. The pages of the
Playboy
s were all stuck together. Radios and TVs always blasting.”

He looked at Sara.

“They sure miss you down at the dealership and across the border,” he said.

“So, Judah sent you,” she said.

“Judah? That guy who runs the Palm? He's a friend of
mine. I guess that's right. But you come running up here and, you know, that makes everyone uncomfortable. See? Since we're thinking about going into business together.”

“No one has to worry,” she said.

“That's good. So long as we agree on how you pay off what you owe. This is a real chance. Why, those cars were just child's play, you know. For people who can't really face up to what's worth something. It's up to you, spitfire.” He looked at Sara. “I can tell you are a defiant one. Me too. I bet you know that, don't you?”

“I guess,” said Sara.

“Now, I'm not going to ask you to come with me. Not now. I'm going to let you think about it. I know that any woman with some spunk in her will have the desire to go with a man who is unafraid. See?”

From the river there came the voices of the other two. They came up to the fire, too.

“Well, here they are,” said MD. He turned to Scott and Bo. “I've been wondering where you two have been.”

“We got lost,” Bo said.

“Damn lonely country up here,” said MD. He turned to Sara. “Isn't it?”

“What do you think you're doing?” I said.

His dark eyes were the same color as the black compost mushrooms grow in.

“Nothing,” he said. He shrugged. “Tell me, Sara, how did you get the shiner?”

“Ask these characters,” said Sara.

“See? Listen to that,” he said to the other two. “I guess that
puts me in my place, doesn't it? Why, you let her slip through your fingers.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” said Bo.

“Hit them harder, for Christ's sake,” said MD.

“This is a warning,” I said. “Leave us alone. Go back the way you came.”

The sound of the dark was that non-sound, that hiss and click, that rumble of the stream, and behind it the infinite silence of the stars, which began to appear, so much like the highlights in Sara's hair.

“Maybe we ought to give her a hand with these two guys,” said Bo. “This one looks pretty sick anyway. Maybe she doesn't want to be with them. Sick guy like that.”

“I told you,” I said.

“That's what they all say,” said MD. “Just words. Give us the woman. We'll let you catch your fish.”

“Go on,” I said.

“What's wrong with him?” said MD. He pointed at my father. “Walks funny.”

“If that's all you've got to say, why don't you go back down the way you came?” said my father.

“Just a minute, bub,” said MD.

“Bub?” I said.

“It's just a matter of speaking. I don't mean anything by it.” He waited. “You can see that, can't you?”

“I'm thinking about it,” I said.

We stood there. Some flecks of ember, like red insects, rose from the fire. My father stood up, the sweat on his face red now, as though he were firing a coal-burning engine on a ship
and he had just opened the door. You could almost smell the burning coal.

“Don't take it to heart,” said MD. “Save your strength.”

“Why don't you leave now?” said Sara.

“A regular spitfire,” said MD. He turned to the other two. “What did I tell you?” He looked back at her. “You'll think about me. I can tell. You're angry now, but you'll think about it.” He laughed. “That's something you can take to the bank.” He turned to the other two. “All right. Let's go.”

“I don't want to get lost,” said Bo.

“I know the way,” said MD. “Come on.”

They walked off into the dark rubble of the trees and turned along the stream, which was black but marked with white, almost zebra-like, where the water broke up around the rocks and streaked away from them. Even the sound of Bo's and Scott's singing and laughter receded into the darkness.

Sara said, “Well, what are we going to do now?”

“We'll go further up,” I said. I gestured upstream, into the Branch Brook Wilderness Area. “Up there.”

“We just keep going further and further away from a road and the further away we get the worse it seems . . . ,” said Sara.

She sat down, licking her lips and occasionally put a strand of hair behind her ear.

“All right,” I said. “Let's think it over.”

My father nodded, Yes, yes. He kept his head down. But even from the side his expression was the same as when he had mentioned that the scientific studies of the bone marrow transplants for his particular cancer showed an 18 percent increase in longevity, separate from any mortality caused by complications, which longevity was measure in weeks. Not
months. And then I considered MD and the bleached blonds. Would they be able to follow? Men who didn't know the woods? Or did meanness of spirit, or just outright malignity, have a method of navigating that had its own efficiency? And then I faced what I had suspected. If I had bought a gun, I would have had to use it on all of them, at once, otherwise they would have been waiting, hidden, on our way back. I rattled the pills in the bottles. Still plenty, but not as much as I would have liked. At least the touch of Sara's hand was unexpected, caressing.