Mount Terminus by David Grand

gaze acknowledged he knew he was being observed. He made no attempt to wave or nod; he only tucked his hands into his trouser pockets and glared at them. And with his face now unobstructed by the others, Bloom was overcome by the uncanny feeling that he knew this young man. He was somehow familiar to him. Strangely so. He eased the binoculars away from his face and looked at his father, who said, They will be coming for a share of our water next.
    And we will give it to them?
    Yes, said Jacob.
    The man below continued to look up to Bloom and his father, and Bloom could see when he raised the binoculars again, a dark emotion had entered the young man’s eyes. He began to tilt in their direction, and an instant later he was walking toward them. I want you to leave me now, said the elder Rosenbloom. I’d like to have a few words alone with this man.
    Do you know him?
    Please, my dear, be on your way.
    Bloom did as he was told. He stepped back and walked the way he had come, and when he reached the courtyard, he climbed up to the studio landing, where he looked down to the stand of eucalyptus and saw through the binoculars the man emerge from the steep hike up the hill. The elder Rosenbloom extended his hand, but the young man didn’t take it. His father said a few words now, to which came no response. The elder Rosenbloom tried once more, but the young man stood his ground, and this time when his father failed to elicit a reaction, he made a polite gesture and walked away in the direction of his gardens. The young man watched the elder Rosenbloom walk off, and then, with his fists clenched at his sides, he followed.
    This disturbing behavior concerned Bloom, so he, too, followed. He ran down the steps, into the villa, through the kitchen, and leaped up the stairwell of the tower, taking steps two by two, to the pavilion landing. Once there, he saw Jacob’s head wending through the maze of hedgerows, and saw his pursuer wasn’t very far behind. When they reached the corner of the garden for which his father was bound, the young man in the white suit looked up to see the topiary, and at the sight of it, he allowed his eyes to wander from the elder Rosenbloom to the leafy figure. He circled around it once, and then again, this time shaking his head. Bloom watched him through the eyepiece of the telescope now, and could see an expression of disbelief in the openness of his mouth and eyes. He now said something. What, Bloom, of course, couldn’t hear, but he believed he saw form on his lips No or How. And then You as he pointed a finger at the elder Rosenbloom. And another No or How. The sensation Bloom felt earlier returned. There was something familiar about this young man’s face, something familial, perhaps. And now his father’s pursuer circled the topiary one last time, and when he said his last words, he spat at Jacob’s feet and threw up a hand in disgust. When he reached the drive, Bloom could clearly see the shadows of his arms casting rude gestures onto the gravel below.
    *   *   *
    Over dinner that evening, Bloom asked his father why the man from the plateau had been so angry with him. He wanted to know if they had met each other before today. The elder Rosenbloom would only say, I would like for you to go out and make his acquaintance. The questions you have for me, pose them to him. And then we will talk. On the subject of the angry young man, he would say no more.
    *   *   *
    As the elder Rosenbloom said would happen, the same group of engineers and surveyors they had watched shape the lots below walked onto the estate some days later and began marking the land for a pipeline. Bloom, who, in Roya’s constant company, had begun to sketch his illustrations of Death, Forlorn in the meticulous style of drawing he discovered in Manuel Salazar’s sketchbook, watched from the studio as they staked a route from the spring’s outlet. Through the