make more spiritual sense than any ten sermons Jerry Falwell ever gave."
Dinah, unsmiling, adjusted the lens of her camera. Kate sat silent, He sighed. "Anyway, when I was sixteen there was this girl, and of course nobody bothered to tell us how not to, so she got pregnant. Her father was the minister of our church. She was scared to death he was going to find out, and I was scared to death my father was." He looked down at his clenched hands. "That was back in the days when it wasn't legal. I talked around, got a phone number, made an appointment. I borrowed a car and drove us to Memphis, and we met this guy who looked like Count Dracula in a motel on Interstate Fifty-five. I was ready to call it off right then, I even told her we could get married, but she said no. We both had plans, you know? We were getting out, going away to school, she was going to be a doctor and join the Peace Corps, I was--well, that don't matter. She insisted on going through with it."
He looked up and caught their expressions. "No, she didn't die.
Something did go wrong, though, and she wound up in the hospital and our parents found out everything, and her father came after me. Mine did, too, for that matter. They beat on me, taking turns. My momma watched."
He stretched his shoulders, as if remembering the blows. "I guess I deserved it. Anyway, I didn't fight it. I thought--hell, I don't know what I thought, I guess I thought if I took my punishment, that'd be an end to it." "It wasn't," Dinah said. It wasn't a question.
"No." His hands opened, rubbed his stubs as if they ached. "In church the next Sunday, they called me a fornicator. From the pulpit." His smile was twisted. "In front of the whole congregation, in front of our families, in front of all our friends, in front of all the people we'd grown up next to, had known all our lives."
The smile faded. His face tightened. "They called her a whore. And a murderer."
Kate closed her eyes, opened them again.
"That night she got in the bathtub and slit her wrists."
Dinah's breath drew in audibly.
Bobby stared out, unseeing, across the valley, at the Kanuyaq gleaming blue-white in the sun, at the white clouds massed against the horizon, interrupted by the occasional mountain peak. "I lit out."
"Where'd you go?" Again, the question came from Dinah.
"Memphis. Lied about my age and joined the Marines. Got shipped way down yonder to Vietnam. I didn't care." Kate flinched at his smile.
"I'll tell you, the Nam seemed like an oasis of sanity, compared to what I'd left behind."
"And when you got out you came to Alaska."
He nodded. "When I got out of rehab, anyway." He rubbed his stumps again. "It took a long time to heal these suckers up." He looked up at Kate and saw her watching him, and he glared at her, daring to see pity in her eyes.
She lowered them before he could. His parents' religion had gotten its claws into Bobby at an early age and sunk them in deep, so that pain and sacrifice were concepts he subconsciously understood and accepted, maybe even embraced. He'd traded his legs in Vietnam for that girl's life back in Nut bush, Tennessee, whether he knew it or not. No wonder there had never been any bitterness over their loss, no anger over what the lack of them prevented him from doing. Somewhere in the back of Bobby's mind, his legs had been offered up on a sacrificial altar, attached to a bill made out to him and stamped
"Paid in Full." He wouldn't have called it a fair price, either. He might even feel he still owed.
Kate hoped not.
In fourteen years, this was the most she'd ever heard about his past.
Oh, she knew about his military service, the missing legs had to be explained, and the Tet Anniversary Party he held every year for the Park's vets would have been a slight clue anyway. Alaska was funny that way. When Outsiders came into the country, it was as if their previous life had never existed. Alaska was a place to start over, to begin anew, to carve a new identity out of
Dinah, unsmiling, adjusted the lens of her camera. Kate sat silent, He sighed. "Anyway, when I was sixteen there was this girl, and of course nobody bothered to tell us how not to, so she got pregnant. Her father was the minister of our church. She was scared to death he was going to find out, and I was scared to death my father was." He looked down at his clenched hands. "That was back in the days when it wasn't legal. I talked around, got a phone number, made an appointment. I borrowed a car and drove us to Memphis, and we met this guy who looked like Count Dracula in a motel on Interstate Fifty-five. I was ready to call it off right then, I even told her we could get married, but she said no. We both had plans, you know? We were getting out, going away to school, she was going to be a doctor and join the Peace Corps, I was--well, that don't matter. She insisted on going through with it."
He looked up and caught their expressions. "No, she didn't die.
Something did go wrong, though, and she wound up in the hospital and our parents found out everything, and her father came after me. Mine did, too, for that matter. They beat on me, taking turns. My momma watched."
He stretched his shoulders, as if remembering the blows. "I guess I deserved it. Anyway, I didn't fight it. I thought--hell, I don't know what I thought, I guess I thought if I took my punishment, that'd be an end to it." "It wasn't," Dinah said. It wasn't a question.
"No." His hands opened, rubbed his stubs as if they ached. "In church the next Sunday, they called me a fornicator. From the pulpit." His smile was twisted. "In front of the whole congregation, in front of our families, in front of all our friends, in front of all the people we'd grown up next to, had known all our lives."
The smile faded. His face tightened. "They called her a whore. And a murderer."
Kate closed her eyes, opened them again.
"That night she got in the bathtub and slit her wrists."
Dinah's breath drew in audibly.
Bobby stared out, unseeing, across the valley, at the Kanuyaq gleaming blue-white in the sun, at the white clouds massed against the horizon, interrupted by the occasional mountain peak. "I lit out."
"Where'd you go?" Again, the question came from Dinah.
"Memphis. Lied about my age and joined the Marines. Got shipped way down yonder to Vietnam. I didn't care." Kate flinched at his smile.
"I'll tell you, the Nam seemed like an oasis of sanity, compared to what I'd left behind."
"And when you got out you came to Alaska."
He nodded. "When I got out of rehab, anyway." He rubbed his stumps again. "It took a long time to heal these suckers up." He looked up at Kate and saw her watching him, and he glared at her, daring to see pity in her eyes.
She lowered them before he could. His parents' religion had gotten its claws into Bobby at an early age and sunk them in deep, so that pain and sacrifice were concepts he subconsciously understood and accepted, maybe even embraced. He'd traded his legs in Vietnam for that girl's life back in Nut bush, Tennessee, whether he knew it or not. No wonder there had never been any bitterness over their loss, no anger over what the lack of them prevented him from doing. Somewhere in the back of Bobby's mind, his legs had been offered up on a sacrificial altar, attached to a bill made out to him and stamped
"Paid in Full." He wouldn't have called it a fair price, either. He might even feel he still owed.
Kate hoped not.
In fourteen years, this was the most she'd ever heard about his past.
Oh, she knew about his military service, the missing legs had to be explained, and the Tet Anniversary Party he held every year for the Park's vets would have been a slight clue anyway. Alaska was funny that way. When Outsiders came into the country, it was as if their previous life had never existed. Alaska was a place to start over, to begin anew, to carve a new identity out of
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