move was deliberate, decisive, careful, and yet she distrusted him. The moment he drew close enough that she could smell him, she was surprised to discover that his smell was quite like that of a forest. She was further surprised by the lightness of his touch when, finally, he employed the use of his right hand, which he’d reserved for the express purpose of checking her pulse. First, he checked it at the wrist, then at the neck, keeping count silently with his lips. Eva shuddered inwardly as he set his right hand flat on the bare skin of her abdomen.
Jacob returned from his charge. Haw took the pot of hot water and the glass from him and set them both upon the chest of drawers. He poured out a small glass of liquid and brought it to Eva’s bedside and instructed her to drink it, which she did hesitantly. He took the empty glass from her and set it back on the chest, then began sprinkling herbs into the pot of water: leaves and stems and roots,
dong guai
and
shu-di-huang
and dried rhubarb. He instructed Jacob to boil it on the stove and inquired about the whereabouts of the doctor. Jacob told him that Newnham had been summoned west of Joyce, where a logging mishap had occurred along the Hoko River.
As Eva sipped the hot elixir, her eyelids grew heavy. She was glassy-eyed and perspiring profusely. Finally, she slipped off into semi-consciousness. For the next two hours, she faded in and out of this state, plagued by feverish visions, ink blots and ghostly tracers in the lamplight. At one point it was snowing in the room, but the snow was black and sizzling hot on her skin, and the voice of her brother seemed to be coming from the mouth of the Chinaman. And the Chinaman looked in turns like the devil and the face of the moon. Mercurial thoughts flitted in and out of her head, impressions she could no more apprehend than she could stand upon her own strength and walk out the door. She sensed dimly that the world had lost all order, that she had no dominion over the events shaping her consciousness.
----
ETHAN LEFT THE head of the canyon shortly after dawn, his spirit electric. He could not move nor even think fast enough to keep pace with the future as he strode down the mountain. He took no change of clothes on his journey, only his pipe, a bit of fish, and a crust of bread. The trail was fraught with calamity from the outset: washed out and riddled with downed timber. A quarter mile downriver from the head of the canyon, he turned his ankle on the rutty path, forcing him to slow his pace.
By the time he rejoined the trail on the far side of the swamp, he had walked off the pain of his ankle, but he rolled it once more, not half an hour later, while fording the river. His feet were pulled from beneath him, and he reared backward in the current, jamming his crooked thumb upon the rocks. He watched helplessly as the river took his bread and fish. When he reached the far bank, he was forced to build a fire and dry his clothing by the heat of it. A light rain needled his naked back as he huddled against the chill for several hours.
When at last Ethan stormed into the little white house an hour before dusk, he did so with a considerable hitch in his gait and his right arm pressed firmly against his stomach, as though held in place by an invisible sling. Upon confronting Jacob in the foyer, it was apparent at once to Ethan that something was wrong. Wrong enough to negate any unfinished business between the two men.
Ethan bore little resemblance to the man Jacob had confronted in Seattle. The elements had beaten all airs of the dandy out of him. His face had not seen a razor in weeks. His cheeks were sallow, and filth gathered in the creases of his forehead. His hair was wild, his clothing was rough, soiled in patches, and the air all about him stunk like a dead campfire. But Jacob recognized for the first time some singularity of intent in that silver-eyed gaze.
“Where is she?” said Ethan. “Am I too late?”
Jacob
Jacob returned from his charge. Haw took the pot of hot water and the glass from him and set them both upon the chest of drawers. He poured out a small glass of liquid and brought it to Eva’s bedside and instructed her to drink it, which she did hesitantly. He took the empty glass from her and set it back on the chest, then began sprinkling herbs into the pot of water: leaves and stems and roots,
dong guai
and
shu-di-huang
and dried rhubarb. He instructed Jacob to boil it on the stove and inquired about the whereabouts of the doctor. Jacob told him that Newnham had been summoned west of Joyce, where a logging mishap had occurred along the Hoko River.
As Eva sipped the hot elixir, her eyelids grew heavy. She was glassy-eyed and perspiring profusely. Finally, she slipped off into semi-consciousness. For the next two hours, she faded in and out of this state, plagued by feverish visions, ink blots and ghostly tracers in the lamplight. At one point it was snowing in the room, but the snow was black and sizzling hot on her skin, and the voice of her brother seemed to be coming from the mouth of the Chinaman. And the Chinaman looked in turns like the devil and the face of the moon. Mercurial thoughts flitted in and out of her head, impressions she could no more apprehend than she could stand upon her own strength and walk out the door. She sensed dimly that the world had lost all order, that she had no dominion over the events shaping her consciousness.
----
ETHAN LEFT THE head of the canyon shortly after dawn, his spirit electric. He could not move nor even think fast enough to keep pace with the future as he strode down the mountain. He took no change of clothes on his journey, only his pipe, a bit of fish, and a crust of bread. The trail was fraught with calamity from the outset: washed out and riddled with downed timber. A quarter mile downriver from the head of the canyon, he turned his ankle on the rutty path, forcing him to slow his pace.
By the time he rejoined the trail on the far side of the swamp, he had walked off the pain of his ankle, but he rolled it once more, not half an hour later, while fording the river. His feet were pulled from beneath him, and he reared backward in the current, jamming his crooked thumb upon the rocks. He watched helplessly as the river took his bread and fish. When he reached the far bank, he was forced to build a fire and dry his clothing by the heat of it. A light rain needled his naked back as he huddled against the chill for several hours.
When at last Ethan stormed into the little white house an hour before dusk, he did so with a considerable hitch in his gait and his right arm pressed firmly against his stomach, as though held in place by an invisible sling. Upon confronting Jacob in the foyer, it was apparent at once to Ethan that something was wrong. Wrong enough to negate any unfinished business between the two men.
Ethan bore little resemblance to the man Jacob had confronted in Seattle. The elements had beaten all airs of the dandy out of him. His face had not seen a razor in weeks. His cheeks were sallow, and filth gathered in the creases of his forehead. His hair was wild, his clothing was rough, soiled in patches, and the air all about him stunk like a dead campfire. But Jacob recognized for the first time some singularity of intent in that silver-eyed gaze.
“Where is she?” said Ethan. “Am I too late?”
Jacob
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