Conner outpulled Rob, his legs pumping as his thoughts raced. They rounded the corner and stopped outside Doc Welshs place
Closed, Rob said.
There was a sign on the door. Half the stalls they had passed were closed, but a glance at the sun told him it was after nine. Theyd been hiking for almost five hours. What in the world is going on? he asked. He dropped the line and went back to the girl on the tent. Rob was right about the wear on the canvas. Conner could see where it was tearing. He pulled his canteen out of his pack and knelt by the girl to give her more water.
Is it a special Sunday? Rob asked.
Not that I know of. Conner poured a capful there in the shade of the doctors office. Bang on the door, he said.
His brother did. A woman with a load balanced on her head hurried past. Hey, Conner called to her.
She slowed. The load wobbled as she turned her head.
You know if Doc is out on a call?
The lady looked at them both like they were from the northern wastes. She gave the girl lying still on the folded canvas a brief glance. Probably out looking for Danvar, she said. Havent you heard?
Danvar?
Conner asked, quite certain hed heard wrong.
The lady didnt dare nod. They found it, she said. Half the towns out there now. The other half is scrambling for their coin. Ive gotta go.
She and her load turned and headed off.
Wait! Conner called out. This girl needs help!
Good luck, the lady called.
Conner turned and beseeched the next couple who hurried past, two men with dive tanks on their backs who made a concerted effort not to look his way, not to even glance at him for fear of the guilt they might suffer. Rob looked like he was on the verge of tears. The cap of water disappeared into the girls mouth, but she didnt swallow. Conner tried to feel for a pulse, but he didnt really know how. Maybe that was his own pulse in his thumb he was sensing.
What the hell? he asked. He studied his hands, which were raw from the haul. His legs ached from the long hike with the weight of the girl and the tent. There were doctors deeper into Springston he couldnt afford, but he could tell them what the girl promised. What she might mean. Or he could go door to door in Shantytown and beg for help. Hope someone might know more to do than give her water and clean the sand out of her wounds.
What about Mother? Rob asked.
Conners hands shook as he twisted the cap back onto the canteen. He peered up at his brother, who had tears streaking down both cheeks. It was the worst idea either of them could possibly have. But it was also likely that their mother was the only person who would take the girl in, who might know what to do for her.
Goddamn you, Conner told his brother. He cursed him for being right.
39 A Rose on the Pillow
The crack up there was getting worse as well. Widening. A zig at the end that used to be a zag, moving its way back and forth across that warped surface. The sands were shifting, the walls twisting, a house out of shape.
And the springs. The springs of the bed needed oiling. They sounded like the mad call of some crazed bird, some animal that chirped over and over, waiting for a response, for some hint of life, for awareness from some other, but only getting a rhythmic silence. A pause for every squeak. Week, week, week, week. Years piling up.
Her husband had brought her the bed triumphantly, had raised it from nearly four hundred meters, or so hed bragged. And it was heavy. She could attest to that. Rose had moved it with a friend when the palace had fallen. It was all she had left in the world: the bed, that dresser, this brothel. It was fitting how her husband had left her prepared for her new life. Other men concerned themselves with getting their family up on their feet. Rose had fallen for a man who had left her on her back.
How was that for you? the man asked. He had evidently finished. Was now looking down at her expectantly, sweat dripping from his nose to splash between her breasts. His armsmuscled but layered with fattrembled. There was more hair on his shoulders than his head, and his beard was full of sand.
Oh, youre the best, Rose told him.
Ah, youre just saying that. He grunted and fell to the side, a flock of startled springs chirping.
Im not, Rose said. You know youre my favorite. She prayed to the gods he wouldnt ask her what his name was. Please, please, please dont ask. They always wanted to hear it, to make it personal, to own more than just her time. But he didnt ask. Worse: he started snoring.
Rose groaned and moved gingerly to the washbasin. She pulled the sewn intestine out from between her legs and washed it in the shallow puddle of water. The milky swimmers swirled on the surface with the others before slowly settling to the bottom. Rose draped the intestine over the lip of the basin with two others to dry. With a towel, she wiped off what had leaked out and had dribbled down her inner thigh to her knee. She dressed while the man snored. She would charge him rent for the bed if he stayed more than an hour. Serve him right.