Half an Inch of Water: Stories

by Percival Everett

  Clear of the snakes, Sam gently put down the child and collapsed, mainly in disbelief. He was swelling at both bites and either felt or imagined some tingling in his mouth. He felt weak. He was dizzy. He stood and guided the girl back through the maze of boulders to his horse. He tried the radio. Static. Dusk was on now and everything was indistinct. An owl hooted somewhere. The air was much colder. Or was it chills?

  By his reckoning he was six or seven miles from where he had left the sheriff. A voice scratched through the radio. He pressed the talk button. Say again. This is Innis. Nothing. In case you can hear me, I have little Penny with me. I repeat, the child is safe, unharmed and with me. However, I have managed to get myself bitten twice by rattlers. I’m about six miles southeast of the staging area. Be advised, need help. Do you read? Static. Maybe they heard me, he said to the girl. He pointed to his ear.

  He opened his knapsack, which he’d tied to the saddle, and pulled out his first-aid kit. Never leave home without a snakebite kit, kid. In fact, he’d never used a kit or treated a human for a bite. Bites to horses were rare and horses were so big that they usually just got sick and got better. Considering how long it had taken him to get to the kit, it seemed a lot like closing the barn door after whatever was already out.

  If only he’d been bitten only once, he’d probably be okay because of his size. But two bites, that was a different matter. He addressed the bite on his leg since it was more recent and because the snake had been bigger. He cut his pant leg with his pocket knife and ripped it up to his knee. He then swabbed the area of the bite with an antiseptic pad. He fumbled with the sterile blade, nearly dropped it when he pulled it from the plastic sleeve. He sliced through the two fang holes and used the extractor to draw out what poison he could. He hurt while he did it. For some reason, swearing helped and so he did, pleased at least that the child could not hear him. He wondered if she could swear in sign language. He finished, looked at his hand. He had reservations about using the same blade again. He decided not to. Penny watched. He stopped and listened. The world seemed quieter with her there.

  Sam studied the darkening landscape. He wished he had a flare gun, then laughed at himself. He could also wish that he could teleport them back in time. If we had some ham we could have ham and eggs if we had some eggs, he said. He tried the radio again. Dale’s voice scratched through.

  Dale, he said.

  Sam? Night air seems to help the signal.

  Dale, I found her. I have her here with me.

  He found her, Dale said to the others. There was cheering in the background.

  She’s okay, unhurt. I’m about six or so miles east and a little south of you. I wish I could be more precise.

  Copy that.

  Dale, I’ve been bitten twice by rattlers.

  Jesus, Sam. How bad?

  I don’t know. We’re going to start back. I have a flashlight burning. I’ll be sticking to flat ground. Come out and try to meet us.

  Roger that. We’ll find you.

  Leaving now.

  We’ll find you, Dale repeated.

  Sam took off his jacket and put it around Penny. He mounted and then pulled her up into the saddle in front of him. He cantered for a while, but the horse felt uneven. The girl didn’t add enough weight to be a problem. He stopped, got down, and looked at the horse’s feet. The animal had a quarter crack on his left forefoot. He was hurting. If the animal came up lame, they’d be in a real fix, he thought. He left Penny in the saddle and led the horse, walking as briskly as he could. His mouth was surely tingling now. The swelling at both sites was now undeniable. He was sweating and his mouth was wet with saliva. The sweating made him cold and then there were the chills. He did not yet feel nauseated, but he knew that was coming. He wished the girl could hear and speak, because he needed the distraction of conversation to keep himself together. Zip stayed extra-close, sensing trouble. I’ll be all right, girl, he said to the dog. You just keep me awake.

  It was dark now. The nausea was beginning. The dizziness was more profound. He was glad he wasn’t in the saddle. He’d probably slide right off. He was worried about a lot of things now. Walking in a straight line is hard to do, he remembered, and without a distant point of reference it is impossible. Given his disorientation there would be no reckoning by the stars, even if he could do it. The last thing he needed was to lead them off into the wilderness away from where they were expected to be. He stopped the horse and brought the girl down. He pushed down in the air with his palms, trying to say that they would wait there. He pulled some sagebrush together into a pile and in short order she was helping. He broke off some creosote branches and started a fire. There was a lot of smoke at first. It stung his eyes. He then imagined that the burning sage might cleanse him. He fanned it over his body as he’d seen Old Dave do on many occasions. He laughed at himself. He looked to find the child doing the same thing. He pushed at the fire and watched it catch better.

  He put on more branches. The fire was large now, he thought, easy to spot from the sky or a distance. It warmed them, but it did nothing to stop his chills. He heard a plane someplace. Penny took his hand, his bitten hand. He looked at her, felt himself drifting. He watched the flames, advancing, retreating, dancing, hypnotic the way flames always are. There was Dave Wednesday, younger than he had ever been while Sam knew him, sitting in front of a fireplace in a cabin.

  You’re thinking you’re having a vision, aren’t you? Dave said.

  Pretty much. As offensive as that must be to you.

  Snakebit?

  Afraid so.

  Dave offered Sam a mug of coffee. It’s real strong, will keep you awake for days and days. You’re not a spiritual person.

  That’s an understatement.

  Yet here you are, hallucinating stereotypes.

  Pretty much. Sam drank some coffee. It was actually rather weak, though it was too hot even to sip. So, how do I handle these bites?

  You’re the doctor.

  I forgot. The earthquake sort of scared me. You were dead, so you didn’t feel it. It was the surprise more than anything.

  I felt it. Where are the bites? Dave asked.

  Back of my leg and on this hand. Little snake bit me here. He held up his hand. This is the one I’m worried about. I didn’t cut into it.

  Okay.

  Dave held his hand and looked closely at it.

  When Sam opened his eyes, he was sitting in front of the sage fire with Penny. The fire had not died down at all. He pushed some more fuel onto it. He felt the warmth of it and realized that his chills were gone. He looked at his hand. The bite marks were there, but the swelling was not. He wiggled his fingers. He looked at the girl. She was staring at the fire. He considered that he might be dreaming still. He looked through the smoke at the sky. It was a clear night, deep, black. He spotted a shooting star. He glanced to see if the child had seen it also and she had.

  She made a sign that Sam assumed meant star or shooting star. He repeated it back to her.

  She nodded, smiled.

  Sam felt good. He pulled away the flap of his ripped trouser leg and tried to observe that bite, but couldn’t see it. He put his fingers to the site of the bite and it did not feel swollen. It was not tender to his touch.

  He stood and offered his hand to help Penny to her feet. Let’s move, he said, and pointed west. He kicked out the fire and stood in the middle of the smoke for a few seconds. He walked over and put the girl on the horse and they walked on. After about a quarter mile, the headlights of a vehicle appeared. Sam took the flashlight he had strapped to the saddle horn and waved it back and forth.

  The 4x4 stopped and three men got out. Sam couldn’t make them out, but he recognized the sheriff’s voice calling out to him.

  When their faces were clear, Penny went running to one of the men. Sam knew it was her father. The third man was a county paramedic. Sam had seen him before, but didn’t know his name.

  How you doing? Dale asked.

  Sam knew
he looked confused, out of it, but strangely that was only because he felt perfectly fine. I think I’m okay, he said.

  Let me see the bites, the paramedic said.

  Sam held out his hand. The symptoms went away, he said. Just like that. No chills, no swelling, nothing.

  The medic shone his light on the wound. Well, there is a bite here, all right. But there’s no swelling. I don’t have to tell you that’s a good thing. Must have been a dry bite.

  Sam nodded. He didn’t mention that it had been swollen. And on the back of my leg, here. He pulled away the pant leg.

  The paramedic whistled. Yep, another one. I see you cut yourself. No swelling here either. Two dry bites. I’d play the lottery tonight, if I were you. You up-to-date with your tetanus shot?

  Sam said he was.

  The medic had Sam sit on the ground and took his blood pressure. He whistled again. One twenty over eighty.

  Dale looked at Sam’s face. You all right?

  Sam nodded. Apparently. He stood.

  The girl’s father came and hugged Sam. Thank you, he said. Thank you for finding my Penny.

  You’re welcome, Sam said, unsure. The fact that he felt perfectly well was unsettling and disorienting. He looked down at Penny and signed friend.

  She signed back, but Sam didn’t understand.

  What did she say? Sam asked her father.

  She said you will be fine now.

  Sam looked at her eyes. She hugged his legs and he put his hand against her back. He dropped to a knee and hugged her back. He was so confused. He didn’t know why he was not light-headed and nauseated and sweaty. Feeling healthy had never felt so strange. He looked at the father.

  She’s special, the man said.

  Yes, she is, Sam said.

  The sheriff put his hand on Sam’s shoulder.

  Sam looked at the stars.

  I know you’re exhausted.

  Sam nodded but said nothing. On the contrary, he felt remarkably rested. Except for his profound confusion he felt very well. You call Sophie?

  She’s on her way.

  The paramedic shook his head again. I ain’t never seen two dry bites. The wounds don’t look a bit angry.

  Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth, the sheriff said. I reckon I’ll ride the horse on back.

  No, Dale, he’s got a cracked hoof. I’ll walk him back. You go back with the girl. The man moved to protest. Really, Sam said. I need to be alone with my thoughts for a short while.

  Okay, Doc, you got it.

  I’ll stay with you, the paramedic said.

  Thanks, but I want you to ride back with them.

  The young man looked at the sheriff and the sheriff nodded for him to get into the vehicle.

  Penny left her father and stood again in front of Sam. She signed friend. The one word, as if she were speaking to a child. Then she signed what Sam understood to be thank you.

  Thank you, he said. He signed her name.

  Stonefly

  Years ago there had been a rope hanging from a big branch over the river and for a decade kids would swing out over the water, let go, and listen to the cheers and shouts of friends while they crashed into the pool. Then a boy named Bobby Dench tried a backflip and broke his neck. He didn’t die. His family moved away, some said to Rifle, some said to Gunnison, but it was Colorado. The rope and the branch disappeared. That didn’t stop sixteen-year-old Rachel Lowry from getting drunk and drowning in that very pool on the first day of autumn, 1980. She was found by her father and taken home to her mother. Her brother, Daniel, was eight at the time and watched his father appear at the edge of the yard with the rag doll that was his sister. He stood where he was, planted by the tomato garden, and watched his father fall exhausted and stricken to his knees, watched his mother scream over the girl’s body, watched the family’s golden retriever tug at her soaked pant leg. Daniel would not smile for six years. And when he finally did, no one knew why. It was likely he didn’t either.

  Daniel would saddle up every Saturday morning at six and ride down along the creek to the beaver dam. He’d cast blue wing olive patterns and catch trout after trout. He would let the fish go and catch another or perhaps the same fish, as he always let them go. His father had always insisted on it. It was preserving the home water. He would do this until noon, without any apparent joy, then ride home with his last catch of the day. He would clean it, fry it, eat it, and then go about his chores. He was a small fourteen, but he would manage without complaint the hundred-pound bales of hay and all the other work his father assigned him.

  Every Saturday afternoon his mother drove him to town and waited while he sat with his therapist. Daniel didn’t mind his visits to the woman. He didn’t take her all that seriously. She and her husband had bought an expensive spread to live the good life and found themselves isolated and bored and now she was seeing patients a few days a week. Daniel had been with her for eighteen months, so she knew well enough what this time of year meant to him.

  “Weather’s nice, isn’t it?” Dr. Feller said. “I love the late-summer flowers.” She sipped her coffee. “So, what’s been on your mind?”

  “Not much. School.”

  “Any thoughts about your sister?” She cleared her throat. “Might as well get right to it, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess you’ve been thinking about her or you guess we should get right to it?”

  “You’re the one who put the question badly.”

  She scribbled on her pad. “Thoughts about your sister?”

  “A few,” Daniel said.

  “Like what?”

  “Like she’s dead.”

  “And how do you feel about that?”

  He’d been over it all before. “What do you want me to say? I don’t hate her for dying. I don’t resent her. I’m not even sure I miss her anymore.”

  The analyst scribbled.

  “Want to hear about my dreams?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “I don’t have dreams.”

  “Everybody dreams,” she said.

  “What do you dream about?” Daniel asked.

  She scribbled.

  “Who are those notes for?” he asked.

  “For me.”

  “They can’t be very interesting.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “What do you find interesting about them?”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you did this morning?”

  “Look at last week’s notes,” Daniel said. “They will say that I saddled a roan gelding named Puker and went fishing. Just like every Saturday.”

  “Are you angry with me? About coming here?”

  Daniel smiled at her. “Not at all.”

  “Then why the hostility?”

  He looked out the window and said, calmly, “Why do you consider this hostility?”

  “You don’t seem pleased.”

  “Is a person supposed to seem pleased all the time?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Are you pleased right now?” Daniel asked.

  The therapist scribbled.

  Daniel walked outside and got into the car with his mother.

  “How was that?” she asked, just as she asked every Saturday. She started the Subaru.

  “Fine.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “We talked about fishing and like that. Why do you keep bringing me here? I know you’re worried that I’m talking about you in there.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  At home Daniel cleaned out the tack room like his father requested. He finished sweeping and backed into his father, who had been watching from the doorway. His father looked at the room and nodded.

  “You cleaned all the saddles, too?” his father asked.

  “Yes sir.”

  “That’s too bad. Now you’ve got to do it twice after covering them with dust from your sweeping.”

  Daniel
looked at the dust floating in the air, lit by the sun through the window. He didn’t say anything, just put the broom aside.

  His father also said nothing more, just turned and walked away and out of the barn. Daniel stood, stared at the settling dust, and set to work again on the saddles. He didn’t polish the leather, merely wiped them down, but his father’s point had been made. Daniel didn’t think ahead. He, as always, had the order of things all turned around. He was a fuckup. He tarried in the tack room until he was certain he was late for supper.

  He wandered inside to find his plate waiting for him on the kitchen table. His mother was washing the dishes. His father was lighting a fire in the fireplace shared by the kitchen and living room.

  “Finished out there?” the man asked.

  “All done.” Daniel sat at the table.

  “I can heat that up for you, if you want,” his mother said.

  “It’s fine, thanks.”

  When the fire was burning his parents went into the living room and sat in front of it. Daniel studied their legs through the window of orange light while he chewed on cold chicken. They sat close together, but did not touch.

  The next morning, after feeding the horses and cleaning out the water barrels, Daniel saddled Puker and rode to the beaver dam to find that in the night it had broken in several places. He imagined a bear or maybe a wolf—they were around again—but he really had no clue. It changed the stream’s face. He rode back against the current, studying the mud and the foam. He stopped finally and fished a riffle, using a zug bug, which he had always thought of as cheating. He stood midstream and covered the fast water without success. However, the creek’s newness was startling and he found himself leaving Puker to munch grass while he hiked upstream. He spent the better part of the morning being seduced by lie after lie until he remembered the horse. He put his line back on his reel and realized he was not so far now from the pool where his sister had drowned. He had not been back there since her death. He thought he could see the big cottonwood that once held the swinging rope. He thought about his therapist and how this was just the sort of thing she’d want to hear about and he knew he’d never tell her. He’d never tell her, because it didn’t amount to anything. He didn’t feel a thing and had no thought beyond recognition of that place. He turned around and fished his way downstream and to his horse. The horse was standing when he found his way back but was nervous.