by Jill Barnett
“What’re you waiting for?” She handed the bird another treat, which it took, swallowed, then gave Sam a look that, if possible for a bird, could have been a sly smile.
Sam’s forehead throbbed; he ground his teeth together. “That bird is not going with us.”
“Of course she is. Jim gave her to me.”
Fists ready, Sam spun around. He’d kill Jim, wrap his hands around his throat, and strangle the man who used to be his best friend.
The soldiers milled around, watching as the cocks perform the tricks Lollie had taught them. Sam searched the crowd for Jim’s blond head. He’d disappeared.
“I thought you were in a hurry,” Lollie said.
Sam turned back, his face hot with suppressed anger. She shifted this way and that, situating herself on top of the supplies like the Queen of Sheba. Sam eyed the bird from hell. “One word, just one word out of that bird and—”
“Sam’s an ass! Ha-ha-ha-ha-hah!” Medusa hopped down onto Lollie’s shoulder.
“Shhhh! Medusa. Sam’s crabby.” Lollie turned to the bird and lifted her finger to her lips. “I think he’s feeling wretched.”
Sam spun around, grabbed the prod, and poked the lead carabao up the dirt road. The cart lurched forward, creaking and rocking as its hand-carved wheels wobbled along.
“Awwwk! To save a wretch like Sam!”
Sam slowly turned around.
“Shhh!” Lollie told the bird, then looked at Sam and shrugged.
He turned back, knew he was scowling, but didn’t care. His head hurt. He hunched his shoulders and guided the carabao up the road. Four days, he thought. Only four more days and then she’ll be gone. Four days of Lollie LaRue and that damn bird, and then his life would return to normal. There’d be no more trouble, and everything would be all right.
By that afternoon, when the rear carabao plopped its eight-hundred-pound butt into the dirt for the sixth time, Sam was convinced that nothing would ever be right again. They had left the camp with that bird from hell singing and whistling and name-calling. Two hours up the mountain road the front carabao had decided it was tired. It fell to the ground with all the aplomb of a dead elephant.
He tugged on the carabao’s harness. The animal didn’t budge. He went around to the spare carabao and untied it, planning to switch early. He brought it forward, unharnessed the tired one and prodded it up and back to the rear of the cart, where he tied it to the gate. Once the spare beast was harnessed, Sam prodded it on, only to watch in frustration as it lay down the minute it felt the drag of the load.
After ten minutes of poking, swearing, and tugging on the harness, he managed to get them moving again. Sam held the lead rope, ignored his pounding head, and walked alongside the carabao. Lollie sat in the cart singing with that bird. The road circled around, with turn after turn, some sharper than others. The wheels crunched over the rocks in the road, and the wind suddenly picked up, swirling and drifting as they moved up the mountain. Sam looked west, where huge dark rain clouds crept over the horizon. Rain was all he needed.
The clouds moved slowly, although not nearly as slowly as the carabao. He’d met army mules less stubborn than these beasts. Another turn and the land on either side of the road leveled out, with a tall rain forest on the left and a rice terrace on the right. One look at the murky water in the rice field, and the lead carabao bawled loud enough to shake the ground, then made a sharp right, jerking the lead from Sam’s hand in the fastest move the animal had made yet. It trotted, cart and all, away from Sam and over to the sodden rice field for a mud bath.
“Sam! Sam! What’s it doing?” Lollie, still in the cart, was up on her knees, shouting at him. He reached the edge of the field just in time to watch the cart wheels disappear into the thick brown mud.
“Dammit to hell!” He waded into the water after them. “Sam . . .”
“What!”
“The cart’s sinking.”
“I can see that!” He moved to unhitch the animals before they decided to roll in the mud, which he knew they were prone to do. Once the hitch was undone and the rear carabao untied, Sam breathed a relieved breath and sagged back against the cart.
It sank some more. He squatted almost shoulder high in the muddy water and felt around to see how deep the wheels were stuck. The cart shifted and moved, and a blond head popped over the side to look at him. “What’re you doing?”
“Making mud pies.” He scowled up at her. “What the hell does it look like I’m doing?”
“I don’t know. If I’d known I wouldn’t have asked.”
“Awk! Sam’s here! Get a shovel!”
“Can’t you shut that bird up?”
“Shhh, Medusa. Sam’s mad.”
“Mad Sam! Mad Sam!”
Sam rammed his fist into the silty bottom, pretending it was Medusa’s head, and felt around for the wheel rim. It was stuck in about a foot of mud, but the mud was soft and loose, so he had a chance of being able to pull the cart out himself. He jerked his hand out and swished it around in the water, then walked over to the cart. “Climb out and get on my back, and I’ll carry you to the road.”
She crawled over to the edge of the cart. “Be quiet, Medusa,” she warned the bird, still perched on her shoulder. She slid her feet around his waist and fell onto his back, her hands covering his eye and patch.
“I can’t see,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Sorry.” She slid her arms in a death grip around his neck.
He could feel the bird right next to his ear. Then something pulled his hair.
“Medusa! Stop that! You let go of Sam’s hair, right now! That’s not nice.” She turned her head back toward him and said, “Sorry.”
“Awwwwk! Sam’s not nice!” The bird screeched into his ear.
Sam slogged through the rice field and trudged up the small bank. He stopped at the road. “Get down.”
She slid down his back, and Medusa squawked, “Wheeeeeeeee!”
Lollie’s sprained ankle hit the ground, and she gasped when it gave way.
He grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”
She nodded.
“Just sit down here. This’ll take a while,” he said, holding her arm while she sat down. The bird paced her shoulder. By the time he’d turned to wade back, she was feeding it peanuts, which he hoped would choke it, or at least make it shut up.
He waded back into the water and went to the cart, dug the wagon tongue out of the mud, and slipped the harness over his own shoulders. Three deep breaths and he pulled hard. It moved one blasted inch.
One of the water buffalo picked that moment to roll—toward him. Sam jumped back. The beast bawled, dunked its horned head, and then shot upright, sending a spray of muddy water over him.
“Damn obnoxious beast,” he muttered, wiping the mud from his face while he tugged at the cart. It wouldn’t budge.
An hour later he had unloaded half the supplies and carried them to the roadside. The cart was then light enough for him to pull it out. By the time he dropped the cart tongue onto the dirt road, his lungs burned, his back and shoulders hurt, and his thighs ached from laboring through the mud. He sagged against the cart and drank from the water canteen.
Lollie lounged against a pile of blankets covered by the canvas wagon tarp. She looked just as comfortable as could be when she looked up at him. Her gaze locked on the canteen.
“Thirsty?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
He handed her the canteen. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“You looked busy.”
“Are you hungry, too?”
She nodded.
“We might as well stop here for the night. I’ll build a fire.” He gathered some wood and pulled a cardboard cylinder of stick matches from his pocket—wet matches. He swore, then strode over to get some dry ones out of the supplies stacked by the cart. It took him five minutes to find them because of the peanut shells scattered all over the tarp and packs. “What the hell are all these peanut shells doing her
e?”
“Medusa was hungry.”
Sam threw a handful of shells on top of the wood and struck the match. A few minutes later the fire was burning and he’d removed two cans of beans and a pot from the cart. He pulled his knife from its sheath and opened the beans. He turned to put the pot on the fire and ran into one of the carabao. It had left the muddy field and now stood right behind him. It shook like a wet dog, spraying water all around it.
Sam swore.
The other water buffalo moved out of the field, too, and stood next to cart, looking for all the world like it was ready to leave again.
Sam looked heavenward and asked, “Why me?”
Lightning cracked across the sky and thunder bellowed after.
It started to rain, torrents and torrents of rain.
“Sam?”
“What now?”
“I can’t breathe.”
“There is a God.”
“I mean it.”
“Now what are you doing?”
“I’m lifting up this heavy thing that’s suffocating me.”
“Dammit to hell! Drop the tarp! You’re letting all the water in!”
“I need some air!”
“I need some sleep.”
“Snnnnort. Snno-ork-nork.”
Sam groaned. “I never knew a bird could snore.” Lollie sniffled.
“Are you crying?”
“Yes.” She sniffed again.
“Why?”
“I can’t breathe in here.”
Sam swore under his breath.
She sniffed again, then felt him rummage around under the canvas.
A deep banging sound hit the side of the cart. “Ouch! Dammit!”
“What happened?”
“Nothing!” he barked at her again.
“You sure are grouchy at night.”
“Snnnnort! Snnno-ork-nork.”
“Can’t that bird at least be quiet at night?”
“Shh. She’s asleep. Don’t wake her.”
“Why not? I didn’t think it was possible, but she’s less obnoxious when she’s awake.”
“She knows you don’t like her,” Lollie said, just as the heavy tarp suddenly lifted upward. “Oh! That’s better. What did you do?”
“I used your crutches as tent stakes.” He lay back down. “Now will you please go to sleep?”
“Okay,” she whispered and lay there, listening to the loud splattering of the rain on the canvas cover. It had been raining for hours. The minute it started it came down in buckets. The fire had sizzled out, and Sam hauled her into the cart and started throwing the supplies in it. She’d had to dodge two canteens and one heavy pack. Then he’d jumped inside and pulled the tarp over them. They’d sat there, eating the beans cold, right out of the cans, with the heavy, musty canvas over them to keep out the rain.
Now Sam’s breathing was quiet, even.
She hesitated a minute, then said, “Sam?”
“What!”
“I . . . uh . . . I . . .”
“Would you spit it out?”
“I need something.”
“What?”
“Some privacy.”
“Well, so do I, but you’re stuck with both that bird and me, so you’ll have to live with it.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Silence.
“I need to . . . you know. Nature is calling.”
Sam’s muttereing broke another long pause of silence. “I told you not to drink all that water.”
“I was thirsty. Those beans were salty.”
“Then go ahead. If nature is calling you, go visit it. Just stay nearby.” Then he turned over as if he meant to go back to sleep.
“Sam?”
“Now what?”
“I need some paper.”
He mumbled some more, but she heard him burrowing through the supplies. Then she heard the sound of paper crinkling.
“Oh, good, you found some!”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. I heard it.”
“That was my map.”
“Oh. Well, maybe--”
“No!”
“I just thought—”
“I know what you thought. N-o, no!”
“Could you hurry, please?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Lah-Roo, but there aren’t any Sears Roebuck and Company catalogs in the Philippine Islands.” He clattered around some more, and then she heard the sound of paper tearing.
“Here.” He shoved some thin paper into her hands. She rubbed it between her fingers. It was awfully thin. “That’s not enough.”
She could have sworn she heard his teeth grind. Then he rammed some more into her hands. “Thank you.” She crawled over to the edge of the cart, then thought of something. “Sam?”
“Yes.”
“What if my ankle gives out?”
He sat up, not saying one word. With a vicious rip he pulled back the canvas, jumped to the muddy ground, and held his arms out to her.
She scrambled over and he lifted her out.
“Can you stand?”
She tested her foot. “A little bit.”
“What is that supposed to mean? Either you can or not.”
“Not really. You see I can put a little weight on it—”
“Lollie!” he shouted, scaring her, his voice was so loud.
“What?”
“Can you stand well enough to do what you need to do?”
“I suppose.”
“Do it!”
She started to shuffle slowly away from him. “The paper’s getting wet.”
“Then you’d better hurry.”
She moved a little farther away, into the nearby bushes, and started to do her business. She turned toward the cart, trying to see him through the black rain. “Sam?”
“What?”
“Can you see me?”
“One! Two!”
She hurried and finished, then limped back to Sam. He turned and lifted the tarp, hauled her inside with little gentleness, and jumped in, slapping the tarp back into place. He scowled at her. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No.”
“Good. Then good night!” He lay down and turned away from her.
A few minutes later there was a loud noise. Crack! Chomp, chomp, chomp!
Slowly Sam turned toward her. “What the hell is that?”
“Medusa’s awake. She’s eating.”
“What, the cart?”
“Her peanuts.”
Sam swore.
Crack! Chomp, chomp, chomp!
“I think her snoring was quieter,” he mumbled. “An artillery barrage is quieter than that bird.”
After a few minutes Medusa settled down and was snoring again, only more softly. The rain still beat on the tarp and Sam lay next to Lollie, barely a foot away. His breathing was quiet and even. Hers wasn’t. She was wet, soaking wet from her trek in the pouring rain, and now she was cold. She huddled down deeper in the supplies, trying to get warm. There were blankets somewhere, but she was too cold to sit up and look for them. Her teeth began to chatter.
“What is that?” Sam barked, making her jump.
“My teeth. I’m wet and cold.”
He turned over and gave her his one-eyed stare. “Use a blanket. That’s what they’re there for.”
“I don’t know where they are.”
He sat up and searched through the cart. A minute later two blankets sailed past her head. She pulled one around her. With a sharp snap she shook out the other one, lay back down, and drew it over her. She looked over at Sam, but all she saw was his broad back. “Thank you.”
He grunted.
She stared up at the dark tarp and listened to the patter of the rain. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. A shiver ran through her. She was still so cold. Turning toward Sam, she watched his back move with each breath. She pulled her hand out from beneath the blanket and waved it around his back. His big body radiated nice war
m heat.
Very slowly she inched closer, hoping to feel some of the warmth from his body. The closer she got, the warmer it was. Finally, she managed to get close enough so her shoulder just barely grazed his. She stopped, holding her breath and expecting him to whip around and yell at her. He didn’t move. She smiled, feeling so nice, all warm and toasty, so she drew the blanket tighter around her, closed her eyes, and finally drifted off to sleep.
Something tickled Sam’s nose. He twitched and willed himself back to sleep. His arm held something warm and soft. The distinct feel of a soft female butt wiggled against him. He awoke instantly—every part of him. He peeled open his eye and stared at the top of a blond head. He blew her hair out of his nose, and she stirred, plastering her butt harder against him. She wiggled some more, then muttered something about “so warm.”
He sat up, resting his jaw on one hand, and watched her sigh and draw the blanket up around her small chin.
“Good morning,” he said, wondering how she’d feel when she realized she was pressed like a canned fish against his body.
“Mornin’ “ she whispered, eyes closed, still appearing to be half asleep. Soon her face changed from blissful peace to a frown. She squirmed again, trying to get comfortable.
“You have the boniest knee,” she complained, wiggling her butt yet never opening her eyes.
“That’s not my knee.”
Her eyes shot open. She froze, then scooted away from him so fast it almost made him dizzy. She sat in a corner and eyed him as a cornered mouse eyes a cat.
He gave her his biggest Cheshire cat smile.
She turned away, then a few seconds later looked up at the tarp. “It’s still raining.”
“Yeah.”
“What are we gonna do?”
Crack! Chomp, chomp, chomp!
Sam groaned. It was awake.
“Awk! Way down South in the land of cotton . . .”
“I’m going to get up, and then I’m going to kill that bird.” Sam wrenched back the tarp. It was raining so hard he could barely see five feet up the road. He let the tarp fall back down and turned to Lollie.
She’d just handed the bird another nut.
Crack! Chomp, chomp, chomp!
Sam winced. He couldn’t take much more of this, and didn’t know how long he could stand listening to that bird eat.