Emerging from the tent, they were greeted by a subdued, gray morning: low, flat clouds, a thin mist swirling through the treetops, drizzle …. Ray half expected to see a skein of caribou meandering through camp. Instead, he saw an enormous green tarp stretched across the entire excavation area. There were no people out. The tents looked quiet.
“Ever-body’s still sleepin’,” Billy Bob observed.
“I doubt that,” Ray said. “These folks get started early. They’re probably hanging out in the cafeteria.” He hoped that was the case. If everyone really was still asleep, they would be forced to leave without a meal. But leave they would. The sooner, the better.
They limped their way across the camp and were nearing the mess tent when one of the security guards materialized: Stubby, with a rifle slung over his shoulder.
“Is Dr. Farrell inside?”
The man nodded, sighing like an overburdened musk ox. The comparison seemed fair: enormous arms and legs, fat head, minuscule cowlike brain …. Ray found himself wondering if either of the brutes had come into contact with an errant hiker. Maybe Fred had strayed too near the dig, been mistaken for a Red Wolf miner and been dispatched by Chang and Chung. They seemed capable of killing someone. But tear off his head …?
He was struck by the fact that this once-deserted section of the Bush had become a hazardous obstacle course: gun-wielding Goliaths looking to give people ‘good beatings,” dope dealers guarding their produce, miners feuding with archaeologists ….
“Seen any hikers around here in the last couple of days? Any visitors from Red Wolf? Anybody, besides us, on the river … going south?”
Stubby sniffed and swaggered away.
“Thanks. You’ve been a great help.”
“Think da big man hurt Fred?” Lewis asked, eyebrows raised.
“No. But I thought I would ask. We’re here. Fred, whoever he was, was out here somewhere too. Might as well see if we can turn anything up.”
“Why not ask Dr. Gull-friend. Maybe she know. Maybe Fred her last boy-toy.”
“Zip it, Lewis,” Ray advised.
The cafeteria tent turned out to be brimming with activity: crew members lined up, waiting for their turn at the platters of bacon and eggs, others attending to their notebooks, some watching the video monitors. Except for the notable absence of music and booze, it was as if the research party from the night before had never come to an end.
Farrell spotted them as they lurched through the door. She waved them over to a table where a group of students were clustered around an array of open textbooks.
Ray couldn’t help noticing that Farrell seemed fresh, remarkably clean. He tried to imagine her out at the barrels bathing in the predawn rain, then immediately tried not to. Thankfully, her attire was more modest today: bulky U.W. sweatshirt, purple Husky cap.
When they reached her she greeted Ray with a smile and proceeded to rest her hand on his shoulder, as if they were old and dear friends.
Lewis snickered at this. “Aiyaa …”
Ray silenced him with a glare. “Dr. Farrell,” he started formally, stepping away from her hand. “We’ll be needing to …”
She waved him off. “I’ve got you all set up.” Pointing to an expedition-size backpack lying near the door, she said, “Just about everything you’ll need is in there. Chang and Chung will see you to the rafts.”
“Really, that’s not necessary …”
“And if you don’t mind,” she continued, “you’ll have an extra traveling companion.” She gave Ray’s arm a squeeze. “You have room for one more, don’t you?”
A dreadful montage raced through Ray’s mind: Farrell making passes at him on the Zodiac, making suggestive comments at the village, talking her way onto the floatplane, following him all the way back to his own doorstep, eyelashes fluttering.
“Well?” she prodded.
What was he supposed to say? No. You can’t come along in your own raft! Right. “Uh … sure,” he replied, his voice threatening to crack. “The more the merrier.”
TWENTY-FOUR
“SEE? I TOLD you they wouldn’t mind.” Farrell said this to the students behind her, and one of them, a coed, smiled politely in response. “Ray, this is Cindy.”
The girl stood and nodded at them. She was about twenty, Ray guessed, a redhead with powder white skin that was decorated with clusters of freckles. She might have been considered pretty had she not been standing so close to Farrell. The doctor’s striking beauty made Cindy seem plain.
“Cindy’s leaving us,” Farrell said in a tone that implied regret. Her face didn’t match this sentiment however. It was heavy and tired-looking, her eyes piercing. “We’re sad to see her go, of course, but …”
Ray waited for an explanation of why Cindy was leaving, better yet, why Farrell was sad about it. When there was none, he said, “Great.” He tried not to seem too relieved, but it was difficult. In a matter of minutes, they would walk out of there, minus Dr. Janice Farrell, and he would never see or hear from her again.
“Get some breakfast,” Farrell insisted.
Ray planted Billy Bob and Lewis at a table and left to get their meals. By the time he had served their plates and waited through the line again for his own food, they were finished. He shoveled in eggs and bacon, willing to risk indigestion in his rush to leave.
When they started for the door, Farrell caught them, slinging an arm around Ray.
“Listen … uh, thanks for your help,” Ray told her.
“No problem. Stop back by on your next time through the canyon. We’ll be here.”
Ray bent to retrieve the pack and to wrench himself from Farrell’s grip. “Oh, speaking of stopping by … have you had any hikers through here in the last few days?”
“Hikers?” She pronounced the word as if she didn’t know its meaning.
“Yeah. Or any other visitors, for that matter.”
She stuck out a lower lip to produce a convincing pout. “I don’t think so.”
“How about on the river? Have you seen anyone going south?”
“No.” She turned to address the crew. “Anybody see any hikers or floaters the last couple of days?”
Heads shook, shoulders shrugged.
“Nope. Guess not. Even the jerks from Red Wolf have been keeping their distance lately. Things have been pretty quiet thanks to Chung and Chang.”
“Okay … well … thanks.” Before Ray could react, dodge, or bob, Farrell was kissing him, full on the lips. It wasn’t especially long or passionate. Just unexpected. And inappropriate. The room was suddenly unnaturally still, as if E.F. Hutton were about to offer pearls of financial wisdom. Ray could feel his cheeks flushing.
“See you around,” she promised with a playful grin.
Not if I see you first, Ray felt like saying. “Uh … yeah … maybe …” The lump in his throat was restricting his breathing. “Let’s go,” he told Lewis and Billy Bob.
“I’m ready.”
For an instant, the voice sounded like Farrell’s. The message certainly fit. She seemed ready for anything, with just about anyone, apparently.
Ray twirled and stared at the coed. “Oh, it’s just you.”
“Just me,” she said with a frown.
“No, I didn’t mean …”
“Don’t worry about it.” She hoisted a pack over her shoulder and stood, waiting.
Chung and Chang appeared and, without speaking, one of them relieved Ray of all three of his packs and Cindy of hers. The other moved to pick up Billy Bob.
“Naw,” he said resisting. “I can walk. Perty much. I just need help.” He tried to use the attendant as a crutch, draping an arm around his neck. But the man was too wide for this. He was forced to grip a handful of jacket between the hulk’s shoulder blades.
As they set out, Ray wished he had a camera to record the event for posterity’s sake. No one would believe this. Yesterday’s motley crew was now a study in physical and cultural diversity: Lewis with a wounded wing, Billy
Bob limping next to his gigantic nurse, Ray’s shirt telling the world through his open parka that he wanted to “be like Mike,” a carrot-topped student, and a human pack mule bearing four bags.
The caravan plodded along, leaving the camp behind. For the first quarter mile, not a word was spoken, the mood contemplative.
“Don’t let her bug you,” Cindy finally said, as if continuing a conversation.
The five men looked at her.
When it became clear that she intended the comment for Ray, he asked, “Who?”
“Janice.”
“She didn’t … uh … bug me … She just …”
“She has problems.”
“Agreed.”
Cindy chuckled. “Don’t take her act personally. She does that all the time.”
“Does what?”
“Comes on to guys. Flirts. Kisses men on the lips. Students, strangers …”
Lewis laughed. “Poor Ray. Thought he was true love.”
“Shut up,” Ray grumbled. Looking at Cindy, he asked, “Why does she do that?”
“To get back at Mark.”
“For what?”
Cindy sighed. “Everything.” She paused, then added, “He fools around on her.”
“Who Mark?” Lewis wanted to know.
“Janice’s husband,” Cindy informed.
“Why would anybody fool around when they was married to that woman?” Billy Bob wondered aloud.
Even Chung and Chang seemed puzzled by this. The procession continued on, skirting the meadow and its partition of poplars. The trees formed a ring of fire, their red and orange leaves luminescent in the misty, refracted light.
“They’ve never gotten along,” Cindy confided a minute later. “But things have gotten worse the last couple of years. She doesn’t understand him or meet his needs.”
“Why do they stay together?” Ray asked.
Cindy shrugged at this. “The way they treat each other, you’d think they were enemies or something.” After a pause, she lamented, “It’s a bad situation all around.”
Ray reflected on this. That would explain Farrell’s behavior. Sort of.
“It’s been especially bad lately. They’ve been going at it like a couple of alley cats. And in camp … Well, it’s not a good place to hold confidential discussions or work through personal problems, if you know what I mean.” She sighed, shaking her head. “The night before he left to go to Juneau, they had a real knock-down-drag-out.”
“Any idea what it was about?” Ray asked. It was none of his business, but …
Lewis and Billy Bob looked to her for an answer. Chung and Chang, though pretending to be impartial, were clearly interested in knowing too.
“Me,” Cindy peeped like a mouse.
The disclosure hung in the air, no one willing to acknowledge, much less push the issue and find out what it was about Cindy that had facilitated a marital dispute. It was easy enough to figure out. By her own admission, Mark had displayed a penchant for infidelity. Apparently the two of them had …
“Among other things,” she added meekly. “I was just the spark that set off the latest round.” After a pause she said, “Ever see War of the Roses?”
“No,” Ray replied.
“I did,” Billy Bob declared. “Gooood movie.” The painkillers seem to be doing their job. The cowboy was smiling, eyes glazed. “Kath-leen Turner and Michael Douglas were ab-so-lute-ly grrreat.”
“Well, if you adapted the Farrells’ life to the big screen, it would be nearly identical to that movie. They can be pretty cruel to each other. Take the other night, for instance.”
“What happened?” Ray was almost embarrassed by his interest in this gossip. Almost. Not enough to change the subject.
“It started with Janice accusing Mark of sleeping with me.”
The party acted as if they hadn’t heard this: Billy Bob squinting against a sudden wave of pain, Lewis batting away mosquitoes, Chung and Chang concentrating on the trail, their eyes studying the tundra. Ray was ready to talk about something else.
“She thought we were having an affair …”
“You don’t have to talk about this …” Ray tried.
” … As if I’m some slut who hops from bed to bed. Okay, so I’m no virgin, but …”
“Really, Cindy. We don’t need to know the gory details …”
“… With my own professor?” She made a gagging sound. “With the dig leader? Just how sleazy does Janice think I am?!” Cindy was building steam. “We didn’t do anything. Mark was just nice to me. Is that a crime?”
They reached a twist in the trail, and Ray meagerly attempted to shift the conversation. “Won’t be far to the river now. You doing okay, Billy Bob?”
The cowboy nodded. He was staring into space, riding a nonprescription high.
“One night last week, we sat and talked in the mess tent until 2 A.M. Just talked,” Cindy continued in a whine. “That’s it. Nothing more. Next thing I know, Janice is on the rampage. She wants me on the first boat to China.” She sighed wearily.
After an appropriate lapse, Ray asked, “So is that why you’re leaving the site?”
Cindy nodded. “Janice banished me. She waited until Mark left on Friday. Then she told me to pack up and get out.” In a hoarse whisper, she muttered, “The witch.”
“Amen,” Chung and Chang chimed.
“Difficult to work for?” Ray submitted. He was looking at Stubby, the packhorse.
“Real pain in the backside.”
“Anyway,” Cindy continued, “the meltdown Thursday evening started with her shouting about how the two of us slept together. He came back with something about how she had bedded one of the undergrade in her lab group. Then it slowly settled down, focusing on the two subjects they’ve been bickering about all summer.”
Ray waited, actually leaning an ear in her direction. The parade stopped.
Cindy blinked at them innocently. “Hunan and Red Wolf.” She shrugged, implying that this was common knowledge. “The sexual stuff is ripping their personal relationship apart. The grant from Hunan and the opposition from the mine is tearing their academic relationship to shreds. The rumor going around camp is that after this dig they’ll part ways—get a divorce and disassociate themselves from one another back at the U-Dub.”
“Is it really that bad?” Ray asked.
“Oh, yeah. We’ve got a pool … Had a pool. The rest of the crew still does. It’s to predict when the big split will happen. You know, a date, who sues first, what the grounds will be. Some of the guesses were pretty funny. Some of them were pretty rude.” She shook her head in disgust. “I guessed mid-November.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’ll be about six weeks after the dig’s over. The Seattle winter will be settling in: drizzle, cold … Kind of like it is here today. Except it will stay that way until spring. And everybody knows it. So it affects your mood. No matter how long you’ve been there, it still gets to you. Anyway, add the weather, the end of the dig, the recovery time…
“They’ll be ready to call it quits. Either that, or ready to kill each other.”
TWENTY-FIVE
IT TOOK OVER an hour for the parade to reach the river. Cindy chattered continuously, telling them about the dig, recounting events of the summer, and periodically throwing her traveling companions juicy tidbits concerning the Drs. Farrell.
By the time the boats came into view, Lewis was visibly withering, his usually bright face was grim, the smart-aleck remarks and attitude absent. Billy Bob, on the other hand, was in good spirits. Almost giddy, he was having trouble putting one foot in front of the other. He had taken to calling his hulking attendant “partner,” and was chuckling as he peppered the man with questions about Chiny.
After dragging a raft down to the water, one of the enforcers began loading the packs. The other loaded Billy Bob, as if he too were a piece of luggage. Lewis teetered dangerously as he climbed aboard. Cindy got in next, Ray last. Without so much
as a word in parting, the security guards kicked the Zodiac away from the bank and turned their backs on it.
“Thanks for the help!” Ray called. He meant it too. Without them, the trek to the boats would have been an ordeal in itself.
“Ain’t this nice!” Billy Bob exclaimed. He was leaning back, elbows over the side of the raft, legs spread-eagled, face to the sky, like a sunbather on the promenade deck.
Nice was not the term Ray would have chosen. Cold maybe. Gray. Dreary. A brisk wind was rising from the water, and the sun had deserted the region entirely.
“This here is the life,” the cowboy boasted. “Floatin’ down a lazy river with two of my best buddies. And a perty lady friend.”
Cindy smiled politely, then whispered to Ray, “Is he drunk?”
“No. Just high on meds.” Ray gave the starter on the outboard motor a pull. When the engine failed to catch he yanked it again. “Hope we’ve got fuel.”
Lewis roused himself and leaned over to check. “Eh … Lotsa gas.” With that, he returned to his place next to Cindy and withdrew into his parka like a turtle, hood coming up, hands disappearing. Balling up, he grunted, “Keep left, or we go boulda hopping.”
Two pulls later, the motor roared to life. Ray used the handle to steer the craft to the extreme left. He had no desire to “hop” any boulders today. A simple, uneventful float to the village and a plane ride back to Barrow. His attention was already focused on what waited for him there: a loving wife, a baby in progress.
“You married?” Cindy asked, as though she had read his mind.
Ray nodded happily.
“Kids?”
Another nod, this one noticeably proud. “Our first is on the way.”
“Congratulations. Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“No.”
“Do you want to?”
Ray shrugged. He hadn’t really thought about it. Grandfather would say it was in violation of the old ways, against the wishes of the tuungak. Ray tended to agree, though for a different reason. Knowing the sex of a child before birth seemed unnatural, a rude intrusion into a mysterious biological process.
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