my hand, stared into the brightness too long, and then snapped back to reality. Tru shouted, “Hurry up, Mom.” The pig, Muri, I reminded myself. Forget the scenery and get help for the pig.
“There's nobody here,” Tru said. He’d already raced to the door of the log house and back to me. “I rang the bell, and I pounded on the door. I yelled real loud but nobody came.”
His cheeks were flushed and beads of sweat rolled off his nose. He pushed up his glasses for the umpteenth time. I really should get him one of those safety straps, but wouldn’t Nova have fun with that?
“Emus, Tru. The vet said he's got emus.” The insides of my thighs stung, where they’d rubbed together. My temper, too, was beginning to chafe. This many things were not supposed to go wrong in two days. If Jim died it would be my fault.
If my son hadn’t been standing there I would have asked the sky what was going on, but I kept it in, not wanting to bruise any spiritual leanings the boy might have.
“I’ll go, Mom. Stay here.”
I let him go, as if I could have kept up anyway. I sank down in a patch of bunch grass that I first carefully inspected for anything that moved and rested my arms across my bent knees. I’d sat on the ground in the middle of nowhere twice in one day—a first. And before noon.
I waited for Tru to return, alternately worrying about my son and Tiny and poor, injured Jim. As ugly as the pig was, black with coarse hairs sprouting here and there, he did have something of a personality. For my uncle, that pig may as well have been the king.
Maybe you did need some kind of savior out here, something to hang onto when God wasn’t listening. In the last few months I’d developed this irreverent attitude that perhaps the good Lord was getting on in age and needed a Miracle Ear in order to hear the pleas of this world. I would never say that in front of the kids, though.
Tru came huffing back then, the vet in tow. “Sorry I wasn’t home,” Rubin said. “Ed had a problem with one of his cows.”
I straightened my shoulders a bit and jumped up, brushing the dust from my backside. “I’m so glad we found you. Uncle Tiny's in shock; some horrible person shot his pet pig.”
Rubin just stared at me, as if he were about to explain something. Then he looked away for a moment and adjusted his cap, as if he were switching to his veterinary role.
“We’d better hurry,” I said, remembering poor Aunt Lutie. I thought we must have been gone for hours, but when I glanced at my watch, a mere ten minutes had slipped by.
“Fortunately, I have my bag with me.”
When we’d met before, he’d been friendly and open. Now he averted his gaze like a guilty dog caught chewing the master's slippers. Confusing.
“Just like in the movies, Doc,” Tru said. Rubin smiled at my son. We followed Tru, who still hadn’t run out of energy, back over the hill. My sides ached, but I trotted as fast as I could.
We sidestepped down the hill and back across the creek. In the distance, mountains jutted upward, still snow-covered in June, looking like frozen giants standing guard. The sun reflected against them as if someone up there signaled with a mirror. Maybe it was a lost hiker; maybe my father wasn’t dead after all. I’d forgotten to ask Aunt Lutie where he was buried.
I was always doing this, catching my mind wandering and then chastising myself for it. But if I thought about these lapses in too negative a way, I might end up like Forrest Gump; I’d just keep on running and never stop. Besides, my daydreams kept me going when things got too tough. They were a safety valve. Otherwise, I’d probably have tipped into hysteria at the first sight of pig blood.
“Thank you, sweet Jesus!” Lutie raised her arms to the sky the moment she saw us. “Jim's hurt bad, Dr. Rubin. Real bad. Please do something.”
My aunt shook all over then, staring at the blood on her hands like Lady Macbeth. Now that help had arrived she must
“There's nobody here,” Tru said. He’d already raced to the door of the log house and back to me. “I rang the bell, and I pounded on the door. I yelled real loud but nobody came.”
His cheeks were flushed and beads of sweat rolled off his nose. He pushed up his glasses for the umpteenth time. I really should get him one of those safety straps, but wouldn’t Nova have fun with that?
“Emus, Tru. The vet said he's got emus.” The insides of my thighs stung, where they’d rubbed together. My temper, too, was beginning to chafe. This many things were not supposed to go wrong in two days. If Jim died it would be my fault.
If my son hadn’t been standing there I would have asked the sky what was going on, but I kept it in, not wanting to bruise any spiritual leanings the boy might have.
“I’ll go, Mom. Stay here.”
I let him go, as if I could have kept up anyway. I sank down in a patch of bunch grass that I first carefully inspected for anything that moved and rested my arms across my bent knees. I’d sat on the ground in the middle of nowhere twice in one day—a first. And before noon.
I waited for Tru to return, alternately worrying about my son and Tiny and poor, injured Jim. As ugly as the pig was, black with coarse hairs sprouting here and there, he did have something of a personality. For my uncle, that pig may as well have been the king.
Maybe you did need some kind of savior out here, something to hang onto when God wasn’t listening. In the last few months I’d developed this irreverent attitude that perhaps the good Lord was getting on in age and needed a Miracle Ear in order to hear the pleas of this world. I would never say that in front of the kids, though.
Tru came huffing back then, the vet in tow. “Sorry I wasn’t home,” Rubin said. “Ed had a problem with one of his cows.”
I straightened my shoulders a bit and jumped up, brushing the dust from my backside. “I’m so glad we found you. Uncle Tiny's in shock; some horrible person shot his pet pig.”
Rubin just stared at me, as if he were about to explain something. Then he looked away for a moment and adjusted his cap, as if he were switching to his veterinary role.
“We’d better hurry,” I said, remembering poor Aunt Lutie. I thought we must have been gone for hours, but when I glanced at my watch, a mere ten minutes had slipped by.
“Fortunately, I have my bag with me.”
When we’d met before, he’d been friendly and open. Now he averted his gaze like a guilty dog caught chewing the master's slippers. Confusing.
“Just like in the movies, Doc,” Tru said. Rubin smiled at my son. We followed Tru, who still hadn’t run out of energy, back over the hill. My sides ached, but I trotted as fast as I could.
We sidestepped down the hill and back across the creek. In the distance, mountains jutted upward, still snow-covered in June, looking like frozen giants standing guard. The sun reflected against them as if someone up there signaled with a mirror. Maybe it was a lost hiker; maybe my father wasn’t dead after all. I’d forgotten to ask Aunt Lutie where he was buried.
I was always doing this, catching my mind wandering and then chastising myself for it. But if I thought about these lapses in too negative a way, I might end up like Forrest Gump; I’d just keep on running and never stop. Besides, my daydreams kept me going when things got too tough. They were a safety valve. Otherwise, I’d probably have tipped into hysteria at the first sight of pig blood.
“Thank you, sweet Jesus!” Lutie raised her arms to the sky the moment she saw us. “Jim's hurt bad, Dr. Rubin. Real bad. Please do something.”
My aunt shook all over then, staring at the blood on her hands like Lady Macbeth. Now that help had arrived she must
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