Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Moved A Montain

When the silent woman arrived, she went to work with downcast eyes, making an icepack for the ankle and tearing up an old sheet for bandages. Then she poured antiseptic from a jelly jar onto the wounds and larded them with ointment.

Yates said, "With that stuff you'll never get an infection, that's for sure. When you feel up to it, we'll fix you up with pants and a coat and drive you home. You can say goodbye to those shoes, too. What size do you take? . . . Hey, Vance, get some sandals from the leather shop, size twelve." He appraised the bandaging. "Man, you look like a mummy!"

The wrappings on Qwilleran's hands, elbows, and knees restricted his movement considerably, but the ankle torture was somewhat relieved after the icepack and tight bandaging. He wanted to thank Mrs. Beechum, but she had slipped away from the bakery without so much as a nod in his direction, leaving him a jar of liniment.

Kate said, "You should use ice again tonight and keep your foot up, Mr. ..."

"Qwilleran."

Yates buckled on the sandals, and Wesley brought him a carved walking stick, which looked more like a cudgel. "I don't know how to thank you people," he said.

"We aim to be good neighbors," said Kate.

The three men drove away, Yates driving Qwilleran in his newly repaired car, and Vance following in his pickup. Qwilleran was abnormally quiet, still dazed by his experience. He felt that his precipitous slide into the black hole had never happened. Yet, if it were true and if he had not survived, would anyone ever know his fate? What would have happened to Koko and Yum Yum, penned up in a house that no one had reason to visit?

The baker respected his silence for a while but threw curious glances at him repeatedly. Finally he said, "What really happened at Purgatory, man?"

Qwilleran was jolted out of his reverie. "What do you mean?"

"You don't wind up in that condition just by twisting your ankle."

"I told you I was trying to drag myself back to the cove. The path was muddy and full of sharp rocks."

"You were soaking wet from head to foot."

"There's a lot of mist at the falls. You should know that."

Yates grunted, and no more was said for a few minutes. When they reached Hawk's Nest Drive, he tried again. "See anybody in the woods?"

"No. It was just as your wife said: no one around on Tuesday. This is Tuesday, isn't it? I feel as if I've been on that trail a week!"

"Did you hear anything unusual?"

"Not with the water roaring! I couldn't hear myself think!"

"See anything strange?"

"What are you getting at?" Qwilleran said with slight annoyance. "I saw the creek, boulders, fallen trees, mud, large and small waterfalls, flowers, more mud . . ."

"Okay, okay, I'll shut up. You had a rough time."

"Sorry if I barked at you. I'm feeling edgy."

"You should be! You've been through hell!"

At Tiptop his rescuers helped him up the twenty-five steps, and the sight of Qwilleran dressed in baker's whites and supported by two strangers sent the Siamese flying upstairs, where they watched from a safe elevation. He offered the men a beer and was glad when they declined; he needed a period of rest in which to find himself again. There were moments when he was still in the abyss, clinging to a slippery wall of rock.

"I'll bring up your baked goods," Yates said. "Anything more we can do? Be glad to do it."

"There's a burl bowl in the trunk of my car that you could bring up. And again, I don't know how to thank you fellas."

When they had gone and Qwilleran had dropped on the gray velvet sofa with his ankle elevated on one of Sabri-na's pillows, the Siamese walked questioningly into the room.

"You'll have to bear with me awhile," he told them. "You almost lost your chief cook."

They huddled close to his body, playing the nursing role instinctive with cats, and made no demands, although it was past their normal dinnertime. At intervals Koko ran his nose over the white uniform and grimaced as if he smelled something rotten.

When the telephone rang, Qwilleran was undecided whether to answer, but it persisted until he grabbed his walking staff and moved to the foyer with halting steps.

"I thought you were going to drop in this afternoon," said Colin Carmichael.

"I dropped into a waterfall instead," Qwilleran said, recovering some of his spirit.

"Where?"

"At Potato Cove. I'm lucky I got out alive."

"Are you all right?"

"Except for a sprained ankle. Do you happen to have an elastic bandage?"

"I could pick one up at the drug store easily enough and run it up the mountain in no time. Anything else you need?"

"Perhaps one of those cold compresses that can be chilled in the freezer."

"No problem. Be right there."

"The front door's unlocked, Colin. Just walk in."

Having maneuvered successfully to the foyer, Qwilleran hobbled to the kitchen to feed the cats. They were used to dodging his long strides and found his new slow-motion toddle with a stick perplexing. He was back on the sofa when the editor arrived.

Carmichael frowned at the ankle. "That's quite a balloon you've got there. Is it painful?"

"Not as bad as it was. Excuse my attire; the baker at the cove had to lend me some clean clothes. Go out to the kitchen, Colin. There's a bar in the pantry. Help yourself, and you can bring me a ginger ale from the fridge. You might also throw the compress in the freezer."

The editor lingered. "I hated to call you about the Tater thing, Qwill. Don't hold it against me."

"Forget it. I'm not here to get involved in local politics or prejudices."

"What happened to your hands?"

"I tried to save myself and grabbed some unfriendly rocks. The bandages make them look worse than they are."

When they settled down with their drinks, Carmichael glanced around the living room. "This is a lot of house for one guy."

"It was the only place that would rent to cats. I have two Siamese," Qwilleran said.

"Where are they?"

"In hiding. They avoid veterinarians and editors."

"Our star columnist is going around with a red face since her interview with you. It seems you asked all the questions, and she did all the talking. She's too embarrassed to call you again."

"Let's leave it that way, Colin. Tell her I'm on a secret mission and don't want her to blow my cover. Tell her anything. Tell her I'm opening a health spa for men only, with retired burlesque strippers as masseuses."

"There's some speculation anyway—as to your identity, and your reason for being here, and why you're willing to pay such high rent."

"I'm beginning to wonder about the rent myself."

"Well, tell me how you sprained your ankle, Qwill."

Qwilleran related the episode in cool, journalistic style without histrionics, underplaying his descent into the pit and his heroic struggle to climb to safety. In concluding he said, "Let me tell you one thing: I wouldn't be sitting here tonight if it weren't for some of those Taters . . . Your glass is empty, Colin. Go and help yourself."