Aaron Elkins - The Dark Place

Huddled over the can in the rainy, deepening darkness, Gideon couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt so extravagantly glum. He smiled unconvincingly; this would no doubt be most amusing told over a steak dinner in a warm, dry restaurant. But it didn’t seem funny now, he thought, looking at the spreading water in his sleeping bag and at his raw, wet hands. And those oily fish.

He couldn’t locate the plastic fork he’d brought, but he managed to find a pointed, fairly solid sliver of wood to serve as a knife. He steeled himself to impale one of the soft, grublike bodies in the can. Ah, well…

He stiffened, suddenly alert, the back of his neck tingling. There had been a sound, audible over the unvarying, sharp rattling of the rain. A rotten branch breaking under the weight of accumulated water? A large bird startled into flight…but by what?

It came again; a scuffling sound, and then again; someone or something moving, brushing against the foliage. He jumped to his feet and jerked down the hood of his poncho to listen. The sound had come from the direction of the path; he was fairly certain of that. He stood staring, blinded by thick, gray cords of rain. He could hear his heart pounding crazily. "Ya’a hushol!" he shouted. "Ai’niza ma’a wagai!"

The sounds stopped abruptly, then continued more firmly, someone moving toward him. He could hear the squelch of footsteps now. His breath came fast and hard.

Between the huge fronds of a head-high brake fern he caught a brief, startling glimpse of a dark, bundled figure moving purposefully through the underbrush-toward him, he was sure. The figure vanished behind foliage, and Gideon stood staring at the spot where it had been, trying to see through the sheet of water that ran down his face. He stopped his breath, got his feet more firmly under him, tensed the powerful muscles of his arms and shoulders.

A moment later the fronds of a lady fern were abruptly thrust aside. With a violent jerk, Gideon spun toward the motion, crouched and straining, the pointed wood sliver clenched in his hand.

Enveloped in a bulky parka and loaded with a huge pack, Julie walked into the clearing.

"Dr. Oliver, I presume," she said, smiling.

It took her five minutes to set up the amazingly roomy A-frame tent she’d had in her pack, and another five to rig a rain fly over it. Fifteen minutes after that, a pot of beef stew was bubbling on the tiny Optimus stove. Gideon sat in a warm comer of the tent near the stove, grinning foolishly, content to be out of the rain, and out of his musty poncho, and to watch Julie bustle competently about.

"What was that you were squeaking when I came up?" she said over her shoulder, stirring the stew.

"I wasn’t squeaking, I was speaking Yahi."

"Yahi? Why Yahi? How do you know Yahi?"

He explained while she stirred thoughtfully. "Well, you scared me," she said. "I thought maybe it wasn’t you. I didn’t know you squeaked."

Gideon laughed. "I guess I might have been a little jumpy."

"Yes, maybe just a little. I didn’t know whether you were going to stab me with that twig or hit me with that horrible fish."

Gideon laughed again, beginning to thaw out. "I thought you weren’t supposed to light a stove in a tent."

"You’re not, but you can get away with it if you’re careful."

"And if you’re the chief ranger."

"That too." Julie spooned the steaming stew into a couple of plastic bowls and handed one to Gideon. She was as hungry as he, and for a few minutes they sat cross-legged on the floor of the tent without speaking, energetically cramming the hot vegetables and beef into their mouths.

When the heat began to flow through him, Gideon sighed luxuriously and slowed down, looking up from his bowl to watch Julie eat. She was wonderfully healthy and happy, her skin golden and rosy, her eyes sparkling. She caught him looking at her with her mouth full, and she waved the big spoon happily at him. She laughed while she chewed, without opening her lips. In a baggy, shapeless sweater, with her cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk’s and her damp hair pasted flat to her forehead, she looked so heartbreakingly beautiful he could hardly swallow.

"I love you, Julie," he said.

Finally.

Her mouth was too filled for her to speak. She frowned, chewing harder, and swallowed prodigiously, then washed the food all the way down with some hot tea.

"I heard you the first time," she said, smiling.

"The first time?"

"In the sleeping bag. You were speaking to the back of my neck at the time, but I assume you meant the rest of me, too."

"You heard me? I thought you were asleep."

"I was, but there are certain things you don’t miss even in your sleep."

"But why didn’t you say anything?"

"Well, it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing to sweep me off my feet. ‘I love you, I think.’" She laughed and shook her head.

Gideon laughed too and spooned a chunk of potato into his mouth. "It does lack somewhat for lyrical expression, doesn’t it? But," he said more soberly, "there aren’t any qualifications this time."

"Are you sure? It’s not just my beef stew and my tent? You’re not just glad to have a warm female to take care of you on a cold, wet night?"

He shook his head. "No qualifications. I love you, Julie Tendler. And that’s something I don’t say very often, believe me." Not once out loud in three years.

"’I love you, Julie Tendler’?" she said. "Why would you say that very-?"

"Shush, you." He leaned over to kiss her softly. They moved apart and looked at each other, then kissed again, longer this time but no less gently. Her fingers rested on his cheek, radiating shivery tendrils; his hand cupped the warm, downy nape of her neck. When they paused at last to breathe, he brushed the tip of her nose with his lips. "Now," he said, "what was that about taking care of me on a cold night?"

"Men," she said. "It’s one thing after another. Get them dry and they want food. Get them fed and they want…well, something else."

"Precisely," said Gideon. "Maslow’s concept of human needs as a hierarchy of prepotencies. Very succinctly expressed."

"Is that what I said?"

"Yup."

"What does it mean?"

"It means let’s go to bed."

She laughed. "Don’t overwhelm me. I can stand only so much lyrical expression in one night. Let’s clean up the dinner things first."

They did it quickly, scraping the pots and dishes and putting them outside to rinse in the rain.

"I think," she said, looking out into the pouring near-darkness, "that we’d better bring your sleeping bag inside."

"It’s already wet. Doesn’t matter. It was a $12.95 special ten years ago. Made of genuine, reconstituted Kleenex."

She closed the tent flap and crawled back on her knees. "Some anthropologist. El cheapo sleeping bag, five-and-dime tent, sardines for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Are you ever lucky I came along and found you!"

He smiled. Then his brow furrowed. "Julie, what the heck are you doing here?"

She began to undo the ties on the sleeping bag. "Coming after you. I had visions of you sitting wet and cold and hungry in the dark…absurd as it may seem. My nurturing instincts were aroused. I even thought you might get lost. It’s a rough trail. Did you get lost? You haven’t gotten very far."

"Of course not," he said disdainfully. "All you have to do is follow the path. Did you get lost?"

"Uh-uh," she said with transparent honesty, unrolling the bag.

"And so you lugged all this stuff on your back, hiked all this way…"

"For you," she said simply, with a soft, quiet smile. "I love you too, you know."

The muscles in Gideon’s throat tightened. Once again she had made his tears come close to spilling over. "But how," he said gruffly, "did you know where I was?"