Percival Everett - Half an Inch of Water - Stories

I forgot. The earthquake sort of scared me. You were dead, so you didn’t feel it. It was the surprise more than anything.

I felt it. Where are the bites? Dave asked.

Back of my leg and on this hand. Little snake bit me here. He held up his hand. This is the one I’m worried about. I didn’t cut into it.

Okay.

Dave held his hand and looked closely at it.

When Sam opened his eyes, he was sitting in front of the sage fire with Penny. The fire had not died down at all. He pushed some more fuel onto it. He felt the warmth of it and realized that his chills were gone. He looked at his hand. The bite marks were there, but the swelling was not. He wiggled his fingers. He looked at the girl. She was staring at the fire. He considered that he might be dreaming still. He looked through the smoke at the sky. It was a clear night, deep, black. He spotted a shooting star. He glanced to see if the child had seen it also and she had.

She made a sign that Sam assumed meant star or shooting star. He repeated it back to her.

She nodded, smiled.

Sam felt good. He pulled away the flap of his ripped trouser leg and tried to observe that bite, but couldn’t see it. He put his fingers to the site of the bite and it did not feel swollen. It was not tender to his touch.

He stood and offered his hand to help Penny to her feet. Let’s move, he said, and pointed west. He kicked out the fire and stood in the middle of the smoke for a few seconds. He walked over and put the girl on the horse and they walked on. After about a quarter mile, the headlights of a vehicle appeared. Sam took the flashlight he had strapped to the saddle horn and waved it back and forth.

The 4x4 stopped and three men got out. Sam couldn’t make them out, but he recognized the sheriff’s voice calling out to him.

When their faces were clear, Penny went running to one of the men. Sam knew it was her father. The third man was a county paramedic. Sam had seen him before, but didn’t know his name.

How you doing? Dale asked.

Sam knew he looked confused, out of it, but strangely that was only because he felt perfectly fine. I think I’m okay, he said.

Let me see the bites, the paramedic said.

Sam held out his hand. The symptoms went away, he said. Just like that. No chills, no swelling, nothing.

The medic shone his light on the wound. Well, there is a bite here, all right. But there’s no swelling. I don’t have to tell you that’s a good thing. Must have been a dry bite.

Sam nodded. He didn’t mention that it had been swollen. And on the back of my leg, here. He pulled away the pant leg.

The paramedic whistled. Yep, another one. I see you cut yourself. No swelling here either. Two dry bites. I’d play the lottery tonight, if I were you. You up-to-date with your tetanus shot?

Sam said he was.

The medic had Sam sit on the ground and took his blood pressure. He whistled again. One twenty over eighty.

Dale looked at Sam’s face. You all right?

Sam nodded. Apparently. He stood.

The girl’s father came and hugged Sam. Thank you, he said. Thank you for finding my Penny.

You’re welcome, Sam said, unsure. The fact that he felt perfectly well was unsettling and disorienting. He looked down at Penny and signed friend.

She signed back, but Sam didn’t understand.

What did she say? Sam asked her father.

She said you will be fine now.

Sam looked at her eyes. She hugged his legs and he put his hand against her back. He dropped to a knee and hugged her back. He was so confused. He didn’t know why he was not light-headed and nauseated and sweaty. Feeling healthy had never felt so strange. He looked at the father.

She’s special, the man said.

Yes, she is, Sam said.

The sheriff put his hand on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam looked at the stars.

I know you’re exhausted.

Sam nodded but said nothing. On the contrary, he felt remarkably rested. Except for his profound confusion he felt very well. You call Sophie?

She’s on her way.

The paramedic shook his head again. I ain’t never seen two dry bites. The wounds don’t look a bit angry.

Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth, the sheriff said. I reckon I’ll ride the horse on back.

No, Dale, he’s got a cracked hoof. I’ll walk him back. You go back with the girl. The man moved to protest. Really, Sam said. I need to be alone with my thoughts for a short while.

Okay, Doc, you got it.

I’ll stay with you, the paramedic said.

Thanks, but I want you to ride back with them.

The young man looked at the sheriff and the sheriff nodded for him to get into the vehicle.

Penny left her father and stood again in front of Sam. She signed friend. The one word, as if she were speaking to a child. Then she signed what Sam understood to be thank you.

Thank you, he said. He signed her name.

Years ago there had been a rope hanging from a big branch over the river and for a decade kids would swing out over the water, let go, and listen to the cheers and shouts of friends while they crashed into the pool. Then a boy named Bobby Dench tried a backflip and broke his neck. He didn’t die. His family moved away, some said to Rifle, some said to Gunnison, but it was Colorado. The rope and the branch disappeared. That didn’t stop sixteen-year-old Rachel Lowry from getting drunk and drowning in that very pool on the first day of autumn, 1980. She was found by her father and taken home to her mother. Her brother, Daniel, was eight at the time and watched his father appear at the edge of the yard with the rag doll that was his sister. He stood where he was, planted by the tomato garden, and watched his father fall exhausted and stricken to his knees, watched his mother scream over the girl’s body, watched the family’s golden retriever tug at her soaked pant leg. Daniel would not smile for six years. And when he finally did, no one knew why. It was likely he didn’t either.

Daniel would saddle up every Saturday morning at six and ride down along the creek to the beaver dam. He’d cast blue wing olive patterns and catch trout after trout. He would let the fish go and catch another or perhaps the same fish, as he always let them go. His father had always insisted on it. It was preserving the home water. He would do this until noon, without any apparent joy, then ride home with his last catch of the day. He would clean it, fry it, eat it, and then go about his chores. He was a small fourteen, but he would manage without complaint the hundred-pound bales of hay and all the other work his father assigned him.

Every Saturday afternoon his mother drove him to town and waited while he sat with his therapist. Daniel didn’t mind his visits to the woman. He didn’t take her all that seriously. She and her husband had bought an expensive spread to live the good life and found themselves isolated and bored and now she was seeing patients a few days a week. Daniel had been with her for eighteen months, so she knew well enough what this time of year meant to him.

“Weather’s nice, isn’t it?” Dr. Feller said. “I love the late-summer flowers.” She sipped her coffee. “So, what’s been on your mind?”

“Not much. School.”

“Any thoughts about your sister?” She cleared her throat. “Might as well get right to it, right?”

“I guess.”

“You guess you’ve been thinking about her or you guess we should get right to it?”

“You’re the one who put the question badly.”

She scribbled on her pad. “Thoughts about your sister?”

“A few,” Daniel said.

“Like what?”

“Like she’s dead.”

“And how do you feel about that?”