Excerpt from a work in progress:
They drove on. The rain wet Bob’s wrist where it fell into the car through the open slot of window. Then it stopped. You could see clearly the line where the highway was dry. The green returned to the trees. He thought he recognized this certain mile. Then he saw the sign and he knew where they were going. Al told him to turn off and he did down a ragged jungle path pushing back into the dim lurk until he saw the huts and the chickens loose scrabbling in the mud and the old woman crouched next to a ring of stones stoking a fire that was nothing but smoke.
If she recognized Bob from his last visit she gave no indication nor did she acknowledge their arrival anymore than you would the falling of some leaves. She blew the dust from the embers and shifted the hollow chars of wood by her fingers alone. Her gray hair was spun into a loose bun beneath the blanket that covered her head. Her dress little more than gauze. She clucked her tongue and scattered chips of corn for the chickens. They came and ate the seed. The fire ticked and threw spark and one by one their redness blinked out and the air was as it had been before.
Buenos días, said Al.
The old woman waved a finger. A welcome or a dismissal.
Al looked over the scattered huts. A goat with a brass bell roped to its neck grazing on crabgrass. A few birds bathing in a wooden trough.
Les espero, said the old woman. Has llegado aquí para morir como la última vez. Como siempre. She pressed a hand to the damp earth and got to her feet one leg at a time. Then she turned and passed through the low doorway into the hut.
Al took LaFaye by the arm and the horse led her after the old woman. Bob and Maria fell in after her.
What did she tell him? said Bob.
Maria looked back at him through the smoke. She say you come here to die. Just like the last time. Just like always.
If she recognized Bob from his last visit she gave no indication nor did she acknowledge their arrival anymore than you would the falling of some leaves. She blew the dust from the embers and shifted the hollow chars of wood by her fingers alone. Her gray hair was spun into a loose bun beneath the blanket that covered her head. Her dress little more than gauze. She clucked her tongue and scattered chips of corn for the chickens. They came and ate the seed. The fire ticked and threw spark and one by one their redness blinked out and the air was as it had been before.
Buenos días, said Al.
The old woman waved a finger. A welcome or a dismissal.
Al looked over the scattered huts. A goat with a brass bell roped to its neck grazing on crabgrass. A few birds bathing in a wooden trough.
Les espero, said the old woman. Has llegado aquí para morir como la última vez. Como siempre. She pressed a hand to the damp earth and got to her feet one leg at a time. Then she turned and passed through the low doorway into the hut.
Al took LaFaye by the arm and the horse led her after the old woman. Bob and Maria fell in after her.
What did she tell him? said Bob.
Maria looked back at him through the smoke. She say you come here to die. Just like the last time. Just like always.