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CHAPTER FOURTEEN Duncan stared at Tanaqua. Never had he seen such emotion on a tribesman’s face. Never had he seen such an expression of both joy and anguish on any man’s face. Finally he looked down and saw the tattoos clearly for the first time. An oak tree covered the old man’s chest. Each shoulder was enveloped in an intricate tattoo of a bear skull. Darla squinted while Chas looked down at his feet and hands. There was no sense in me blaming them. There was no comfort to be found in recriminations or rage. I swigged my gin Kool-Aid and waited for the rest. I argued that if he never said anything about himself, I’d never have a chance to listen. I try to sit as upright as possible, in order to preserve my dignity upon departing, and spread a scarf over the shit blotch on my knee. Blazing bright fish are swimming on the scarf, one of Gabriel Axel’s beautiful gifts. * * * Either my aunt has lost weight since last time or I’d forgotten about her sunken cheeks and spindly, wrinkled neck. Beneath her deep-brown eyes, dark rings reach down to her cheekbones. Her eyebrows, thick and steel gray, meet in the middle, like those of a Mediterranean male. Nothing about Aunt Bett? is worth noticing but her eyes and their amazing enclosures, which draw all the attention. They’re the center of this woman. Second: Congratulations on your baby— Watts told me when you first got pregnant, but I haven’t had the chance to congratulate you directly. You always struck me as someone who would be a great mother. Maybe it was how I always imagined you taking care of those horses — I don’t know, I just felt that way. “Why didn’t you get the key from the Fialas?” she asked. “What?” Sponer shouted nervously. I raised the latch and pushed open the door. The people huddled in the circle sat up at my intrusion. I approached to show myself, to reassure them that I was okay, that I was one of them and not some straying parishioner. I made the meek face, smiled the apologetic smile, and the meek apologetic smile was returned in kind, distinct as a Masonic handshake. We are all the same. Wherever you go, no matter what country or class or creed you belong to— or don’t belong to — we are all the same. “There, you see!” the porter said, and switched off the light on the staircase. “Yeah?” The day after tomorrow. I kicked around in the long grass until I located a rock, then I placed the apple on a tree stump and brought the rock down. There was a moist crunch. Hickey smirked at my handiwork. The apple hadn’t split crisply into the two neatly severed halves I’d envisaged, but instead had burst like a tomato. A trickle of juice oozed across the rings in the wood. It looked so thwarted. jump adhesive ready.

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