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The next day came, the sun did rise. Arthur had had the electric blanket on for part of the night and had again been turned only once but seemed okay. He’d sweat heavily too, but had known the urine-drainage bag was hung below his bladder--at Jerry and Alberta’s it had been on the floor next to him, which he had been taught invited trouble. He was lucky (miraculously?) to have had so few serious urinary-tract troubles over the years, especially since his damaged left reflux valve allowed back-flow from his bladder to his left kidney.
Greg went out and brought yogurt back for breakfast. Lucia ate some, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she read the list of additives. Greg had lost Nine Wells' phone number and since it was listed under his sister's married name, which they didn't know, they had no way to reach him. The chamber maid came in unannounced a few minutes past eleven but they weren't ready; she would soon be back.
Lucia rolled joints. "Well, how many for today?" she asked, crossing her eyes. She rolled four, two for before Globe, two more for between Globe and Tucson.
The temperature was almost sixty and the snow mostly melted, though patches remained. Tall pines, bright sun, blue sky again--they had had three consecutive days of sun and blue sky after two unusually wet months. Near noon Greg carried Arthur, his apron-covered balls dangling naked, 2-liter drainage bag in his lap, to the truck. Lucia hurried ahead with the weight-distributing pad on which Arthur always sat and put it on the passenger’s seat, then raced round the front of the truck, climbed in under the steering wheel, and helped Greg position him. At the end of the motel driveway Greg stopped.
"Which way?" he said.
Right was Fort Apache and Nine Wells’ house; left was the direct route, which would take them to the bottom of the Salt River canyon.
"Did you flip a coin?" said Lucia.
"Yes," said Greg. He didn't say what had happened. "Shall we flip again?"
"Yes," said Arthur and Lucia.
Greg handed Lucia a quarter to touch and she handed it to Arthur, who took it as best he could, then passed it back to Greg. Arthur wanted to turn left but didn't say so; he wanted to be done with the truck as soon as possible.
"Heads we go left," said Greg, flipped the quarter, caught it, and slapped it upside-down onto his wrist. "Heads it is."
They stopped for gas in Show Low on the main drag, The Deuce of Clubs. Lucia lit a reefer as they pulled out of town. "I had a dream last night," she said. "I was about forty years older than I am now and every one was calling me 'Doctor'."
They descended from the snow and the fir trees into the desert. Arthur's neck and shoulders throbbed painfully and the base of his spine still hurt, but he was struck by how good he felt. The dash board again seduced him; he preferred leaning forward and hurting to sitting back and having to balance. Far below them was the Salt River, and Greg pointed to the opposite wall of the canyon it had cut.
"There are mountain lion all through there, elk too."
It looked like there must be tens of thousands of caves into which a man or other large animal could crawl--and evade the surveillance satellites and mind-probes, Arthur mused.
As they rounded a curve in the road, they saw a tractor-trailer on its side, its headlights smashed; Arthur thought it looked like a massive hollow-eyed insect dead at the side of the road. The cab was praying-mantis green, the trailer silver; past the fallen thing an ambulance waited. Lucia involuntarily sucked in her breath.
Arthur rode the dash into Globe, the halfway point of their day's journey. The plan was to stop and eat at a Mexican restaurant Greg knew. "We'll have to find out whether they cook everything with lard," said Arthur. He was not a vegetarian but was allergic to lard. Greg went in, inquired, and returned. Everything Arthur might have eaten was contaminated.
"You could get a guacamole salad," said Greg.
"Let's try someplace else," said Arthur. He didn't mention that avocado, guacamole's main ingredient, had hurt his stomach ever since he'd eaten it so often last year doing Lucia's once-a-week-fruit-fast diet.
"Peg's Kitchen, then," said Greg, and turned back in the direction they had come.
Peg's Kitchen was a lunch counter with tables. Lucia ordered a chef's salad, Greg a sandwich, and Arthur, throwing caution to the winds, a grilled cheese and a cup of coffee. Lucia's salad was ice-berg lettuce, a quartered tomato, a quartered radish, and some onion, all topped with nasty looking shredded boiled ham and Velveeta. Arthur’s grilled cheese was Velveeta on soggy wheat bread but his coffee, though burned, provided the rush he sought. It was his first cup in three days and when the waitress offered him a refill he accepted. Lucia made a face as she picked the ham and Velveeta from her salad before covering what remained with thick orange-colored packaged dressing and starting to eat. She stopped after her fourth bite and pushed what remained away. She had moved the unappetizing ham and fake cheese in front of Arthur as a joke; when he had actually begun to nibble at it she had placed it out of his reach. The friends talked animatedly and giggled. They felt good despite the unappetizing food, despite being over-smoked, over-jounced, over tired, and still over a hundred miles from Tucson, despite having missed Nine Wells, and despite Charles Hawk having been unable to touch Arthur.
"Shall we?" said Lucia.
"Let's," said Arthur, and they made their exit.
They smoked again as they headed south from Globe. Arthur sat straight, supporting himself with his left forearm on his left leg. He planned not to lean on the dash, which he patted affectionately as though it were the neck of a horse. The truck was a good machine, willing and capable.
They were in Tucson before dark.
"Shall we eat out?" asked Greg.
"I'm ready for home," said Arthur.
"Me too," said Lucia.
Lee came outside to greet them when they arrived. Inside, Rusty was watching a pot of beans on the stove.
"I didn't know if you'd be back today," Lee said. "We're having a party tonight. I hope you're not too tired."
He was, but he could take it, felt strong.
"Who's coming?" he said. "Tara?"
Lee drew off his socks. "Oh Babe," she said. His right big toe was worn through in a second place. Lee went outside and broke off a spear of aloe vera from the patch that grew by Bess' porch. She came back in and smeared the healing goop over the wound.
_____
To go to the next part of THE HEALING click here.
To go to the THE HEALING & LOVE NOTE DISCUSSION FORUM click here. I want to hear almost anything you are willing to say, including whether you have had similar or contradictory experiences. Criticism of my behavior and beliefs is also solicited and will be (more or less!) welcome.
Edited by Coach, 09 March 2006 - 09:20 PM.
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